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headkiss · 3 months ago

Text

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it��s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. ��It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3

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cherubunie · 1 month ago

Text

bathroom ~ heeseung x reader

ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 희승 ] ☆ an argument sparked between you and your lover before a party. in anger, you told him you weren't going to be going anymore. an hour into the party, you show up looking unbelievable, making Heeseung go absolutely insane.

word count; 4k

dom Heeseung x sub reader. established relationship, jealousy, public sex, mentions of alcohol and weed, degrading, gagging, praise, oral, smacking. not proof read.

"what the fuck Heeseung?" you angrily curse at your boyfriend, feeling rage boil through your veins. he rolls his eyes at you, watching your figure pace across the room as he sits down on the couch, listening to your rambles.

"I asked you to help me clean the apartment while I was gone doing errands. you didn't even get up off your game once." you glare at him. this passed week, school was stressing you the fuck out. exam after exam was piling up on your plate on top of an essay you were supposed to be writing. it also didn't help that you had to go grocery shopping sometime during the week and help your best friend plan a get together for her birthday party. everything was stressing you out and all you wanted was a little help from your boyfriend. you had asked him to clean the small apartment the two of you shared before you went out for the day at 11 am. you had arrived back to the house with groceries and birthday gifts at 5 pm, expecting the house to be at least a little picked up.

"I was gone for six hours, Heeseung, and you couldnt even put the dishes away?" you scoff at him, seeing guilt and anger arise in his body language as he shifts on the couch, eyeballing you from across the room.

"y/n, im sorry, okay? I was doing homework and other shit that it completely spaced my mind, I'll clean it tomorrow" he says to you, making your jaw clench as you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest with a sigh.

"I wanted it done today so that we wouldn't have to do anything tomorrow, especially since were supposed to be going to Jay's party tonight." you take his silence as a queue to continue, staring into his eyes.

"im piled up to my neck with bullshit, all I wanted was your help and I can't even get that from you." you roll your eyes at him, beginning to walk into the kitchen. his eyes follow you, instantly standing up and following your figure.

"what are you doing? we're leaving soon?" he asks as you begin to put the dishes away, not even turning to face him.

"i'm not going to the stupid fucking party Heeseung, i'm cleaning the apartment since somebody can't" you snap at your boyfriend, turning around to put away a couple pots, completely ignoring his tall figure as he stands in the middle of the kitchen looking at you.

"so you're just gonna stay home and mope around because I didn't clean?" you turn around, glaring daggers at him at his words, your growing anger turning into rage.

"its not even that messy, y/n. I dont understand why you're so mad, lets just go-"

"if you can't understand why i'm upset, then you really need to check yourself, Heeseung. if its 'not that messy' then why didn't you clean it when I asked you to?"

"oh my god can you please stop nagging at me, I already told you its because I was doing homework so I just spaced it" you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you blow up at him.

"you can leave. i'll see you when you get home." is all you say before walking out of the kitchen and into your shared bedroom, leaving the conversation before one of you says something you might regret. Heeseung stares at the bedroom door, but decides to slip his shoes on. he knows that when the two of you get into arguments, that you often need space to cool down and to get distance away from each other so that you dont say anything you really don't mean.

Heeseung slips through the front door, locking it behind him as he heads to jays house, promising himself that he would stay sober.

you hear the front door close and you start to look around the room, your eyes landing on the clock by your bedside table. it read 5:45 pm, the party starts in fifteen minutes and you wonder to yourself how long Heeseung would be gone for.

you sigh out into nothingness, having an internal war with yourself before looking into the closet, your eyes landing on a deep purple dress. its short and made out of lace and satin. suddenly, an idea pops up in your mind and before you can think; you grab the dress and walk into the bathroom.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Heeseung, where is y/n?" sunghoon asks him, looking around the buzzing living room in search of your familiar figure. Heeseung takes another glance at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes, looking to see if you've texted him. sunghoon takes a seat next him, a red cup in his hands.

"she wasn't feeling good so she stayed home" Heeseung answers shortly, guilt starting to eat away at him from the argument that took place earlier.

"shit, that sucks, I hope she feels better" sunghoon says, taking a sip of his drink.

you walk into the house, music vibrating the floor as sweaty bodies stick to each other, the smell of alcohol and weed clouds your senses as you walk further into the house, making you way into the kitchen. you see one of your best girl friends, walking up to her. her eyes catch yours as she squeals, running up to you and attacking you in a hug. she smells like alcohol, and her sluggish actions give away the fact that she's drunk.

"hey beautiful, I didn't think that you were here" she says, slurring her words.

"I saw Heeseung earlier but you weren't with him so I just thought you weren't gonna show up" she rambles and you giggle. the mention of your boyfriends name makes you smile a little despite the argument you had before. you look around the kitchen and notice all the different varieties of alcohol organized on the counter. you walk over and look at all the different kinds.

you grab a red cup, walking back over to the alcohol and grabbing raspberry vodka and pouring it in your cup along. your best friend looks at you, questioning looks seep out of her eyes. she knows you hardly ever drink, so something must have happened. you smile at her reassuringly before throwing your head back, the alcohol burning your throat in the best way possible as your face scrunches up.

she walks over to you, pouring herself another shot as she giggles.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

your best friend and you are walking around as she checks out a few guys, talking to a few people she knows with you attached to her hip. she's a social butterfly, her wings flapping and her entanas buzzing whenever she's in a social setting such as this one. she's formed a small circle around herself, talking everybody's ear off.

you're standing next to her in silence, feeling someones eyes burning into you. you lift your eyes away from her talking mouth, finding one of heeseungs friends; Jake you think, staring at you. as a friendly gesture; you smile at him.

Jake returns your smile and makes his way up to you, deciding to perch himself next to you as he begins speaking.

"where's you boyfriend" he asks, you bite your lower lip, the feeling of anger and giddiness spreading through your body at the mention of him.

"don't know, don't care." is what you settle on, looking up at Jake as the group that your best friend formed begins to fade away, your back sinking into the wall as your conversation with Jake begins to flow.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"dude, Heeseung, I saw y/n just now" sunghoon says, sitting back on the couch next to him. heeseungs eyes snap onto sunghoon, not believing his words.

"what? that's impossible" Heeseung denies, checking his phone to see if you texted him: nothing. his jaw clicks as his eyes scan the area, not finding your figure anywhere.

"she was talking with Jake somewhere near the kitchen. her face was really red and Jake was standing super close to her" sunghoon warns, unknowingly fueling the fire in the pit of heeseungs stomach. Heeseung stands up off the couch, disappearing into the messy pile of bodies in search of one in particular.

"What?" you say to Jake, squinting your eyes, not quite hearing him over the loudness of the music blaring through the speakers.

"I said let's go outside" Jake leans down to your ear, his hair brushing against your cheek as he speaks. you turn your head to the side with a nod, walking in the direction of the sliding glass doors that lead outside by the pool.

Heeseung catches a glimpse of your hair and figure, but looses you just as quick as you came. his eyes dart around, looking for that familiar scent of the perfume you wear and your hair color. no matter how hard he tries, he just can't find you.

"I mean he is hardheaded sometimes, but I'll stick behind him no matter what" Jake tells you, taking another sip of whatever he has in his cup. you nod your head, finishing your drink as your nose scrunches up. the two of you are talking about Heeseung, and how hardheaded he can be sometimes, but you love him regardless. you wanted to show up to the party and surprise him, but a part of you is also hard headed, so you're not going out of your way to find him, when the timing is right, you'll find each other.

You catch Jake staring at you, his eyes slightly red. you look back, questioning him.

"what?" you ask, as he leans on the wall next to you, eyeballing you up and down. you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

"with all due respect for Heeseung, you are absolutely gorgeous, y/n" you knew Jake well enough that he wouldn't make any moves on you while in a relationship with his best friend, his brother, but that still didn't stop him from speaking the truth.

"Heeseung is one lucky man" speak of the devil, the man himself grips your wrist, flipping you around and clenching his jaw.

"h-hee!" you say in surprise. his grip on your wrist is tight and it has you looking down at your hand.

"I am one lucky man. lets go y/n" your boyfriend says to you, dragging you back in the hot house. your eyes don't leave the back of his head as he pulls you through the sea of bodies. your eyes catch glimpse of the front door, but before you are able to reach it, Heeseung pulls you down a hallway.

"what the hell Heeseung!" you say, but he doesn't respond or turn around. he opens a door and throws you inside. its a white bathroom with a big sink, a huge mirror complimenting the wall above it. Heeseung comes inside the room and locks the door behind him, spinning around to face you. your cheeks heat up at the expression on his face. his lips are tugged between his teeth as his eyes rack down your figure.

Heeseung's mind is going a million miles a minute. the god awful tiny dress you're wearing is driving him up the wall. it barely covers an inch of your body and it infuriates him that Jake saw just about every part of you that belonged to him.

"you shouldn't have came, y/n." he says under his breath as he stalks towards you, his hands coming down to unclip his belt. you shudder at the sound, arousal already pooling in your panties.

"why is that?" you question, already knowing the answer.

"come on sweetheart, you can't be that stupid, hm?" he throws his belt on the floor behind you. jealousy pricks at the tip of his tongue, your eyes looking directly into his.

"you didn't tell me you were showing up, but when I find out you do, you're standing two fucking inches away from my best friend as he basically confesses he wants to fuck you" his hand caresses your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes. his fingers move to entangle in your hair, feeling your silky locks as you shake your head.

"hee.. that's not-" his hands pull your hair back, your head arching as he pulls you into his body. he looks down at you, venom laced in his tone as he speaks.

"you think Jake can fuck you as good as be, huh? did he get your pussy wet as much as I do?" his other hand comes up and below your purple dress, moaning as heeseungs fingers come in contact with the flimsy fabric of your panties. he chuckles as he lowers his head so his breath fans your lips, his brushing over yours as he continues

"you're fucking filthy." he forces you down onto your knees, and the way your thighs clamp together tells him everything he needs to know. his hands pull down his pants, the tent in his boxers prominent and aching.

you look up, your mouth watering and your eyes begging. your hands find the waistband of his boxers and you breath out heavily, your head feeling light as Heeseung grips your chin inbetween his fingers.

"suck it." his command is cold and you obey; pulling down his boxers as his cock springs free, half hard and already fucking huge. you gulp, no matter how many times you suck his cock, you're never prepared for how badly your throat stings afterwards. you spit into your palm before taking his tip into your hand, your fingers playing with his slit before pumping him slightly. you feel him begin to grow in your palm as you kitten lick his tip, your hand coming down to massage his balls.

you hear your boyfriend his above you, you take this opportunity and take his head into your mouth, your warm tongue swirling around his tip as you hallow your cheeks, beginning to suck him off. your boyfriend moves his hand to the back of your head, his fingers entangling in your hair as he groans, his Adams apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.

you begin bobbing your head up and down his length faster, saliva spilling down your cheeks as you whine around his size, looking up at him through watery eyes as your feel your knees begin to sting.

he looks down into your glossy eyes, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"taking me so well, wanna take my cum, sweet angel?" you nod your head moaning out a choked yes please as he chuckles at your desperation. the hand on the back of your head pushes you down his shaft, forcing you to deep throat him. his swollen tip hits the back of your throat as he begins to thrust his hips in your face, but not too fast. you breathe in through your nose, trying your best to keep your cheeks sucked in and hallow as he begins to fuck your face. your hands come up to grip his thighs, keeping yourself stable.

his cock twitches in your mouth and you swallow around him, throwing Heeseung off the edge as his hips still in your face, his cock pressing up against the back of your throat as he shoots warm, sticky white ropes of cum down your throat. your eyes close as more tears fall freely down your pink cheeks.

Heeseung looks down at you as he pulls his cock out of your mouth. you swallow all his salty seed, a couple pearly drops fall down your chin and out of the corners of your mouth. your fucked out expression has him grabbing under your arms and forcing you to your feet. you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you onto the counter of the sink, your hands entangle in his hair as he pushes his body into your core.

"h-hee.. please. need- need you please" your begs are just above a whisper, his hands trailing up your thighs to the hem of your underwear. his face comes down to your neck, leaving wet kisses on your skin as your heat grinds down on his still-hard dick, whimpering at the small amount of friction he's gifting you.

"you want it baby, yeah?" he teases, one of his hands coming to feel your damp panties. he hisses at your arousal, your folds unbelievably wet as he traces a finger up and down your clothed slit. Heeseung grabs your underwear, pulling it back and then releasing it as it smacks against your pussy. you jump in his hold, more whines spilling from your lips as he chuckles into your skin.

his fingers pull your panties to the side, his thumb pressing up against your clit as you moan at the feeling, finally getting the friction you so desperately craved. his fingers massage through your wet folds, collecting your slick before one of his long fingers prods at your fluttering hole, begging for your boyfriend to touch you.

"please" you plea, your face coming to bury itself in heeseungs next, your breath fanning your skin. his finger slides in with ease, stretching you slightly as your warm walls squeeze his digit. you shudder at the feeling, a small whimper leaving your mouth as your fingers dig into your lovers back. Heeseung kisses your temple before beginning to pump you, his long finger curling in and out of your sopping cunt in a squelching noise.

one of your hands moves to grip is hair as the other stays wrapped around his back. heeseungs free hand moves from your thigh, trailing upwards to the small of your back, caressing and rubbing you through your thin dress, holding you as close to his body as possible. your moans pick up volume as he adds a second finger, curling upwards and slightly grazing your sweet spot. your legs jolt and you inhale sharply. your mind feels fuzzy as Heeseung splits you apart on his fingers, his thumb rubbing slow, concentrated circles on your clit to help ease you up.

"h-hee.. hmm a-ah" you moan his name, your body beginning to shake. he brings his head down to your ear, his breath fanning you as he speaks

"tell me all about it beautiful" you whine in response, your fingers tugging at his locks harshly now, your orgasm approaching quickly. your hold around him tightens as your legs begin to shake. Heeseung looks at himself through the mirror, his eyes finding the back of your figure and he can't help but admire you, even without seeing your face. you turn your head, Heeseung mimicking your actions as you slam into each other, your lips meeting his in a sloppy, wet kiss.

heeseungs fingers curl inside you again, massaging your g-spot and you buck your hips forward, moans loud and needy as your orgasm snaps, cumming all over heeseungs fingers. you grind your hips into his hand, riding out your high. heeseungs mouth moves against yours hungrily, biting your bottom lip before he parts. you go to whine in protest but stop yourself when he quickly forces your panties down and below your ankles.

before you can say anything, he balls up your underwear and shoves them in your mouth. he hikes your dress up and over your hips, your dripping pussy on full desplay as he takes his cock in his hand and bullies his way inside your walls. your eyes widen as he does so, a choked moan attempting to escape your mouth. he can't wait anymore, remembering the way Jake was looking at you in your tiny little dress, your breasts on full display. his anger begins to rise again, his hips beginning to move against yours at a quick pace

"gonna fuck this pussy until you know who you belong to, understood?" he slaps your puffy cunt, earning a muffled squeal from you as your arms wrap around him again, holding his body close to yours. you curl into your boyfriend, your pussy fluttering around his cock as it kisses your g-spot repeatedly, tiny babbles and whines leaving your lips.

his fingers work at your clit as his hips snap against yours, your legs shaking in his hold as goosebumps trail from your thigh, up to your hip where Heeseung ghosts his fingertips, holding you in place.

your muffled cries eg him on further, an idea striking in his mind. he pulls out of you, dragging you off the sink and spinning you around, forcing you to bend over the counter.

"spread you legs for me, pretty" you happily listen, your soiled panties still gagging you. he pushes himself into your wet, swollen pussy, your eyes roll in the back of your skull as he begins to thrust into you from behind, hitting all your right places at a much deeper angle. your ass jiggles each time his hips meet your behind, your back arched in a perfect slope.

Heeseung slaps your ass, roughly, causing a squeal to erupt from the back of your throat, your walls clenching his dick as if you're trying to milk him.

"oh fuck-" your boyfriend says in a raspy tone. the way your ass bounces with each of his thrusts mixed with the way your muffled whimpers and moans sound, it starts driving Heeseung up the wall as he smacks the plush of your ass again. your head dips down, falling onto your forearms that rest on the counter.

Heeseung grips your hair, forcing your body up into an arch as your eyes fly open, looking at the scene unfolding in the mirror. Heeseung moves his face to your neck, sucking sweet purple marks into your skin that match the color of your dress.

"look at you baby, taking my cock so well, such a good girl hmm?" he slaps your ass again, your eyes closing slightly as you hiss. your look at yourself through half lidded, fucked out eyes. your legs are apart and your dress his hiked up, heeseungs dick splitting you open as he fucks you from behind, deep, purple hickeys litter your soft skin and one of your breasts fell out of your dress.

"pussy's mine... all. fucking. mine." he thrusts inbetween each word, your juices gushing out of your spazzaming hole and down your thighs onto the counter.

"he-hee please !" your panties fall out of your mouth, your loud moans echoing off the chambers of the bathroom and fill heeseungs ears.

"such a messy girl.. you think you deserve to be stuffed full of my cum, sweetheart? wanna take all of it like the fucking slut you are?" his hand detangles from your hair to grip your throat, giving it a light squeeze as a threat... or a promise? either one has your knees buckling below you.

"y-yes please, wan' u're cum please" you chant, the pit of your abdomen feeling unbelievably tight as you feel your orgasm about to wash over you.

"cum all over me sweetheart, make a fucking mess all over me, I've got you" he coaxes you to your orgasm, the rope in your stomach snapping as you arch your back into him, a loud squeal drips of your tongue as you cum all over him. heeseungs thrusts halt, his hips stilling against your ass as he buries his face in your neck, shooting white ropes of cum deep inside you.

it takes a minute for the both of you to calm down, your boyfriend pulling his cock out of you. your guys's mixed cum drips down your leg, running down your thighs. Heeseung laughs before grabbing some toilet paper, turning you around and hoisting you onto the counter to clean you off.

you wrap your arms around his frame, hugging him as you kiss every inch of his face

"I love you, hee" you say as he pulls away from you, throwing the cum-stained toilet paper in the trash. he looks at you, placing his veiny hands on your thighs, rubbing soft shapes into your skin.

"I love you, beautiful" he responds, cupping your face in his palm before leaning in to place a warm kiss on your lips. he helps you hop off the counter, unlocking the door.

"hey wait, my panties!" you laugh at him as he stuffs them in his pocket, smirking down at you. he opens the door and gestures for you to exit first. you huff at him and walk out, praying nobody sees anything. you gasp as Heeseung lands a smack to your ass as you walk in front of him out of the room.

"hee!" you smile as you look behind you and at your boyfriend.

"I love youuu"

#⊹ ⋆꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹#girlblog ♡#♡#heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #lee heesung x reader #heeseung x yn #heeseung x reader smut #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader smut #enhypen smut #enhypen heeseung

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

Something for hotch? Maybe where reader gets hurt/a concussion on a case and goes to the hospital but refuses to tell him she went until someone else mentions it?? <3 you dont have to do it if you have something similar but i love your writing!

ty for requesting!! <3 —Hotch will look after you, even when you don’t tell him you need him. fem, 1.7k

cw reader has a concussion

Hotch rubs his face when he knows nobody’s watching. Hand over his eyes, thumb and forefinger working against a brewing migraine. It eases a little of the tension there, but he can’t do it like you can. There’s something in your hands that makes him want to call them lovely hands, such a quaint word. You rub the space between his brows with your thumb until his aching is gone or replaced. Fondness with its own heartbeat wakes whenever you’re near.

You’re not near. His head hurts. He wants a cup of coffee and a shower and to call Jack. The cases are never over when they’re over, is the thing, and he can’t keep track of everything. He has to answer questions and patch holes now, before the work follows him home to take up space on his desk.

He talks to police officers, chiefs, victims families and firemen and Penelope, too, anybody who needs to ask him a question. He tells Emily to go back to the hotel because she’s exhausted, and warns Spencer that staying too long will give him another headache. He’s surprised half an hour later when Morgan grabs him by the arm. Hotch assumed he went with Spencer.

“Hotch, what are you still doing here?”

Hotch gives him a strange look. It’s not as though Morgan hasn’t seen Hotch clean up a mess before. “Sorry?”

“I thought you’d be with Y/N.”

He tries very hard to look casual. The team are often better at pretending they haven’t noticed you and Hotch slowly moving together. “She went home.”

“No she didn’t, they took her in an ambulance. She’s at the hospital, nobody told you that?”

Hotch knows Morgan can finish up for him. He doesn’t even say where he’s going or what there is left to do, Morgan is more than capable of handling the unit, and he’s a phone call away. Hotch rushes for an agent with a car and tells them where he needs to go as he punches your speed dial into his phone. Number three, after Penelope and Jess.

You don’t answer, it makes him feel sick. He calls again and JJ picks up. Blessed, amazing JJ.

“Hi Hotch.”

“Is she there? Can I speak to her?”

“She went in for an MRI a half hour ago.”

“JJ, what happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“She said she told you.” A dry laugh from down the phone. “You’d think I’d learn not to trust her. I love her, but she’s a liar.”

Hotch could say the same thing. “JJ, what happened? What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s embarrassed. When everybody was coming back out, someone stepped on the back of her leg and she slipped down the stairs.”

“Who stepped on her?” Hotch asks.

JJ laughs. Hotch wonders if they’re too far into working together to scold her for unprofessionalism, but then he remembers the Unit would fall apart without her and holds his tongue. He’d fall apart without you, maybe, and he could stand to be a little more defensive.

He’s out of the car and into the hospital in record time. He follows the signs to the Emergency Room, gives your name at the desk, and doesn’t have to flash his badge to get told what room they’ve put you in. He would’ve, and he would’ve threatened legal action. He’s no saint. He’ll abuse the system (in innocuous ways only, of course) if it means he gets to see you.

You’re in a bed but sitting on the side of it rather than laying down. JJ sits in the chair beside you, two contrasting expressions on your faces. You’re smiling. JJ bites her lip.

She turns to Hotch with relief. “Hey, look,” she says gently.

“You took a long time to get here. Was it the moon?”

Hotch understands quite quickly. “Sorry. Nobody told me you got hurt. What happened to the moon, honey?”

You give him a vacant look. Turning back to JJ, your hands vying for her arm, you hold her to your stomach gently and squeeze your eyes closed. “The light.”

Hotch turns to the wall, looking for the light switch. It’s hidden behind other concerning tech, so he’s careful about what he presses. You sigh and draw his attention, wiggling back on the bed to almost fall off the other side.

“Maybe she thought she told me,” he suggests, not scolding JJ, but unhappy nonetheless. You clearly aren’t in a state to make decisions for yourself.

JJ rubs your arm. “She got worse after we got here. That’s why they sent for her MRI so quickly. She’s on and off with it, incoherent and normal again.”

Hotch knows she’s concerned for you, but he can read her restless leg; she hasn’t talked to Will or heard about Henry in hours. “Go back to the hotel, JJ. I have her.”

JJ gives you a hug, to your confusion, and bypasses him fast. He can hear her phone ringing before the doors shut from her departure.

He admires her loyalty, he just wishes she’d called him two hours ago.

You rub your eyes, the loose sleeves of your hospital gown shifting against the loose knot behind your neck, and he genuinely despises the idea that you’d been here, hurt, without him. “Can I tie your gown again?” he asks.

You nod into your rubbing.

“I turned the lights off. It shouldn’t be so bright in here anymore.” He rounds the bed to your back, where a great deal of skin is showing. He smiles though he shouldn’t. You poor girl. “You’re a little… stark.”

“I’m trying to think of some fruit and milk,” you tell him.

“Do you need help?”

“Not for the fruit.”

“But for the milk,” he surmises, bringing the ties of your gown as close as he can without strangling you and tying them in a neat bow.

“I don’t think that’s what I meant to say.”

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb to bare skin. “That’s okay, honey, you’re having a little trouble now, but it’ll go away soon. If there were something wrong, the doctor would be here.”

“You could be a doctor.”

“I couldn’t. I don’t know anything about medicine.”

“A very nice doctor. Big hands.” You breathe out loudly, more animated than he’s ever heard you. “Whoo, I’m cold. I think they made me naked.”

“How about I tuck you in, would you like that?” he asks, leaning over you in hopes of you turning your head.

You stare up at him. “You want to?”

“I’d love to. I want you to be comfortable.”

“My boyfriend might not like it.”

Hotch tries not to sulk at another horrible symptom. You aren’t only incoherent, but amnesiac. And you’ve forgotten who he is, in a way. At least you’ve remembered you have a boyfriend. He hopes it’s him.

“No? Why wouldn’t he like it, honey? I’m just trying to take care of you.”

You visibly fluster. “You’re calling me honey like he does, and he won’t like it ‘cos he takes care of me. He loves to go to places but he doesn’t know where he’s going.”

That second half is gibberish, he’s sure. Hotch puts his hands carefully under your armpits and manoeuvres you back toward the top of the elevated hospital bed.

You put your hand to your tummy as you lean back, and hiss as your head touches the pillows. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t tell Aaron I got hurt.”

“Why not?”

“I fell down the stairs. He’s never fallen down the stairs.”

“I have, actually. Twice. And it doesn’t matter how you get hurt, I want to know you’re alright, so I need you to tell me.”

He pulls the sheets up to your legs and over your lap. Tucks them tightly behind your back, hands lingering on your hips. He watches you look at him, your cloudy gaze tracking over his eyes, his nose, and his lips. “Aaron?” you ask eventually, lifting your chin.

“Yes?”

You breathe out an unmissable sigh of relief. “You didn’t come with me.”

“I didn’t know you were hurt.” He squeezes your hip softly. “You didn’t tell me. But it’s not your fault, is it? You got hurt.” His voice falls into silk. “Is that warm enough?”

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you to get my shoes.”

“No shoes. Can I have a hug?”

“Why?”

“Just to hug you,” he says softly. “It might make you feel better.”

You raise your hands clumsily like your fingers are full of sand, forcing him to see his arms under them and behind your back. Your cheeks align, his rough with stubble, yours warm with the heat of a flush, perhaps from the injury. Your hands flop down onto his back as he rubs two separate, loving paths on the gown and your skin.

Thank god she’s okay, he thinks.

“Am I stuck like this?” you ask.

“Are you worried?” He taps your back. “I doubt it. We might have to stay here for a while, but it’s okay. Feeling better is the priority.”

“I’d like to go back.”

“Home?”

“For breakfast.”

“Are you hungry? I can find you something to eat.”

“What?” you ask.

You sound so genuinely confused that Hotch laughs into your shoulder, before giving the fabric a soft kiss. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna bring that chair over and sit with you, okay? We’ll wait for the doctor together.”

He sits with you for hours, talks to doctors and nurses alike as they come to check your vitals and explain your scans. Your confusion doesn’t lessen until the night time, and even then you act oddly, bringing his hand to your mouth to kiss strange parts of his fingers. The skin shy of his nail. The underside of a knuckle, the curve under the meat of his thumb.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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cherrychilli · 6 months ago

Text

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, mentions of bodily injury, mentions of masturbation (m), oral sex(m)

Summary: Eddie hurts his dick and as his best friend, you decide to help him ease his pain.

WC: 3K

A/N: I am so tickled by the idea of Eddie wrecking his cock and balls on accident so I had to write about it and wedge in some spice as well. Enjoy!

When Eddie had told you he wasn't feeling well enough to hangout tonight he should have realized that someone like you, caring and loyal almost to a fault, would take it upon themselves to help in any way they could, showing up at his trailer a few hours later with dinner and a zipper pouch full of medicine he might need.

"Ding dong, I'm here to take care of you, Munson", you'd gleamed at him playfully.

It was no secret that he didn't take the best care of himself whenever he was under the weather. Eddie was known for skipping his meds and spending most of the day swathed in a cocoon made of blankets, emerging hours later to pad into the kitchenette where he'd nibble at cold, leftover takeout before weakly traipsing back to bed.

So, when you showed up at his front door with your arms wound around a thermos full of homemade chicken soup and a Tupperware container warm with baked salmon, he should have felt happy. He should have felt grateful for the trouble you'd gone through just to make sure that he ate well and was looked after while he was on his own but instead, all he felt was the sharp, piercing sting of guilt.

The thing was, Eddie wasn't really sick.

He wasn't running a fever like he'd claimed over the phone. He'd purposely hidden the real reason why he couldn't come over to your place and watch a movie like the two of you had planned because well, he was embarrassed.

The truth was, Eddie couldn't come hangout because his dick and balls were killing him.

It had happened last night.

He'd been spread out on the couch while Wayne was away, dressed only in a pair of boxers snug around his hips with a movie playing on TV to keep him entertained throughout the night.

As usual, a blunt was held between his plush lips for most of the evening too, a bottle of jack by his feet which he'd pick up and gulp from time to time.

The combination of alcohol and the weed served a particular purpose that night – helping to make the tooth achingly bad acting in Zombie Lake more tolerable, a movie he'd picked solely for the gratuitous nudity.

Forty minutes of naked, unsuspecting women wading in zombie infested waters later and he was more than a little strung out at that point, rendered blissfully languid while he lay slumped against the couch.

Eddie had picked that moment to reach for the whiskey with his bloodshot, half lidded eyes still plastered on the TV screen, missing twice before he managed to pick it up with light fingers.

Bringing the three quarters full bottle up to his lips for another swig, that was when the booze slipped out of his loose grip, too high to react quickly enough and catch it before it was too late.

With his thighs spread far apart, the full weight of the bottle landed directly on his crotch, the pain shooting from between his legs like daggers, enough to make him feel like the air had been kicked right out of his lungs.

The carpet and couch soaked up most of the spilled whiskey, the nearly empty bottle lying on its side on the floor while Eddie couldn't do much but cup both hands over his junk and curl into himself, trying to grunt, groan and hiss through the pain as tears brewed in his eyes.

Now, it's almost been a full 24 hours since the incident happened but his dick's still super sore from the impact. And to make matters worse his balls are blue in more ways than one.

See, Eddie's got the kind of sex drive that had him jacking off at least twice a day to keep himself sane but now thanks to his injury, he's already feeling pent up, unable to tug his swollen cock and give himself that much needed release.

So, though your outfit isn't provocative, it's still you, his best friend whom he's harbored less than platonic feelings for so of course your denim shorts and your tank top are making him want to act up, the swirling desire at the base of his stomach burning even hotter with the way you're taking care of him, showing him a level of concern no one else has before.

It isn't fair, he thinks, having to sit across from you on the couch while he tries to fight off the growing ache in his cock, tries to will his sore member soft for the sake of your friendship as well as curbing his own pain.

You're yet to notice his dilemma though, rummaging through your bag while Eddie tries not to let the scent of your body wash trigger flashes of you sitting in your bath tub with your bare tits above water, all wet and soapy with your nipples all hard and the bubbles trailing between your cleavage and–

"Shit", he hisses when a twinge of pain flares as his dick starts to twitch in his sweats.

"Everything okay, Eds?", you look up from your bag when you hear it but he's quick to wipe the grimace from his face, faking his best smile at you.

"All good. So, what are we doing next?"

He's relieved when he watches your soft smile slowly return to your face, the kind that reaches your eyes and curves your lips in that way that makes him want to reach out and cup your cheek, running his thumb over your soft skin before he tells you how pretty he thinks you are.

"How about casual sex?", you ask, all chipper.

"…what?"

In an instant Eddie's whole body alternates between flashes of frigid cold and scorching hot. Had he heard you right? were you…offering? fuck, his dick is throbbing so bad in his sweats right now.

You dive your hand back into your bag, pulling out a VHS tape and holding it out for Eddie to see.

"Figured a comedy would be for the best", you waved the tape in his gawking face, his stomach somersaulting when he reads the title. Of all the movies you could have picked, you just had to go pick the one called Casual Sex? didn't you?

"Plus, I know how much you like Lea Thompson so I figured this would be a good pick", you smiled sweetly at him, tapping a finger over the actress pictured on the cover.

Another sharp prick of guilt and another dull ache radiates in Eddie's crotch because his mind's being especially cruel to him right now, dredging up unwanted memories of the time he wore out a copy of Howard the Duck by beating his meat to Lea Thompson's scenes all day and night.

"Uh, got anything else?", he croaks, clearing his throat when you narrow your eyes at him a little suspiciously.

After a little back and forth, the two of you end up watching The Thing to Eddie's relief. Nothing there that might trigger a boner except the couple of times you squealed adorably when Kurt Russell popped up on screen, kicking your feet and hugging your knees to your chest, inadvertently making your cleavage more noticeable over the neckline of your tank top.

Eddie's able to ignore it for the most part, that was until you offered to help clean up a little once the movie was over, bending over in your denim shorts to gather the empty soda cans sitting on the table in front of the couch.

Despite the alarm bells echoing in his head, he can't seem to help it, eyes trailing up the back of your smooth, bare thighs, settling on your ass and the way he can just about make out a peek of your cheeks now that your shorts have ridden up high.

Oh shit.

Up until now you'd been pretty pert all night but when you turn around, you're instantly startled by the look on Eddie's face, all twisted up and pinched as he presses a cushion into his lap and begins to wince.

"Eddie, what's wrong?", you set the cans aside, dropping back down on to the couch beside him.

Yet another flash of pain courses through him when he catches sight of the way your breasts bounce in your tank top when you take a seat. Jesus, this wasn't going to be easy, was it?

Eddie tries to mask it but you can read the pain there easily, especially when you're so close to him now, close enough that your shoulder brushes against his bicep.

"Eddie please, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

If there was a way out of this without having to admit the truth, without having to tell you how he'd given a whole new meaning to the term whiskey dick, he couldn't seem to find it, feeling helpless as he crumbles under the weight of your concerned, round-eyed stare.

"I lied, okay? I'm not sick, I just…"

Insides twisting, he has to squeeze his eyes shut the moment he sees the confusion register on your face, the way your eyebrows draw together and your eyes narrow. It's too much for him to handle and it all comes flooding out at once.

"I dropped a bottle of whiskey on my dick last night and now the damn thing's killing me because you look so– uh. Fuck. You look so…like, this and it's just– it's a lot"

Daring to open his eyes again, he finds that your own eyes have gone understandably wide, your lips slightly parted too and he hates himself for thinking how badly he'd like to slip his fingers between them and watch you suck.

"Oh. So like, is it– are you hurt badly?", you break the silence after a few seconds of processing his word vomit, blinking up at Eddie like you're fascinated to learn more about his injured cock.

"I mean, I don't think it's anything I need to go to hospital over but yeah. Hurts a lot", he replies a little sheepishly, a side of Eddie you don't see very often because he's far and away from the shy type that's for sure.

"Like when you get hard?", you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Eddie blinks back at you when you say it, clearly taken aback by how casually you're treating this whole situation after how hard he'd tried to hide it but he manages to answer you with a slow nod.

He shivers next when suddenly you drop your gaze to the cushion he's got pressed over his aching boner. "Hm… it’s probably not going to go away anytime soon either, huh? we should do something about that", you suggest thoughtfully.

In that moment, all he can do is look at you in disbelief, sweat beading at his temple and his fingers trembling on top of the cushion. This couldn't really be happening, could it? His best friend since, forever, offering to get him off?

Eyes drifting up to his once more, you lean a little closer, voice dropping down to a whisper. "I could help you", you offer, tentatively placing your hand on Eddie's knee. "Only if you want me to."

Adams apple bobbing, it hurts Eddie when he swallows, finding his throat's turned dry and tight in the last few seconds.

"Seriously? you'd actually do that? um, are you sure?"

You bite back a laugh because the look on his face is nothing short of adorable, all wide eyed and eager like a puppy awaiting a treat.

"Well, you could sit here with your bruised dick and keep whimpering like a baby or you could let me make you feel better. What's it going to be, Eds?", you quirk up an eyebrow at him at the same time the corner of your mouth picks up into a playful smirk.

"The second one please", he answers quickly, his cheeks flooding with so much color you kind of want to pinch them and tease him about how cute he looks right now.

"Thought so."

Smiling, you pick yourself up off the couch, carefully lowering yourself to kneel between Eddie's legs when you place your hands on his knees and gently encourage him to spread them apart.

He's quick to help you when you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants next, carefully pulling both it and his boxers down to finally free his cock.

For both of you, it's surreal being in this position – Eddie with his cock out, all hard and throbbing for you and you wedged perfectly between his legs like a puzzle piece he'd been searching for all his life.

You have to take a few seconds to admire it; the way the length of him blushes red and curves up towards his belly, the way the many veins wrap around his thickness and the dark, wiry thatch of hair at his base, untrimmed and full. Just how you'd always imagined based on how wild Eddie kept the hair on his head.

Eyes trailing lower, you have to resist the urge to palm his balls to keep from possible hurting him. You want to feel the weight of them in your hand though because you can't help but think they look so full and that makes you feel sorry for Eddie and how he'd had to deal with that discomfort all day.

The thought has you pushing your lips out into a sympathetic little pout, hand reaching out to finally touch him. Gently, you use your fingers to pull back his soft foreskin, leaning forward and parting your lips to delicately kitten lick at his red, leaking tip, keeping your eyes fixed on his face for any signs of discomfort.

You're pleased to find none, chest blooming with pride as you watch complete bliss wash over Eddie's face, swirling your tongue gently and collecting beads of precum when you hear him sigh and moan with relief.

"Oh my god, that's – that's really fucking good. Please keep going", he whines unabashedly because that persistent ache that's been troubling him since last night is being soothed so fucking well by your eager tongue. At this point he doesn't even care what kind of sounds you might pull out of him, desperate to feel more of your touch.

"Don't think I'm gonna last long", he gulps when you blink up at him with your pretty lips wrapped around his tip. "Your mouth feels too good."

His words make your confidence rise like steadily billowing smoke. "You don't need to", you tell him truthfully. "I just want to make you feel better", pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his smooth head, loving the way his breath stutters when you do it and the feeling of his sticky precum coating your lips in a shiny film. Like he's marking you..

As you continue, you refrain from using your hands while you pleasure him, keeping them pressed flat against his inner thighs, using only your mouth to kiss and lick up and down his rigid shaft as your nose nudges against it softly, returning to suckle at his tip from time to time.

It's easy to tell how badly Eddie must have needed this because he's unravelling so quickly under your touch as he throws his head back against the couch, his hands balled into fists by his sides while he whimpers about how well you're doing.

He's so pretty like this with his neck bared to you but you miss his gaze, removing your swelling lips from his cock to coax him back. "Don't hold back with me, Teddie. Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you", you coo earnestly.

Lifting his cloudy head to look down at you, it's Eddie's turn to surprise you when he brings one hand up to brush back a few strands of hair that'd gotten stuck to your damp cheek, a brief moment of tenderness that makes the butterflies resting in the depths of your stomach wake and beat their wings.

"Could you go a little lower?", he asks you, chest heaving and lips slightly pink from biting.

"Want me to lick your balls?", you try to clarify.

That makes him chuckle, a sweet, airy sound that makes you feel like there's sunlight spilling through the spaces between your ribs, filling up your whole chest with pleasant warmth.

"When d'you start talking like this, huh? Y' got such a dirty mouth on you, sweetheart", he teases you lightly, pulling his hand back so you can get back to working him.

You simply smile against his shaft in reply, feigning coy and innocence while trailing kisses lower and lower until you reach the seam of his balls. Placing your warm tongue flat against it, you draw it up slowly, wetting his heated skin before pressing more kisses against his sack, giggling when the hair there starts to tickle your lips.

"Think you can handle it if I take you in my throat? I'll go slow, I promise", you speak up from between his legs.

Given how often he's pumped his cock to the very thought of you throating him, Eddie nearly trips over himself trying to find the words to answer.

"Holy shit, yes please", he manages to let out with a strained groan.

That's all you needed to hear before you're taking him into your mouth again, bobbing up and down a few times slowly, careful not to let your teeth scrape his sensitive skin before you bob deeper and let him reach the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and making your throat close around him nice and tight.

"Baby– baby, fuck I'm going to cum", he gasps, hips jerking, eyes squeezing shut.

And that's all the warning he can manage to give you before he's spilling down your throat, thick, creamy ropes of it which you swallow down eagerly and as best as you can.

Most of it slides down the warm, wet contracting walls of your throat but you realize just how pent-up Eddie must have been when your cheeks puff out a little with a generous amount of his cum that you couldn't manage to gulp down fast enough, pulling off of Eddie's softening cock with a mouthful of spend sitting warm on your tongue, coating the insides of your cheeks.

Sitting there on your knees while Eddie pants and recuperates, a deeply curious part of you has you swishing his cum in your mouth, savoring the distinct, tangy taste of him before you part your lips and let him look inside.

Exhausted but entirely amazed, he gawks at you and the viscous mess of spit and semen in your mouth, tempted to stick his own tongue in there and taste himself on you before you press your swollen lips back together and promptly swallow, a beaming smile breaking out on your face.

"See? told you I'd take care of you."

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader

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reyalvr · 5 months ago

Text

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience.

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap.

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky.

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work.

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message.

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner.

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message.

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome.

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken’s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house.

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more.

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support.

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.”

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand.

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.”

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed.

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan.

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan.

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you.

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted.

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look.

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time.

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.”

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.

#✎ maxi’s works #ultraman: rising #ultraman #ken sato #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #kenji sato fic #ken sato x you #fluff #ultraman: rising 2024

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weirdmageddon · 1 year ago

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i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

#homestuck #homestuck meta #dave strider #mom lalonde #roxy lalonde #hs #strilonde guardian swap

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

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summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k

content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉

> in which masterlist!

note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3

—

“jungkook, baby?”

your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.

“babe?”

you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.

him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.

and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.

but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.

you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.

the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.

he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?

agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.

maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.

whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.

in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.

you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.

jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.

clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.

but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.

your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe— you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.

not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.

the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.

you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.

anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.

—

jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.

when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.

night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.

“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.

the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.

“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.

his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.

“are you crying?!”

your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.

“baby!”

he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”

“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”

this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.

“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”

his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.

you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.

“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”

from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.

“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”

now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.

but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.

“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.

he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.

“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”

“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.

he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”

fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.

“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.

the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.

“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”

“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”

“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”

you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.

“____!”

and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.

“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”

you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.

“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”

you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”

“are you sure?”

he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.

“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”

“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”

“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”

“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.

“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.

and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.

“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”

“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”

“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”

he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.

“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.

he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.

and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”

if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.

however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.

“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”

jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.

may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.

“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”

he winces guiltily.

“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”

“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.

he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.

“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.

—

“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.

“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.

you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.

of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.

“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.

“rice,” he demands as he chews.

you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.

“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.

witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.

“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.

“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.

“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”

but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.

“i just told you to eat first!”

you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”

he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.

“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”

he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.

—

you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.

with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.

and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.

and it was cold. it was always cold.

“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”

“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”

“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”

“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”

“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”

your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.

a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.

your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.

oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.

“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.

the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.

“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.

the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.

he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.

“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”

you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.

you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.

“are you spiderman?”

he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”

you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”

he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”

“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“

“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”

your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.

“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”

you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.

“uh?! i’m serious over here!”

this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.

“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”

he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.

“i’ll go with you,”

“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”

“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.

“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”

“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”

that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.

“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”

“this is very normal,” he argues.

the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.

“some would even say romantic.”

a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.

you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.

you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year ago

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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on-leatheredwings · 8 months ago

Text

Dirty Laundry (18+)

Yandere! Dick Grayson x (Fem) Reader

> romantic, 18+ > Request: I think Dick would be a major creep and your rules didn't say anything about no nsft, so can I ask for a fic with this scenario: Dick stealing reader's underwear and using the dirty ones to get off while cumming into the clean ones. And putting the "clean" ones back into her dresser hoping she doesn't notice the stains and wears them? Thanks! > a/n: …………………………………… Ohhhh, so you’re crazy. Meaning, you’re just like me . thanks for the dick request i want to write him better/more ;u; had fun writing this! > tw: someone cumming in your panties without your consent or knowledge, so sexual assault. As well as yandere-typical thoughts and behaviors. > Word count: 1847 (Ugh this was supposed to be like 3 paragraphs max but i’m me.)

Dick’s your best friend.

… You guess.

He was new to Blüdhaven, and you two just seemed to keep bumping into each other in the rare times you left your apartment. Might as well get to know the guy. You didn’t have much choice in the matter, once he attached to you. And that was okay, because you liked him back and, frankly, were in quite desperate need for friends. The man currently lounges on your bed, sifting through a magazine while you’re mixing audio for this indie rock cover band that’s commissioned you. That’s your side hustle and passion, when you’re not being a work-from-home researcher for S.T.A.R. Labs.

You’re an hour into your work and Dick Grayson is lounging on his spot on your bed, because he has claimed a spot at this point. All is well with the world. Then, your stomach lets out a groan, and so do you.

A pair of eyes, all ocean blue and twinkling, slide over to you without a second’s hesitation. You meet them, unblinking and unperturbed. Does he know he’s kind of a freak? Being all light-eyed and adoring?

You stand up without fanfare, removing your headphones from your ears and letting them sit around the column of your neck.

“I’m going to get food from the place next door.”

You yawn and walk away from your desk. That usually was much harder for you, but Grayson’s presence in your life had made it more of a priority for you to care for yourself. “Don’t touch anything,” you say, plainly and without venom. Without another word, you’re gone, and Dick launches up from his seat once he hears the front door to your flat close.

He told himself he was going to do this today. He told himself, and he is a man of his word.

He opens the bottom drawer of your dresser, where he knows you keep your clean pairs of underwear. Then he trespasses into your closet, where he knows you keep your laundry basket.

Dick knows where a lot of things are in your apartment, and he has made it his job to know every inch of your bedroom specifically. When you leave the room, like times like this, he enjoys going around and familiarizing himself with everything. And he’s planted cameras, of course. He does leave your en-suite restroom alone, an act he pats himself on the back for. You deserved your privacy, after all. To his disappointment, you do tend to masturbate exclusively in the shower, and he must tide himself over with the audio his cameras pick up, rather than visuals.

After a moment’s hesitation, Dick buries his hands into your laundry basket. These were the things… you wore. His eyes twinkle as he smiles. Still, he had no time to waste. While often busy, the Chinese place you were at was also known for its fast service. Dick grabs the first pair of panties he sees: blue lace-trim, white in color, with blue gingham. You’re so cute.

He sits in your closet, back to your hamper, slides off the jeans that look really good on him which he hopes you’ve noticed. All of these actions are done a little clumsier than normal because his pulse roars in his ears.

He lets his head fall backward, and he begins pumping his cock with your panties in that same hand. He thinks of your face, your body, your hands. He really likes your hands, so adept and amble, always flying across a keyboard or strumming a guitar. He thinks about the honest things you say, truthful but usually with tact. He thinks about your eyes crinkling when he’s being a show-off, and your pretty lips that you’re usually wetting with your tongue rather than finally just getting lip balm.

At this point, Dick is a wreck, eyes glazed over and only half-open. His eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep them open. He goes slack-jawed, pink lips only a little swollen from his biting down on them. He’s about to finish, he knows he is. It’s building in him like the birth of a tidal wave. Pre-cum and his sweat have soiled your gingham pair, and he looks at the very plain pair of navy blue boyshorts in his free hand, clenched into a fist. He finds himself blushing. Your underwear is so… you, and it’s hilarious that holding them in his hand is what is flustering him so much. Considering what he’s doing.

Dick whimpers, a sound that’s both embarrassing and utterly liberating. Pleasure pulses in between his legs, his back shoots into an arch, his balls hike up to the base of his cock. He cums with a raspy cry, right onto the crotch of your boyshorts. He had initially planned to just finish anywhere on the fabric, but at the last second decided to cum where your cunt would touch. He’s kind of romantic like that. (He’s also kind of a pervert, and he knows that.)

He pants in the afterglow of his orgasm, cheeks painted over with rosy pink. He tosses your white pair back into its home, the laundry basket.

His calloused fingers reach up for the corner of his mouth, which had been agape this whole while.

… Was he drooling?

Dick robotically proceeds to rub his semen into your underwear until it's just a dark stain. He pulls his dark jeans from the pool of black denim they formed at his ankles, he runs his fingers through his hair at a job well done. He returns your boyshorts to your dresser, neatly folding them like all the rest. And finally, he wipes his mouth. He returns to your bed, and it’s like nothing has happened since you left.

Dick Grayson – Gotham pretty boy, badass superhero – should probably cringe; in any other context, isn’t that so lame…? But considering it was you, honestly, what could he have expected…

You come back into your bedroom, a bag of takeout swinging from your hands. His eyes don’t leave you for an instant.

… You simply have that effect on him.

You stomp through his room until you’re right in front of him, where he pretends to be scrolling on his phone. Your arms are akimbo as you stare down at him, blocking your room’s overhead light with your skull and casting your shadow over him. He looks up and smiles cheekily.

“Alright, Dickard.” Dick’s lips quirk. “Get out. I’m going to shower and change.” Sniffing yourself on the way back, you decided it was high time you did.

Dick’s brain goes a mile a minute. Shower. Change. Underwear? His heart skitters but he doesn’t show it.

“Aw, don’t let me stop you. Feel free,” he teasingly sings.

Your eye twitches and you take it upon yourself to physically move him. Not that you could if he chose to actually resist. You know that he must be strong, stronger than ‘doing acrobatics as a hobby’ must make someone. You’ve caught a peek at his abdomen and biceps now and then. Guy is ripped.

“Go eat,” you order, throwing the takeout into his hand. “I got enough for the both of us.” Why, Dick could twirl his hair and kick his feet right now – despite a prickly exterior, you really were a sweetheart, weren’t you? He refuses to have you pay for him though. He will definitely be returning the favor thricefold.

You successfully shoo the six feet tall model out of your room.

Once he’s out, you take your shower, standing for five minutes in the spray until it grows warm. You think with amusement at the idea of movies and TV making women showering such a sexy, erotic scene. Bitch, you are in here scrubbing pots and pans.

After the job’s done, your feet land on your worn shower mat from college, and pad towards your bedroom once more. You catch a towel on your way there, belatedly remembering that Dick Grayson may still be loitering in your bedroom, and you weren’t too keen on the idea of him seeing your private bits. Warily shifting eyes from behind the door, you see no one’s around.

Knock knock.

“Are you done?”

Dick’s voice from the hallway makes you panic, fearful that he may burst in before you’re ready and presentable.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt a woman while she’s getting ready in her boudoir!“ you yell, hoping some rich person’s instinct suddenly clicks in him. You thought rich men were supposed to be gentlemanly. Really, ever since meeting Dick, who is son to the richest man in the state, you’ve learned rich people all must be whiny, clingy, braggers, show-offs, and sometimes, just plain brats. In your hurry, you swipe a panty from your drawer and slip it on past your thighs. Body still damp from the shower, you don’t notice anything.

The rest of your clothes follow, and you choose to sit back down in your desk chair. You turn back to your double monitor set up, ready to become a screen zombie once more when you remember someone’s waiting for you.

Without turning around, you holler, “Come in.”

Without a moment’s pause, Dick reenters, takeout plated for the both of you in each hand. He places one smoothly in front of you with butler-like precision.

“Your meal, madam,” Dick says in a Parisian accent, and you do smile in amusement. His eyes dilate, but you don’t notice.

“Thank you, my fine sir,” you return, a little embarrassed, accent weak, but willing to keep up the bit.

Dick knows not to disturb you too much while you work, so he wanders away as you slip your headphones over your ears once more. But before returning to His Spot on the bed, he quietly treads to your dresser. He sneaks a glance to make sure you’re still occupied. And you are, that blue wash of light painting your skin.

He pulls out the drawer, and– hhhhh.

He heaves with breath involuntarily, although it’s nearly imperceptible. You do make him slip more than he likes, but he’s experienced. He glances once more to make sure you didn’t hear that, and of course you didn’t. You’re still fiddling in Ableton Live.

He shuts the drawer and stalks to His Spot on the bed, and anyone who knows Dick Grayson would see that he is tense. He is stiff.

And how could he not be? You’re wearing the underwear he had cum on. Did you notice? Is this your way of coming onto him? No, you’re too forward to play games… Something he finds both refreshing and a shame, because he loves games. You simply mustn't have noticed. Regardless, the knowledge fills him with such ecstasy and arousal… and longing.

He eyes you discreetly as his skin reddens. He tries to act natural by eating steaming orange chicken, plucking it from his plate with a chopstick. One day, he’ll have you, in body and soul.

Until then, he can entertain himself with this game, however one-sided.

#yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #yandere dick grayson x reader #really enjoyed writing a more mellow reader!#mine

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 8 months ago

Text

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants.

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked…

Wow.

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks.

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol.

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!”

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell.

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge.

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up.

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration.

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird.

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other.

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty.

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless.

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row.

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.”

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day.

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble.

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—"

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt.

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head.

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill.

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.”

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.”

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you.

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out.

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face.

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you.

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job.

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk.

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #sam claflin #the hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

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seungfl0wer · 1 month ago

Text

*𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅*

Pairing: Felix x Reader (fem)

Genre: Smut (Fluffy smut tbh)

Warnings: Felix!Ai Robot, Creampie, unprotected sex, Oral (F), fingering, dirty talk, mentions of recording, nipple play, temperature play, slightly proofread.

Find The Halloween Master List Here

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this, and I’ve been doing a lot better with adding some plot lol. So I hope y’all enjoy.

-🎃

A new shipment of part had came in for you, as the man unloaded the heavy boxes into your garage you noticed a half put together robot. He had one arm barely hanging on, an eye missing, a huge hole in his chest and no legs. Your heart shattered seeing it all torn apart and damaged. “What’s uhm happened to that one?” You said softly as the man put the box that held it in it on the ground. “We don’t know exactly but he did come from the violet district.” The man sad with almost sadness in his voice. You let out a deep breath nodding your head. Nicknamed the Double V for violet violent district. This place was known for criminal activity, robot fighting, drugs and mafia.

It didn’t surprise you now seeing its state coming from there. You thanked the man for the parts and scrap before going back into your place. You looked over at the robot “I wonder if I have anything to fix you?” You said aloud. “I don’t have any projects right now so” you said picking up the mangled robot sitting it at your work station. As the days turned into weeks you were slowly making progress. You didn’t know what you’d do with it when it was put together but you figured you just see what it wanted.

You figured out it was a male robot as you worked on its inners. His attachments were still intact inside, and the rods for his “fluids” were still good. “Ah so you’re a male? I wonder what your name is? Wonder what you actually look like?” The thing with these AI robots is they had their own personality, their own looks and you wouldn’t know what he’d really look like until you got his hardware back working.

About a month of getting him you finally had him all done. His body was good as new, pushing his back button to help turn him on you sighed seeing his face flash. -Uploading memories- flashed across his face. You let out an annoying sigh but occupied yourself waiting for it to fully download. A few hours later you had passed out head laying on your desk beside the robot. You tried your best to stay awake, wanting to see him as soon as he woke. When he came to he looked around then down at you. Although he wasn’t “alive” per se he heard you as you worked on him.

Your pretty voice kept him going as you worked on him giving him hope that he was somewhere safe. When he saw you were sleeping he wrapped his arms around you taking you to your bed laying you down gently making his way to the small chair you had in your room. He sat there and waited, waited for you to wake. To thank you for everything you had done for him. Flickering your eyes awake you stretched your arms up. “I don’t remember coming to bed” you said softly in a groggy voice. “I brought you to bed” a voice said coming from the other side of your room.

You let out a small scream before grabbing the knife from your night stand “who the fuck are you?” You said scared someone had broken in. “S-sorry didn’t mean to scare you, my names Felix. I’m.. the robot you were working on” he said softly. You turned on your light looking over at him. You’ve never seen such a beautiful robot. He has perfectly placed freckles, a velvety voice with an accent, pretty brown eyes and a gorgeous smile. “There’s no way they used you for fighting” the words slipped out before you could think. He chuckled a bit “ah well this pretty face fools a lot of people, I’m actually programmed with a lot of martial arts” he said with a smile.

You just nodded in response still trying to wrap your head around his beauty. “Thank you.” He said softly. “Oh of- of course!” You said looking up at him. “What uhm did you wanna do? You’re more than welcome to stay here with me or go on and live your life” you said. “I can stay here?” He said voice full of shock. You nod “yeah if you want. I have a spare room. Or even if you wanna leave later. I’m just happy I could.. save you” your voice soft almost a whisper at the end.

He smiled once again a small blush creeping across his face “I’m happy you saved me too” he said punctuating the ‘you’ part. As you worked on his for months he felt himself almost falling for you. The little things you did while you were alone like singing or making dumb jokes as you worked. How you never gave up on him and kept saying stuff like “I know you’re gonna be better, you’ll live a happier life I promise.” The words he kept recorded in a file he listened to ever so often.

He’s been living with you for about 3 months now. You really enjoyed having the company plus he helped you a lot on other projects. Helping to fix other robots who had come there for help. How gentle and caring you were to them just made him fall for you even more. One of the nights you were getting ready to have some ‘alone time’ when Felix had stopped you. “Y/n..” he said softly looking at the ground. “You alright lix?” You said worried he was upset or something. “I know what you’re going to do..” he said eyes still at the ground.

You tried to look at his face “wh-what do you mean?” You asked. “You have this routine before masterbating” he said his voice low. Before you could say anything back he continued “am I not good enough? I can make you feel good. Better than that tiny little thing you have. Let me make you feel good?” He asked his eyes now locked on yours. Your mouth was hanging open in shock “Felix” you said in almost a whisper. “Can I?” He said his lips now hovering over yours. You nod but he shakes his head “I need you to say it” he said inches from your face. “Yes” you said and like that his lips were attached to yours.

They felt warm as his tongue made its way into your mouth. He pulled your pants down as he worked his hands up your body teasing your nipples. He quickly got to his knees kissing your thighs before attaching his lips to your cunt. Everything happened so fast but as soon as his mouth started to work on your cunt all thoughts were gone. He sucked on your clit as he pushed to of his fingers into you. He made them nice and warm for you pushing deep into you. It felt weird, good but weird. It was so warm it almost felt like cum as he pumped himself into you.

The noises you were making plus how good you looked made his mind go into overdrive. He started recording, to save in his memory forever. The way your body shuttered under his touch. The moans the slipped past your lips and the way his name sounded coming from you. He was losing himself in you his hands were moving faster as he felt you clenching around him. He sprung his cock out gripping it in his hand as he pumped himself. He let out moans against your pussy making it vibrate. His tongue came up to your clit swirling around it, as he made it vibrate against it.

One thing about Robots is they could do so many things humans couldn’t do. God were you finding it out right now. The vibrations of his tongue mixing with his fingers curling against your walls was bringing you over the edge so fast. “Felix! Fuck I’m- fuck I’m close” you mumbled out gripping onto his long blonde hair as you rode his face chasing your high. Your movements made him moan his hand left his cock so he could play with your nipples. Wanting to pleasure you more than anything. He made his fingers cold like ice as he traced over them. Perking them up the feeling of it drove you over the edge. You came, legs shaking as the closed burring Felix’s face into your cunt. As he lapped up your juices you were a moaning mess. The feeling of him still going making you so overstimulated.

When he pulled away you brought you to your room laying himself down on the bed “use me. I’m here to please you. Please.. fuck please use me” he babbled out. Your eyes finally met his cock, it was so thick average length but so so fucking thick. Your mouth almost drooled at it before you could even think you go down licking the tip of his cock. His hips bucked at the surprise his mouth ajar as he let out the lowest groan. You smiled to yourself before moving to straddle him. You leaned down to kiss him rubbing your soaked pussy against his cock.

The movement made you both moans against each other’s lips. When you felt like he was good and wet you let him slip in slowly. Eyes rolling back as you felt his whole length inside you. “S-so warm” he whimpered. The feeling of him so full inside you made your brain go foggy. You leaned back and with out warning started to ride him. Bouncing your hips up and down taking him all in. His hands went to grip your sides shaking almost at the feeling. “Fuck y/n- please- fuck- yes use me- fucking use me” he moaned out his hands digging into your hips.

His words made your head spin, moving your hips as fast as you can taking him as deep as you could. You let your hands wonder his body, wishing you could leave marks on his skin. Your movements were getting lazy as your legs go tired and your high was quickly approaching again. “Gonna cum?” He asked eyes half open. When you nod he’s wrapping his arms around you pulling you to his chest. His cock moved fast in and out of you, non human fast. As his cock hit your cervix you both let out a moan.

“Lix fuck right there fuck- please don’t stop” you cried out. He nodded as he kept the same pace. “Tell me when you’re gonna cum I wanna cum with you please. Please baby fuck I wanna fill you with everything I got. I love you y/n. I love you so much. My beautiful. My everything.” He babbled. “Do you love me? Please y/n tell me you love me” he looked like he could cry at the pleasure at the thought of you loving him back. “Fuck Lix! I love you fuck I love you so much! You’re all mine yeah? All mine to use like my dirty little toy?” Your words brought something out in him.

His eyes rolled back hips hitting deep with in you harder than the last his hand coming down to play with your clit. “All- yours- yours” he kept repeating that over and over with every thrust. “Cu-cumming!” You choked out pussy swallowing him in as he gave you one more thrust letting himself unload deep inside you. He kissed you passionately holding onto you tight. He brushed some hair from your face as he pulled away looking into your eyes.

“You really mean it?” He said eyes looking over your face. “Of course I do silly, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t” you said with a smile pulling him into another kiss. “Even if I’m.. not human?” He said with a small pout. “Honestly I like you even more knowing you’re not. Humans kinda suck.” You giggled. Making him laugh “not all of them, I got the most perfect one though.” He said rubbing your back. “I love you Lixie” you said softly. “And I love you” he said back.

“Lix?” You said softly. He looked at you tilting his head “yeah?” He said. “How’s about another go?” You said face all red. He chucked “i can go as many rounds as you need baby” and boy were you gonna put that to the test.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Halloween Taglist: @ldysmfrst @kissesmellow21 @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan

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disneyprincemuke · 11 months ago

Text

the other woman * mv1

everything falls into place in your mind when max fails to show up for you at the one event you desperately wanted him to be at

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, jake gyllenhaal type behaviour

notes: hi i know i promised this on xmas eve and then i failed to deliver mY BAD BABY GIRLS! i am trying my best but then again i did get a fever and all but its ok lfg and NO I WILL NOT BE WRITING A PART TWOOOOO

(f1 masterlist)

your eyes watch your front door, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to hold yourself back from crying. there's a sob bubbling from the deepest part of your gut as you glance at the clock one more time.

he's late.

but one can also say that he's simply not coming. did he lie when he told you that he would make sure he showed up for you this time? or did he just simply forget about you again?

your eyes have been staring at that door for the better part of the last hour or so since guests started arriving for the party you'd thrown.

a party you'd thrown, admittedly, just to get his attention. you were never one to make a big deal of your birthday anyway, but he made you think otherwise. because he promised you that he would be here no matter what happened. it's stupider that he was the one that encouraged you to throw a party today.

only for him not to show up?

this is the one time you needed him to so desperately show up for you. but here you are, looking like a fool waiting for somebody who wouldn't come; for somebody who didn't even make you a first choice.

because you know that when if push comes to shove, he would still pick her. max would always pick kelly and penelope over you, no matter how much he tells you that he loves you. no matter how many times you endured him telling you that he no longer wants to be with her.

you know better than to be his little secret. your parents had not raised you to be a potential homewrecker, but are you really being one if he's the one that keeps coming back to you?

you've tried staying away, and you've attempted to cut all sorts of contact with him, but he eventually crawls right back to you a couple of weeks later claiming that he will break up with kelly soon.

you've even bought a new dress for the occasion; in max's favourite colour and a cut that you knew he would say you look amazing in.

only for him to bail on you. you'd even taken the effort to sit for an hour to do your makeup and hair. for nothing, essentially.

fast forward a couple of hours of holding back tears and forcing smiles, you're hunched over the couch, picking up empty beer cans and tears streaming down your face. at the end of the day, you're left alone in your apartment with a heavy heart and the eerie silence the room can only offer you.

you watch the last car from your guests drive away. you sigh and throw yourself on the couch, finally letting the tears fall from your eyes. you had no idea it was so difficult to pretend like you're okay until today.

it's totally different when it's got something to do with the heart, it seems. you were totally banking on the fact that he would be here today, at least today. just today. because it's your birthday.

it's your day.

a knock on the door sits you right up, hands darting up to wipe the tears that smudged your makeup. "give me a second!"

"it's just me."

the anger suddenly hits you. so he is available to travel out to come and see you. just not a couple of hours prior when everybody else was here? just not at the time when you actually wanted him to be here?

you stomp your way over to the door and swing the door open and a string of apologies quickly spill from his mouth. you immediately notice the wrapped present in his hand and the bouquet of flowers.

"i'm sorry, i got held up at home," max apologises with a frown. "p had a fever and she wouldn't go to bed unless i tucked her in. i'm sorry, i know i'm late."

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "you're not just late," you scowl, "you missed the party entirely, max."

"oh," he slumps his shoulders, "i was wondering why it was so quiet when i was walking up."

you shake your head and walk further into your apartment. "max, just go home. you don't have a reason to be here."

"what do you mean? it's your birthday," he says gently, following you in. he closes the door behind him and follows you into your living room. "is there still cake? maybe you can blow the candles with me before the day ends? i even got you a present."

"no, i let people take home pieces of the cake," you say softly, returning to your agenda of cleaning your home from the traces of the party your friends left. "what am i going to do with cake that i don't even eat?"

"you bought chocolate cake on your birthday? you don't even like chocolate," he points out softly. "nevermind that, i got you a present!"

"i don't give a fuck about your stupid present, max!" you burst, standing up and turning to finally face him. "i didn't ask for a fucking present! i asked you for one thing and you couldn't even do that!"

he stares at you, dumbfounded with his lips parted in shock at your outburst. you're not typically one to have outbursts, which is the one thing he claims he finds very refreshing about you. you're calm and collected most of the time, and you assess the situation before picking fights. "p was sick. what did you want me to do?"

"you're telling me you're a sole parent to this little girl?" you ask. "kelly couldn't have tucked her in so you could show up to the party that you asked me to throw? on my birthday? max, you had one job and it was to show up for me tonight! i waited for you all night!"

he seems to have lost all ability to speak because he just pulls out a chair from your dining table and takes a seat. "i'm sorry. you're right, i should have been here."

"seriously, max! are you actually ever going to leave them or do you just lie straight through your teeth whenever you tell me that?" she scolds him, throwing her arms in the air. "i'm not stupid, max! this has gone on long enough!"

"i am, and i will!" he answers you, running his hands through his hair. "i just need more time. there's a child involved, i really hope you understand. i can't just leave."

"you say that every single time! it's been seven months!" you cry. "you've made me the other woman for seven long months! am i supposed to just sit here and take that? just because i love you?"

"i do love you! but it's complicated, okay? i can't just leave p like this!"

you clench your jaw. how many times have you heard that excuse in the past year? and how many more times will you be fooled by the sweetness in his voice and his glistening blue eyes? "max, i think you should go. lose my number, and forget that i ever existed. i can't do this anymore."

his head snaps up to you. he quickly walks over to you, throwing his arms around you from behind. "wait, don't say that. please, i promise. i'll leave in the next month. don't leave me. i really don't love her anymore."

"i'm so tired of the lies, max," you sigh, desperately tearing his arms away from your body. you take a step back and turn to him. "you will always choose them over me. it doesn't matter how much you love me, max. you're too attached to them to leave."

"listen to me, okay? i will leave them. and then we can be happy together like we talked about all those nights we spent together," max coos, putting his hands on your shoulder. he bends down slightly to look into your eyes. "please, just give me one last chance - more time. i just need time. i will let p down easily and i'll leave kelly. please."

"i don't know how many more times you think you can fool me with that lie, max!" you frown, shoving him back. "just leave! leave me alone! i refuse to let you make me look like an idiot! i'm better than this."

"i thought you said you understood my predicament. with p in the picture..."

"yeah, for seven long months. do you know how many days that is? how many hours i'd spend with you wondering when you'd finally take me off the backseat and make me your own officially?" you throw your head back and a dry laugh passes your lips. "max, just leave. don't call me again."

"you don't really mean that."

"i do this time," you say firmly, turning around to face him.

you circle around him and walk over to your front door, pulling it open and gesturing towards the hallway. "i'm done. take your flowers and your stupid present and leave."

he does what you say, hesitantly. he keeps his eyes on you, hoping that you will immediately change your mind. he travelled this far to get to you, hoping that you would somehow forgive him for missing your birthday party.

but you're right, now that he's had a couple of seconds to think about it. in the past seven months, he's told you that he'd up and leave kelly and penelope so he can finally be with you openly. it's much harder to keep you in the shadows when everyone's got eyes on him all the time.

perhaps it's the attachment to penelope that he can't get himself to pack his things and call it a day. he genuinely does love that kid. and his girlfriend has her good days - not all make him want to pull at his hair in frustration anymore.

but he also really does love you. if there hadn't been a loveable child in the picture, one that's grown very attached to him, he would have been able to walk away months ago. it could've been that easy.

"just hear me out," max says, stopping right by the door and giving you one last pleading look. "don't leave. not like this. we haven't even had a real fighting chance."

"that's because of you. not me," you answer dryly, looking up at him. "just go. i can't keep having this conversation with you."

"please."

"i gave you too many chances to make this right," you sigh, putting a gentle hand on his back to guide him out the door. you press your lips together as a lump forms in your throat. you're more shocked that you hadn't fully started bawling moments ago. "i should have done this a long time ago."

"i'm sorry."

"i'm sure you are. too little too late." then you close the door on him and whatever could have been with max.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1

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physalian · 5 months ago

Text

On Writing Characters with Hyper-Specific Triggers (and a PSA)

*Trigger warning for this whole post

Once upon a time, I had a roommate. Nothing looked wrong from the outside and this narcissist probably thought nothing was wrong on the inside, but there was. I knew moving in with them was a mistake, but financial circumstances demanded I shut up and try to make the most of it. Enter the longest thirteen months of aPTSD-inducing psychological stalemate I hope to never repeat again. Seven of which were on overdrive.

The why doesn’t matter. The how doesn’t matter. What matters is that this roommate was so toxic, there was no point in attempting to talk things out because any little thing could be a land mine for starting an argument and it didn’t matter what casualties got caught in the crossfire, so long as this person “won”. Casualties including our friendship. So if any little thing, anything at all, could be a land mind, what do you do if not try to completely avoid them? For seven months.

This person’s work schedule was incredibly erratic, but they were gone more hours than not, and when they were home, they were usually asleep. In those few overlapping hours where we were both awake, I could not leave my room for fear of said verbal land mines. If I wanted to cook, leave the apartment, get anything from the living room or my desk that I had to abandon, get more water from the fridge, I had to do it before they got home, or after they went to bed, and I could never predict when they’d be home.

Luckily (or unluckily), my room faced the parking lot, and this roommate drove a car that made a very specific sound. From the moment I heard that car from my room, I had about 20 seconds to shut down whatever I was doing in the apartment, retreat to my room, and lock the door. Overreacting? Potentially, I wasn’t in any physical danger, but this was seven months of near complete isolation from any other friends, and the fear of making it worse kept me silent.

So, 20 seconds from the moment I hear the telltale whine of that engine. If I couldn’t hear the car, our front door had a lock that chimes and I had about 7 seconds from the first chime to the door opening to get the fuck out of the way. I lost weight that I couldn’t afford to lose from being unable to cook past a certain time in the evening and staying locked in my room on their days off.

Seven months of only having a door chime and an engine to tell me when it was safe and when I had to run.

—

These chime locks are the new normal and one year removed from that apartment, every time I hear it and I’m already stressed, it’s a trigger.

Every time I’m on the highway and I see a dark grey sedan of that make, that is the most important car on the road until I make sure it’s not their car.

Every time I see a dark grey sedan parked in reverse, as they habitually did, that is the most important car in the parking lot until I make sure it’s not theirs.

Every time I have to drive near a certain location where they work, I am watching for that car.

I could pick it out from 200 others. I know the license plate, I know the license plate frame, I know what sticks to the windshield, I know what hangs from the rearview mirror. I would know that car rusted and crushed in an impound lot.

So. Today I drive home and I pass a rear-parked car one turn before my unit, and I think to myself, “that’s not X’s car, but I noticed it, I’m never not going to notice it.” It wasn’t the same make, model, or color, it was just a sedan with its nose sticking out and that was enough.

Then I turn the corner. And there it is. My ex-roommate’s car.

I shit you not it was like I had a warning from the Universe before it hit.

I don’t need to check the windshield, I know it’s theirs. I’ve seen it in my complex once before. The last time I did, I’d parked my own car and waited, got out, and hid between two others in the dark, waiting for this person to leave.

Today, in broad daylight, that car is empty. They happened to arrive while I was gone for 30 minutes. So I park, and I wait. I watch that car from my side mirror. I scan the sidewalk for them and I don’t see anything. I have frozens that can’t wait.

I’m thinking to myself, of all the parking spots in all the parking lots, of all the apartments in this godforsaken town, you parked right behind my spot.

Nothing happened, and even if we crossed paths, nothing probably would have happened (that’s how they worked, pretending nothing was ever wrong and that I was the crazy one). But I still waited, and when I decided to leave, I moved as fast as possible without drawing attention. One whole year removed from that person.

—

It doesn’t take physical abuse, or yelling and screaming and death threats. It doesn’t need to be a parent or a sibling, a relative, or a romantic partner. This person never touched me, never screamed (though they did yell on occasion), never actually threatened anything. They never called me names, were never direct with any of their insults, were never explicitly petty. I had no proof. Ever.

I just had example after example of every time they cut me down to feel smart, picked on me to feel better about themselves and project their own insecurities and jealousy, or used me as their emotional punching bag because of choices they made.

So a year after completely cutting them out, there’s that fucking car parked outside my apartment.

Media portrays “triggers” usually only in characters who are veterans. Noises that sound like gunshots, or thunder, fireworks, because that’s what we think of when we see PTSD—people who fought in wars.

It’s not like I sit around fixating on that car or that door chime (and actually with exposure to that chime every day with no consequences it’s gotten better), but that’s the point. They come out of nowhere when you least expect it. They don’t prepare you for their arrival, they just happen.

I didn’t have anything close to a panic attack, but nothing in the universe was more important in that moment than making sure I didn’t run into this person, until I calmed down.

Trigger attacks don’t have to be this big flashy thing, born of big flashy movements. It can be something as subdued as going quiet, staring at the thing, and your brain dumping everything else except all the potential outcomes of not escaping this situation immediately. It’s just a car. It’s not like an evil Big Dick truck with smokestacks and truck nuts and a MAGA flag on the back. It’s just a nerdy sedan that could belong to anyone.

—

So. PSA.

What you think might be an overreaction by someone you care about, they probably think is an overreaction, too. Did I want to have fate shit on my day and spend extra minutes under the hot sun when I have chores to do? No. But it happened.

What you think a trigger is supposed to look like or what the symptoms are supposed to be are not just what’s dramatic and flashy for the TV. Here I am writing a whole blog post about it instead of just moving on and I can't go back and check for typos because I don't want to have to reread it.

Do you want to die on a hill of “get over it” when someone you care about would love nothing more? Just. Be there for them.

And to writers, artists, anyone—it doesn’t have to be dramatic to be the most upsetting part of someone’s day. Including such simple things as a door chime, or the sound of an engine, really helps with visibility so people like me don’t think “I’m not allowed to feel this way, I didn’t actually suffer like a shell-shocked veteran”.

Most of us never will. That doesn’t make any of our hardships any less valid. Please be kind.

#writing #writing advice #writing resources #writeblr #writing tips #triggers #trauma #ptsd #writing trauma #long post

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

Note

Hey love I absolutely love your fics 🥰 I was wondering if you could write a dark toxic romance for Lando or Charles or even Logan where she’s the girl next door??? I love you keep it up ❤️

Crazy For You || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, gaslighting, dub/con, dark themes WC: 4k Part one || part two || part three || part four

It had been two months since you moved into your apartment in Monaco and you still hadn’t managed to introduce yourself to your neighbour. He kept strange hours and seemed to be away more than he was there. From what you had glimpsed, you had been delighted to see he was probably around your age and quite handsome in an innocent way. Mr Riley on the other hand was a stoic old man who only spoke to you when your cat climbed over the balcony and into his space.

Known for its year-round beauty and calm climate, Monaco had welcomed you with a comfortable breeze and enough sun to warrant leaving the house without a jacket, even at dusk on a winter's night. If you had checked the weather reports you would have seen that a storm was quickly blowing in from the coast - arriving by the time you had finished having a few cocktails with your new friends.

Christmas lights twinkled around the shop fronts as you exited the bar and nutcrackers stood proud in doorways. You always loved Christmas and seeing the smiles it put on children’s faces but there were no children out this late.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” Luke asked as he twirled his keys around his finger. “It’s about to start raining.”

“She’s good,” someone answered for you and you looked over to see your elusive neighbour at your side, his hand coming to rest in the small of your back. “I can take her home.”

“You didn’t tell us Lando was picking you up.”

Your mouth was dry and you didn’t know what to say as the liquor, or his presence, left you confused. Lando, you stored that piece of information away and tried to figure out why it sounded so familiar.

“I was just out doing some Christmas shopping and about to head home,” he said with a smile. “Ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled as you let him guide you away from your friends.

“Are you sure?” Luke asked with a frown. “You don’t look comfortable. Do you even know him?”

“Kind of, I’m just surprised,” you assured him. “Lando is my neighbour.”

“Okay, well, text me when you get home.”

You gave Luke a nod and waved to the others before going your separate ways.

“Are you cold?” Lando asked, already slipping his arms out of the jacket he wore over a dark hoodie.

The alcohol had made you numb to the temperature but you let him drape it over your shoulders anyway, wrapping you in the decadent scent that came along with it.

“Thanks.”

“Any time, it’s what neighbours do.”

“I don’t think Mr Riley would,” you teased.

“The grumpy old guy in 4C? We just call him Carl, like the movie Up.”

You smiled awkwardly and toyed with the zip on the jacked. “I’ve never seen it.”

“What?” He pulled you to a stop and grabbed your shoulders with a serious look on his face. “This just won’t do. I cannot be seen with someone who hasn’t watched Up!”

“Oh,” you mumbled as you started to take off his jacket and hand it back.

“What are you doing, you muppet?” He grabbed the jacket and put it back on your shoulders before opening the door to a very expensive looking car.

“I thought you meant…”

“It’s fine, I have tinted windows,” he teased. “As soon as we get home though, we’re watching the movie.”

Lando followed you inside without an invitation but you could hardly turn him away with his boyish smile and mop of curly hair that sprung out of his hoodie when he pushed it back. “This makes sense,” he chuckled as he stuck his head in the bedroom, pointing to the wall that your bed was pushed against. “Our apartments are mirrored. I thought I woke up to a voice a few times. Do you watch Friends?”

Your head tilted at the odd question. “Why do you ask?”

“You sing ‘smelly cat’ a lot.”

Mortification hit you and you felt your face burn as you turned to the culprit walking through your house with a loud purr. “That’s Eddie. Do you have any pets?”

“No, I’m always travelling for work and I’m not very good at looking after myself let alone another living thing. Do you actually know how to use those things?”

You looked at the kitchen where he was pointing to the appliances. You had planned to make some Christmas cookies over the weekend and had the stand mixer ready on the benchtop. You thought he was joking but he was genuinely intrigued by the inquisitive look of wonder on his face. “Cooking relaxes me,” you said with a shrug. “You probably have plans already but if you want to come over and-”

“Absolutely, say no more, I’m in.” He crossed the living room and dropped into the middle cushion of the three seater sofa and patted the space beside him with one hand, the other reaching for the remote. “You do have Disney+, right?”

“You really do like to make yourself comfortable, don’t you,” you joked as you took a seat beside him.

“I’ve been told I can be a bit much,” he said with a small frown, placing the remote down. “Should I go?”

“No, no, I appreciate the company,” you said as you caught his arm to stop him from going. “Being alone in a new country is a little isolating, it’s nice having someone here.”

He settled back into the seat and sent you a grin as he searched for the movie. “Anytime you need someone to talk to, you can just knock three times.”

The weeks before Christmas were a madhouse. Work kept you busy as well as the many requests to go home for the holidays, but it just wasn’t going to be feasible to take leave so soon after starting. You knew your parents were going to be disappointed but you promised them you weren’t going to be alone for Christmas.

You had eventually found out why Lando’s name was so familiar when Luke explained who he was and why he was away so often. But since the race season was over he had plenty of time to spend at home, yours and his.

Just like every other evening, you knocked three times on the living room wall knowing Lando would be able to hear it despite the special Christmas Eve stream he was on. It was the last one of the year and he wished everyone a Merry Christmas before the live feed of him playing Counter Strike came to an end.

“Ouch, Eddie, fuck,” Lando swore a few minutes later as he knocked at your door. “Stop it.”

You opened the door to the frequent occurrence and took the hissing Eddie from his outstretched arms before he could get clawed again. Your ginger cat seemed to hate Lando for some reason, or maybe it was because he was always bringing the escapee back home to you.

“I think you should just move in with me,” Lando joked as he followed the mouthwatering scent into your kitchen. He came to your house for dinner most nights after finding Eddie on his balcony and usually stayed for a movie. That routine had changed slightly when the movie he chose one night was Friends With Benefits. There had been a moment after a sex scene when you both looked across at each other and the idea had passed between your eyes.

He cleared his throat and you realised you had been staring at him for too long. “Eddie likes my place better.”

It clicked, he wasn’t actually asking you to move in with him. But for a moment you had considered it.

“Right, Eddie,” you laughed at your idiocracy. “I really don’t know how he keeps getting out. I must be going crazy because I’m sure I locked the window this morning.”

You both looked at the window that opened onto the balcony, the skies dark with another storm. “Maybe your cat is a genius and learned how to open it?”

You rolled your eyes but managed a laugh at his attempt to make you feel better while you readied two plates and took them to the table where he sat. “Maybe I should change his name to Houdini.”

“Better than Ed the Ginger.” Lando grinned as he pulled you onto his lap and scooped up a dollop of creamy mash potato with his forefinger, holding it up to your mouth. You sealed your lips around his finger and swirled your tongue around the tip, watching the blue of his eyes be swallowed by his pupils. “Naughty girl, you’ll be getting coal this year.”

Your head fell back with a laugh.“Who are you? Santa Claus?”

“Well, you are sitting on my lap, aren’t you?” He winked and his tongue rolled across his bottom lip. “Wanna see my North Pole?”

“Oh my god, eat your dinner,” you giggled. “We still have to watch A Christmas Carol and Nightmare Before Christmas!”

You had both written a list of all the Christmas movies you wanted to watch and they were the last two left. It was just in time as midnight was going to come all too soon and you wanted to be tucked up warm in bed when the storm hit.

A loud crash had you jolting awake and you blindly reached across the bed in search of Lando to find it empty. Panic gripped you as you wondered if you were being broken into and a scream almost erupted when your light flipped on and Lando rushed in soaking wet.

“Holy shit, you’ll never believe what just happened!”

You stumbled into the living room where Lando threw an arm out to save you from stepping on the glass that covered the floor. The doors that opened out onto your balcony had been completely shattered during the storm and you shivered as the cold wind and rain blew straight into your home. A huge puddle was quickly spreading across the carpet and it was making its way to the Christmas tree in the far corner while you were still in shock.

“The presents!”

Lando twisted away from the pot plant that had been on your balcony wall, now it lay on the floor with the dirt turning to mud. Seeing the urge you had to cut across the glass, he shook his head and pointed to the kitchen where you would remain safe. “I’ll get them.”

Lando carefully navigated his way to the tree, turning off the power to the glittering lights, and bundled the gifts up before hopping his way back with a wince. The wrapping paper on some of the presents were splattered with rain drops but most seemed in perfect condition when he placed them on the kitchen bench.

“You’re bleeding,” you gasped as he balanced on one foot and you wrapped an arm around his waist to help him. “There’s a first aid kit in my bathroom. Can you make it there?”

He nodded and limped with your help away from the mess. “I think you should come and stay at my place until the doors can be fixed.”

“Are you sure?” you asked as you carefully used a pair of tweezers to pull out the small sliver of glass in his foot. “I can just get a hotel.”

“Ouch,” he groaned as it came free and blood welled at the site. “Not on Christmas Day, everywhere will be fully booked. I really don’t mind. It would save you from having to pack a bag.”

“If you’re sure…”

He smiled at the silly Spider-Man bandaid you placed over the wound before running the back of his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I am.”

You shivered at his cold touch and remembered how wet he was when you woke up. “What were you doing up anyway?”

He bit his lip and looked away sheepishly. “I was putting a present under the tree when a flower pot blew through the door.”

“Oh, wow, that wind must be insane. I hope all the boats are safe out there,” you mused, knowing some people lived on the mariner. “Wait, you got me another present? Lando, there’s already too many.”

“I wanted to spoil you,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “You have single handedly kept me fed for weeks. You may have put a few restaurants out of business too.”

“You weren’t that bad were you?”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. After testing his foot he took your hand and led you back to the presents to find a thin box that hadn’t been under the tree when you went to bed. “It’s after midnight, you know, you could open it.”

You took the box, surprised by the weight it had, and untied the pretty bow on top. The delicate silver writing drew a gasp and you looked at Lando with wide eyes. “Tiffany? I can’t open this, it’s too much.”

“Go on,” he urged as he placed your hand on top of the lid and gave it a squeeze. “Please, for me.”

Your fingers slipped twice as you tried to open the hinge and Lando’s hand enveloped yours, lifting it open to reveal the beautiful necklace within. The teardrop gemstone was the same shade as his eyes and it hung from a white gold chain that was polished to shine impossibly bright, even in the dim light.

“Lando, it’s beautiful,” you whispered in awe as he lifted it up and stepped behind you to drape it around your neck. The weight of the stone settled in the centre of your chest and you turned to face him with a sincere, “Thank you.”

“So..?” He bit his lip as he showed you the empty box, a question written in the silk lining. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

It wasn’t until the week after New Years that a glazier would be able to fix your doors. The holidays had left a backlog of people needing repairs but supply chains had been delayed too. Once the doors were finally fixed you realised the carpet was beyond repair and that took another week to have done.

It was strange to go back home after nearly three weeks of living in Lando’s apartment. It was too quiet.

“Babe, have you seen my hairbrush?” You had looked through the bathroom drawers he had cleared out for you to use but there was nothing left. You went back to your apartment and did another search but it wasn’t there either. It wasn’t the first thing you had lost going back and forth and you were beginning to worry.

“I’m sure it will turn up somewhere, love,” Lando said as he paused his game and turned to his friend in the simulator behind him. “Max probably used it.”

“Did not,” his friend replied with an indignant splutter. “Didn’t I see you singing into a hairbrush?”

“You’ve been experimenting with drugs again,” Lando snorted. With a resigned sigh, you decided your hair was decent enough to get away with at work and Lando tipped his head back so you could give him a kiss goodbye. “I’ll order dinner tonight. Chinese?”

“Sounds good,” you said as you gave Max a wave on the way to the door. “Try not to let him sit there all day, you know how his back gets.”

“Yes, yes, Lando has an old man’s back. I’ll make sure he moves his ass at some point,” Max joked. “Have fun at work.”

You screwed up your face at the sarcasm and their laughs followed you out of the apartment. You weren’t sure they had actually moved all day as they were still in the same spots when you got home. You had crossed paths with the delivery man in the lobby and your arms were laden with the takeaway Lando had ordered.

“How many spring rolls did you order?” you murmured as you kept unpacking more and more of the small styrofoam boxes with the treat.

“He’s going for a record,” Max said with a roll of his eyes. Ten minutes later Lando groaned, holding his stomach tightly. “I told you to stop.”

You had quickly showered and changed into some comfortable clothes and found most of the boxes empty when you joined them at the table. “How many has he had?”

“18, and he’s got no chance,” Max bet, reaching over to steal a spring roll for himself and swiping it through the sweet chilli sauce. “You’ll thank me later. Ah, fuck.” Max looked down at the red blotch on his white Quadrant shirt before sauntering off down the hall. “Mate, do you have any more stain remover? This one’s empty.”

“Yeah, under the sink there should be another bottle,” Lando yelled back, dropping his fork onto his plate in defeat. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Why the hell do you have cat food?” Max appeared in the living room with the same brand of pet food you bought for your cat.

“That’s not mine, obviously.”

You looked at Lando, who was rubbing his full stomach and as reclined back as much as the chair would allow. “It’s not mine.”

“You brought it over during the storm, remember?”

“No I didn’t.” You hadn’t wanted to disrupt Eddie’s routine and fed him at home each morning before work.

“Yes, you did.” He laughed as he tapped your temple gently. “You have a terrible memory, love. You can’t even remember where you left your hairbrush.”

You didn’t have an argument for that, since you still hadn’t found it. You were sure you hadn’t brought any cat food over, but maybe he was right. You did seem to be a little confused lately.

“I think I need an early night,” you admitted as you cleaned up the dishes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?” Lando asked with a pout as he joined you at the sink, wrapping his arms around your waist and peppered your neck with soft kisses. “Who am I going to cuddle with?”

“I’m sure Max wouldn’t mind a snuggle,” you teased him as you turned in his arms. “I have an early start tomorrow but I can stay tomorrow night.”

He groaned at the thought of sleeping alone and held you tighter so he could have you in his arms a little longer. “Fine,” he huffed, relinquishing his hold on you and filling the kettle. “I’ll make you a chamomile tea so you sleep better.”

You smiled at his sweetness and savoured a few more minutes of kisses before the water boiled and he scooped out a few spoons of some boutique tea leaf mix he swore was the best sleep tea money could buy. Given how rich he was, you believed him.

Placing the hot mug in your hand, he bit his swollen lip and nodded to the front door. “Go before I tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

“You wouldn’t,” you laughed, rolling your eyes as he winked. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, love, sweet dreams.”

Something disturbed your sleep and you rubbed your eyes as you woke up well before your alarm. You reached for the lamp beside your bed and accidently knocked into the cup of tea you hadn’t finished before falling asleep, the cold liquid sloshing over the side before you caught it and froze.

Your bedroom door creaked open but it was too dark to see who it was. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to think of what to do before the shadow reached the edge of your bed. Your throat was so clogged with fear you couldn’t even scream, your hands trembled and closed them into fists before banging on the wall behind you, begging Lando would wake up at the sound.

Bang, bang, bang.

The figure lunged onto the bed, pinning you down with their weight and slamming your fists into the mattress. “Shh, love, it’s me.”

You relaxed as Lando’s voice soothed you, but the fear soon crept back up your spine with an icy shiver. “How did you get in here?”

“You forgot to lock your door,” he whispered as your wrists began to ache from the hold he had. “I was coming to check in on you.”

“No, I didn’t,” you said as you tried to shake him off. “I know I locked it. I know…I…I’m not crazy. Get off me, get off me right now.”

“You were meant to be asleep, love,” he groaned as his hands tightened to the point a pained cry escaped your gritted teeth.

“Why are you doing this?” you whimpered as he kissed your neck, but you couldn’t feel anything but repulsion.

“You should have just moved in with me, we are meant to be together.”

“You’re crazy,” you spat as you tried to buck your hips and throw him off but he was too strong. “Help! Somebody, help!”

His hand clamped over your mouth and you bit him as hard as you could before kicking and climbing away.

“I’m not the crazy one, that’s you, love,” he laughed. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re sick, but I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“You are fucking insane!”

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m trying to help you, remember?”

You froze in the doorway as you saw a cutout of your key on the kitchen bench, along with your hairbrush, phone, a negligee and dressing gown. All things you had been convinced you had lost in the last few weeks.

“Why are you doing this?” you repeated as you backed away from your boyfriend. He was someone you had trusted, someone you thought had fit perfectly into your new life - but he had been messing with you this whole time. Max and the cat food came to mind. “Eddie…he used to go to Mr Riley’s house.”

“Couldn’t have that,” Lando tutted with a shake of his head as he took a step closer, “not when he was going to help me get close to you.”

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer to me!”

“Baby, don’t be like that, let’s just go back to bed. You’re under a lot of stress, let me make you a chamomile tea.”

You swiped your phone up as you bolted but he was quicker and blocked the front door, holding his hand out. “Give that to me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do,” you hissed as you started to dial the emergency number.

“It’s you they will take away,” he said with a blase shrug that made you pause. “Everyone knows how unstable you have become.”

“Me?” you shrieked.

“You’re barely holding it together now. They aren’t going to believe anything you say.” He opened his arms as if to say, I’m famous and you are no one. Unfortunately, he was right. “Come on, love, let’s go back to bed.”

He took the phone from your limp hand and locked it before slipping it into his pocket. You were so confused that you had no idea what to do when he guided you back to the bed, turning the sheets down before tucking you in gently. “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed your forehead and handed you the cold mug. “Drink up, baby, this is all just a bad dream.”

Click here for the next morning.

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