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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 3 months ago

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say you miss me | kylian mbappé

🥂 synopsis: you haven’t seen kylian mbappé in 10 years, but when he calls asking for a favor, everything changes. kylian, now a successful football star, is organizing a charity dinner and believes you're the perfect person to help him. warnings: a little angsty, a little fluffly. (around 3.5k words)

PART I

Théo raised chickens. That was the thing that made you interested in him, actually. The first time you met him was when your friend took you to his house for a random dinner party. In your first conversation together he told you about the chickens and how he ate fresh eggs every day.

He lived in a townhouse in the middle of Paris that somehow had a garden big enough for him to raise some chickens. Perks of being a rockstar, if you were to guess.

At the time you thought you wanted that more than anything – eating fresh eggs every morning with him. You kept thinking that for the following couple of years and until twenty seconds ago, when he got down on his knees in the middle of that same garden, with both of your families surrounding you.

Théo kneels before you and it’s so hard to understand what he’s saying. Your brain is simply refusing to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. You’re hearing but you’re not really listening, it’s confusing. You start to hyperventilate because you’re seen it before – in the movies, but still, you know what he’s doing.

And then he says it, like he’s casting a curse on you.

“Will you marry me?”

“No…” Comes out so softly that you’re not sure you even said it. So you repeat it, “no, no…”

You’re being firm now. Your eyebrows are furrowed and you’re squinting your eyes trying to understand where the hell did he get this idea from. You never talked about marriage and then he decides to do this in front of your family?

“What?” Théo looks confused. Why is he confused?

“No!” You forget any other words you might have to say to him and just keep repeating: no, no, no…

Until you’re out of the door, on the street. It’s a warm Parisian spring evening, but it's difficult to appreciate the weather right now. Your cousin has her arms around your shoulder and it sounds like she’s giving you advice but you tell her you’re getting a car and going home. Your uncle insists on driving you but you finally manage to get your phone out of your purse and it’s ready to open a ride app.

That’s when you get a notification.

Kylian Mbappé has sent you a message.

You don’t know where he got your phone number – you haven't changed it in ten years, is it possible that he just remembers it? You feel your stomach getting sick but you still open the message because it doesn't make any sense doing anything else.

It’s an audio message, forty seconds. Forty seconds of him talking to you for the first time in ten years. You put your phone in your ear and bite your nails while you listen, paying attention to his words, with your cousin still holding onto you.

“Hi…” There’s a half-second pause. “Hey, I know it’s been a while…” Another brief pause. “I’m throwing this dinner party. Uhh… A fundraiser event. It’s a farewell party, in a way.” He giggles, you still remember his laughter. “I wanted it to be meaningful, tastefull.” You hear him taking a deep breath. “And I think you can help me with that. Uhh… I would love to meet up. If you can, when you can… Anyway, that’s it.”

Immediately after, he sends a text that you read right away:

sorry, i was trying to make the phone write it for me these things never work, right? i was going to send an email anyway how are you?

PART II

I've been sleepin' alone, out on my own I'm sure it seems like I'm takin' my time to get back to you You been doin' your part, working real hard I'm not lying, sure it seems like I'm trying to get back at you

He asks you to meet him at a restaurant for brunch, he’s there with his publicist and a couple of friends. The place is in the fancy neighborhood you never go to. In the venn diagram that is both of your lifes, this is the circle you avoid overlapping.

It’s not like you’re not used to hanging out with the rich and famous, but they’re usually all pretentious artists who think they’re underground / alternative / progressive but are actually nepo babies wasting their families fortune on what should have stayed as a hobby. No shame on your ex, of course.

Kylian looks amazing, and you hold your tongue not to cuss under your breath. You try to focus on your breathing but as he shakes your hand, it’s his perfume that invades your mind. He starts doing the whole ‘meeting an old friend and being polite about it’ routine, and it almost makes you walk out.

“It’s just funny that we’re meeting when you’re about to leave.” You say, for a lack of better words.

It’s difficult to hold a conversation at first, you find it difficult to even make eye contact with him. The restaurant is a bit crowded and the noise around you is helping you calm down, sometimes focusing on another's table conversation.

Kylian was never your boyfriend. You two never really dated. He was your first kiss and the first guy that saw you without your bra on, but it was never an official relationship. Even if your last conversation felt like a break up and even if it feels like you are sitting in front of your ex, you're not. Because he was never your boyfriend.

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.” He says with a big smile. Kylian looks genuinely happy. It’s almost contagious, but you try not to show it, feeling inappropriate. “Paris will always be my home.” He pauses then, searching for the right words. “But I have this feeling… That I need a proper goodbye before moving on.” And then faster than a blink, he corrects himself. “Not a goodbye, more like a ‘thank you and see you soon’.” Now he looks embarrassed, eyebrows furrowed, he’s trying to be honest with you, this person he hasn't seen in forever, trying to express his feelings. “With the club there was a goodbye, you know. We won a final title together…” He looks at his friend for courage and they all nod at him, so he continues. “I want something like that with the city. Because it’s the city I’ll miss the most. I think it’s about the feeling of leaving a place better than I found it.”

It’s strange seeing him pouring out his emotions like that, being trusted with so much information after so long, but at the same time it feels like no time has passed and it is only natural for him to share all that. Smiling brightly again, he asks:

“I heard you did something like that for Di Caprio, so why not me?”

You laugh loudly at that. The thing is, you work as an event planner at this really small company for the last 3-4 years, you also spend a lot of your time doing charity work in the neighborhood you grew up in. And because of your ex you got to meet all kinds of progressive / pretentious a-list artists. Including a certain Hollywood actor who hired you to organize his annual charity event. Now, how did Kylian find out about it? You had no idea. You took great pride in being a private person.

“So you want a Leo Di Caprio kind of party?” You ask, still chuckling. Kylian shakes his head and now with the help of his publicist and close friends, they all begin to explain to you what they were thinking. Is easy to understand and you think you already knew what he wanted the minute he contacted you. He doesn't want anything luxurious or it’ll look tacky and disrespectful, but nothing too simple or it’ll seem careless.

You nod throughout their explanation, knowing all you can do is hope that you’re really the right person for the job.

PART III

Do you miss me too? Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too (Ooh, ooh, ooh) Do you miss me too? Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too

He doesn't have to be here. But he shows up for the meetings anyway, and he has an opinion on every little thing being discussed. It will be a celebration of young athletic talent in Paris and there’s a few partnerships involving organizations that help those young athletes and invest in sports.

As it’s all being explained, you desperately try to slip your professional persona into place. His publicist is a polished woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a sleek black dress. She’s going over the logistics, but you’re barely listening. Instead, you’re watching Kylian as he nods along, occasionally interjecting with his ideas. He seems almost boyish in his excitement, and it’s hard to reconcile this version of him with the memory you have.

In your memory he’s still a teenage boy, in your memory he never really grew up.

“Alright.” You say, pulling out your phone to start making notes. “We’ll need to narrow down the locations, figure out the logistics, and–”

“Dinner.” Kylian interrupts, and you look up, confused.

“What?”

“Let’s go over the details tonight, over dinner.” He says, flashing you that smile – the one that always made you weak in the knees. “Just us. It’ll be like old times.”

You hesitate. He is half-joking because the two of you never had dinner together, ‘old times’ was just two kids hanging out after school and in between his football practice sessions. But then you see the way he’s looking at you, hopeful and a little vulnerable, and you find yourself nodding.

“Dinner it is.” You say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

He takes you to his favorite place where he knows all the people and shows off about understanding the menu. The food is actually so great that for a while there’s a comfortable silence at the table, the two of you focused on eating to the sound of silverware clinking. It’s Kylian that breaks the silence, almost wishing he hasn’t.

“You know, I was surprised you answered me.”

You look up. “Really?”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask him, genuinely puzzled. “We may not have talked in a while, but that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. Besides, this is important to you. How could I say no?”

He looks down at his plate, fiddling with his fork. “I guess I just didn’t know where we stood. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

You shake your head, a feeling of embarrassment creeping over you. You didn’t expect him to address the past so bluntly, so you try to play it cool.

“We were kids. I’m not holding grudges for something that happened when we were fifteen, and I hope you don’t either.”

He looks up at you then, and you can see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time you leave the restaurant, you’re both feeling more than a little nostalgic.

PART IV

I've been losing my mind, wastin' my time I'm not crazy, sure it seems like I'm lazy, let's get back to you You been takin' it hard, I know it's hard I'm not lyin' sure it seems like I'm tryin' to get back at you

As you step outside the restaurant, Kylian walks beside you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Do you want me to call a car for you?” He asks.

You hesitate, glancing around the mostly empty street. “Actually… would you mind walking me home? It’s not far.”

He looks pleasantly surprised, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sure, of course.”

The walk is short, but it feels longer with every step. The conversation is light, mostly small talk.

When you reach your building, you stop at the entrance, turning to face him. Kylian looks at you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The street lamp casts a soft glow, and you can see the way his eyes search yours.

“Well… this is me.” You say, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You don’t really want to say goodbye.

Kylian nods, his eyes lingering on you. “Yeah… I guess this is goodnight, then.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence where you should probably just say goodbye, but instead, you find yourself stepping closer. It’s like something takes over, something that has nothing to do with reason or thought – just pure instinct.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you lean in and press your lips to his. The kiss is quick, almost like a reflex, and the second it happens, you freeze, pulling back slightly, shocked by your own boldness.

“Sorry, I didn’t –” You start to say, already kicking yourself for acting on impulse, but before you can finish, Kylian reaches out, his hand gently cupping your face.

“Don’t be.” He whispers, and then he pulls you back in, his lips finding yours with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

This kiss is different – deeper, more intentional. Like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

Time stops for a moment, and all you can think about is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand cradles your face like you’re something precious. You melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as if to anchor yourself to the moment.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. And then you start to panic.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” You blurt out, your hands shooting up into the air as you take a step back from him. Your heart races, and your mind spirals into a panic. “That’s… Wow. That’s crazy, right?” You look around your completely empty street, trying to lower your voice not to awaken your mostly elderly neighbors. You start taking quick, deep breaths, feeling your anxiety level go over the roof. “I just got out of this super long relationship, like a week ago!”

Kylian chuckles, a sound that’s both comforting and maddening to the mental state you are. “Oh, so I’m the rebound?” He asks, clearly amused by your reaction. His relaxed demeanor only makes you feel more frantic. He’s very obviously not taking the situation as seriously as you are.

You shake your head, running a hand through your hair. “No! Well… I don’t know. The guy proposed… I think my brain is in this fantasy, ‘what if’ mode. Meeting you again is just making it worse. I don’t know!” The words tumble out, each more confusing than the last.

“Hey, hey.” Kylian interrupts, stepping closer but keeping his hands at his sides, giving you space. “Breathe, okay? It’s fine.”

His calmness is like a lifeline, and you latch onto it, trying to match your breathing to his steady, measured pace. He’s not panicking. Why isn’t he panicking? Shouldn’t he be panicking?

“I just kissed you!” You exclaim, still unable to fully grasp what just happened. “I didn’t even think – I just… did it!”

“And it was nice.” He says gently, his voice low and soothing. “But it doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.”

His words start to sink in, and you feel the tightness in your chest begin to loosen. You take a few more deep breaths, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, more softly this time, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you. I just – this is all a lot, you know?”

Kylian nods, his expression full of understanding. “I get it.” He smiles a soft, genuine smile that makes you feel warm all over. “So… Do we say goodnight again?”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension finally breaking. “I guess.”

He grins, leaning in just enough to brush a kiss against your cheek, a sweet, lingering gesture that doesn’t send your anxiety skyrocketing this time. “Goodnight.” He whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“Goodnight.” You echo, your voice steady, your heart finally slowing to a more manageable pace.

PART V/THE END

Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too

After the party ends, you stick around, helping with the cleanup, organizing the last of the decorations, and gathering up stray glasses. It’s late – well past midnight – and you’re beginning to feel the weight of the day settling into your bones.

Kylian lingers too, standing off to the side, watching you with a quiet intensity. His presence is both comforting and distracting, making it hard to focus on the tasks at hand. His mother and sister-in-law are still there as well, keeping a watchful eye on him, but more relaxed now that the crowd has thinned out.

Eventually, the staff finishes up, and you all find yourselves sitting at one of the now bare tables. The tablecloths and decorations are long gone, leaving only the plain wooden surface beneath. The room is dimly lit, a soft glow from the remaining lights.

His niece and nephew are fast asleep in the arms of their mother and grandmother. You’re not entirely sure how you all ended up sitting down together, but once the conversation started, it was hard to walk away. There’s a comfortable rhythm to it, a natural flow as you swap stories, forgotten memories from childhood, and update each other on old friends.

Kylian’s mother tells a story about a long-ago summer when Kylian and his brother got into some trouble, and everyone laughs as Kylian sheepishly confirms the details. Melissa chimes in with a joke about a recent family gathering. You find yourself laughing along, feeling more at ease with each passing moment.

At some point, you look at the time and realize it’s well past 1 AM. “I should probably get going.” You say, reaching for your phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”

“Nonsense.” Fayza says, waving away your concern. “His driver will take you home.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble –”

“It’s no trouble.” Melissa insists, adjusting her sleeping child in her arms. “But he’ll have to make two trips. We’ll go first, and then he’ll come back for you and Kylian.”

You start to protest again, but Kylian gives you a reassuring smile. “That sounds good to me.” He says lightly.

You nod, conceding, and soon enough, the driver arrives. You help Fayza and Mel bundle the kids into the car, making sure they’re all settled in for the short ride. As they drive off, you and Kylian are left alone.

He looks at you, his gaze soft and lingering, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment. “I’m glad you stayed.” He says, his voice low and sincere.

“And you’re leaving in a week.” You reply, slightly shifting the conversation.

“It’s Spain.” He bargains, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I’m not going to Japan. It’s only a few hours away.”

He looks down at his shoes, and for a moment, there’s a boyishness to his face that makes your heart skip. “You should kiss me again.” He says, almost casually.

“You’re crazy!” You laugh at him, the exhaustion making it hard to hold a conversation without giggling.

“Are you scared of airplanes? No? Then kiss me again, please.” He pleads, his voice playful.

“No way!” You’re still laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Just say you think I’m a bad kisser, it’s okay, I won’t get offended.” He’s trying to joke, to lighten the mood, but there’s something else there too – something almost vulnerable.

“I would never. I never thought that of you, you know that.”

“So you enjoyed kissing me?” He asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

“Well, yes…”

“Then do it again.”

“Are you crazy? You’re leaving in a week. What are you asking me?”

He shakes his head, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “It’s Spain,” He repeats, stretching out the word as if to emphasize how close it is. “Not the end of the world.”

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or just messing with you. The way he’s looking at you, though, you realize he’s not entirely joking. There’s something real in his eyes, something that makes your heart flutter despite yourself.

Before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you find yourself closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s both tender and intense.

When his driver arrives the two of you have been kissing for a while. His hands are warm on your skin, his touch both familiar and electric, sending shivers down your spine. You’ve forgotten about everything else.

The soft cough of his driver clearing his throat brings you back to reality, but even then, you’re reluctant to let go. You pull back slightly, your lips tingling from the contact, but you keep your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“We should… we should probably go.” You murmur, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Yeah.” He agrees, but neither of you makes a move to step away.

For a few more seconds, you linger, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, the way his fingers gently brush your cheek.

Finally, with a soft sigh, you both pull apart. As you slide into the backseat, you decide – almost defiantly – that you’ll worry about the aftermath of this decision tomorrow. As the car pulls away, you glance at him one more time, and he gives you a small, knowing smile, as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #football fanfic #kylian x reader #kylian x you

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mydarlingclaudia · 16 days ago

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taste no evil

note : divider is from @/adornedwithlight. this fic does have dark content in it I totally get it if you don’t wanna read <3 this was inspired by the vvitch, it’s not totally like it but it made me wanna write something witch-y (????? I know nothing about witches this is just idk) I rewrote this a couple of times this is the version I ended up liking the most even though the last couple thousand words suck ass :P

wc : 6.9k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @clitorphosis

desc : it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you. established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

back to the party <3

You’re hearing things in the woods at night. Not your usual deer or coyote or flock of birds, it’s something different, you don’t know what. Your husband hears it, too. It doesn’t sound like the wind, even though that’s what he says it is every time you sit up in bed in the dead of night and squeeze his arm, digging your fingernails into his skin until he wakes up.

Leon begs that you never leave your bed to go and see what scrapes against the windowpanes, that you stay with him and let him be the one to deal with it if anything were to get in. It couldn’t be the dog, his bark sounded much different than whatever this noise was. It couldn’t be neighbors, the closest house was two miles west, town was six miles further. It couldn’t be children, you were yet to have any.

When you go out in the morning to check on your animals, they’re all still there. All ten chickens, all four sheep, both your horses, the three goats, the four pigs, and one cat all remain. The cat hadn’t been yours originally, just showed up one night, Leon let it stay because it controlled the mouse population even though it fights with the dog. Nothing seems to be getting into your garden, either. That doesn’t settle your unease, though.

It’s even worse when Leon has to leave. Since town is so far, whenever he has to leave to go get medicine or supplies or something else, he was usually gone for the day. Sometimes, he’d get stuck in town or it got too dark to see the dirt road back to your home, on those days when he wouldn’t come back, you could hardly sleep, curled up on his side of the bed, your knees tucked into your chest, breathing quietly to hear every creak in the house.

But Leon always returns to you, and he kisses the top of your head and holds you tight while you scold him for taking so long to get back.

Your crops aren’t growing anymore, you know it’s because fall is nearing its end and the morning dew that coats the ground in the morning is beginning to freeze, but the thought that this isn’t because of some force of nature still looms in the back of your mind. It’s okay, though, because Leon will run out to town and get whatever vegetables you may need if they haven’t already been stockpiled in your pantry. You try to refrain from asking him to go out and get things for you, you try to keep him home whenever you’re able to, partly because of you missing him, the other part because of fear.

Leon takes things well, he always does, that’s why it’s his job to calm you down. You’ve already spent three winters in these woods, you really shouldn’t be so worried about the things that naturally change with the seasons. Leon still goes out to chop wood and bring it back in, he still assures you that the animals aren’t out there freezing, and if there is a problem, he’s quick to fix it. You should try to take things as lightly as he does.

It’s warm inside your home, though. You’re happy for that. You spend more and more of your days inside, tending to the fire and cooking over it, even if you’re still cold, Leon wastes no time in wrapping you up in his arms.

Leon’s home again, finally. He spent the day in town yesterday, apparently it takes a while to buy ammunition and fabrics, but you don’t fight with him about it. Leon comes back inside with another armful of freshly chopped wood, stacking them next to the fireplace where you had already lit a fire. Your back is to him, you’re too focused on chopping up the deer meat Leon had brought home last week. The sounds of your knife hitting the cutting board again and again drown out Leon’s steps as he comes up behind you, you only know he’s there when he wraps his arms around your middle and presses his chest to your back.

The kisses he presses to your neck are soft, his body warm against your own. You stop your chopping and rest your head atop of his, this happens most nights, Leon holding you while you cook for him and yourself.

“I’ll hunt more tomorrow,” He murmurs against your skin, “Another deer, maybe a turkey.”

“Whatever you want,”

“You can come along if you want.”

“You know I don’t wanna go in the woods.”

“It’s not that bad during the day, I wouldn’t let anything get you, you know that.”

“If I go with you then who will watch the house?”

“The dog,” He scoffs lightly, pulling away from your neck and squeezing you closer. “I won’t make you join me, I just wish you weren’t so afraid.” You sigh and continue chopping, Leon knew you wouldn’t go, anyway. But he’s certain nothing would be after you in the day, hiding behind the trees, breathing down the back of your neck, making you flinch away. It’s probably better this way, he knows that nothing with the women in the woods is certain, but if he can keep you safe and keep you happy, then maybe you’ll forget about those things outside the house.

You can’t know about them, not the way that he knows them. If you see them, those women, those witches, he hopes you think nothing more of them than someone lost in the dark, looking for town, but Leon knows about them all too well. Leon knows they aren’t a frightened young woman knocking on your door at night, asking you to spare her some food and a place to rest until morning. He knows they aren’t coming from the city, marveling at the quaint home you’ve made for yourself on her way to town. He knows they aren’t a new neighbor from a mile or two away, bringing you a fresh apple pie to introduce themself and get to know the delightful young couple a bit better.

Leon found them not long after the noises at night started. He had been coming back in from the outhouse and found a woman in just a torn up, bloody nightgown stalking around your house. He hadn’t known what to do, simply just stared and tried to quiet his breathing. Well, she noticed him, Leon was sure he was about to die, but the girl just smiled, showing off her bloody teeth before running past the animal pens and into the woods. Leon went back inside, wishing that it had been nothing more of a dream, but you noticed how something had frightened him and he knew nothing he told you would ease you. But you called him brave for going out there.

He saw the witch again a few days later when he was coming back home from town. She didn’t threaten him, didn’t make any move to hurt him, hardly even tried to intimidate him. Just watched him from the side of the dirt road and followed him for a few yards until he stopped his horse and confronted her. Again, she presented those bloody teeth to him in a smile he knew he’d see more times than he’d like.

She instantly began to speak of you, that’s when the subtle threats found their way into the conversation; “Pretty wife that you have, I was like her.” “I hope she isn’t too scared, but you take good care of her, don’t you?” “My friends like her, too. Shame that she doesn’t come out to see us.”. Leon could hardly stand it, he tried to dismiss the woman, told her that you weren’t the kind for rituals and sacrifices, but she wouldn’t let up about it.

“I’m sure you’d keep her safe, that’s what a good husband does.” The witch had giggled, circling his horse like she was sizing up a plate of food.

“Please, just leave us be.” She hadn’t even looked at him, keeping her eyes on the horse beneath him who was starting to shift in its place. “What do you want so badly, huh? Why my wife? What would make you back away from her?” When he said it, it wasn’t an offering of any kind. But the witch took it that way, gave him a grin that would continue to make him sick, and he knew that was it.

Leon would make a deal with the witch, then she told her little friends and they all joined in. He became the errand boy, a pet for the witches, a man desperate for his wife not to become what they were. He did as they asked, stomaching down whatever disgusting they would have him do every few nights. “Bring me a young man.” “Bring me a virgin girl.” “The head of a goat, I need it.” “Butcher us a lamb, bones, organs, flesh. Tonight.” Leon did it all. In return, your safety would go on for longer, these errands would become what most of his trips into town were actually about, but he’d bring something back for you so his story would be believable.

You could never find out.

The worry never leaves you no matter how badly Leon wishes it would. Soothing you gets less and less easy with each night that you’re up, trying to decide if it’s one of your animals making that noise or your imagination. So you keep yourself busy, Leon does the same, desperate to be by you during the day in case those women finally decide it’s time and that he’s no longer needed.

“I will stay,” You look over your shoulder and smile at him, stopping again to gather the slabs of meat into your hands. “You’re a better shot than I am, anyway.”

–

You can see your breath in the air, the cold wind nips at whatever skin is exposed as you drag the knife down the deer's front, the fur pulling back and exposing the white flesh hidden beneath.

Leon had gone hunting, as he said he would. He brought you home a deer, this one is to make jerky of and keep stored, it’s always best to keep extra meat around in the winter. Odd thing was that as soon as he had dropped the deer off in the yard, he came inside for a quick kiss as a goodbye, saying he needed to run into town, you didn’t question him even though you really should have.

Nonetheless, the warmth of the deers bare skin warmed your cold fingers, you almost found yourself leaning into it. You’ll make something of its coat, be it a rug or something to heat the inside of a jacket, so long as it serves some use. Blood trickles down out of the gash in its throat and the bullet in its eye into the metal pail beneath the deer’s head while you continue to skin it, the deer sways slightly from where it’s strung up because of the force of your cuts.

You learned how to butcher things because of Leon, it was before you were married, but it proved to be a useful skill to have when you had a rabbit infestation in your yard back when you lived in town.

Once it's fully skinned, you slice down the middle, crack the ribs and push them apart, and you’re met with the hot, red insides of a dead deer. The steam from its body comes up to warm your hands, and you let it be that way for a few minutes. Some of the organs fall to the dirt floor of the barn after a minute, you cut out whatever hadn’t slipped away already. You cut down its groin until you hit the first rib, then follow along that until you pull the meat away and set it on the butcher's table a few feet to your right. Repeat on the other side, cut out the tenderloins, get behind the deer and cut horizontally where its back meets its legs, then slowly start to cut along the spine and-

The cat rubbing up against your boots and licking at the deers spilled organs stops you, you never did find a fitting name for the cat, but you loved her nonetheless. You give her a soft kick and she stops to stare up at you, licking at the blood that coats the fur around her mouth. “Stop that,” You scold quietly, she doesn’t understand you, she never does. You give her another soft kick, pushing her away from where you’re working, “Go, kitty. Shoo.” She finally leaves you, rubbing up against wooden beams on her way out of the barn, you’re about to begin your cutting again, but the dog barking tears you from your focus.

You wait a few seconds, hope that he stops barking, but an angered yell is only accompanied with the awful noise. You stab your knife into the wooden table with a huff, leave the barn, go around to the front of the house and look around, but you find no one at your door or in the yard or even by the animal pens. You look around for a few minutes, wondering if you have missed someone, but all that you can see is your animals.

The dog comes to you, panting with his tongue out, he has that smiley look that all dogs have. You kneel to pat his head, but he barks and turns from you before scampering off past the pens, you follow after him. Nothing is unusual, nothing is out of place. You count all the animals that you see, make sure no fences are broken and that there’s nothing hiding around the corner.

You almost trip over the dog when you stop, he sits there, looking out at the treeline, barking softly. A chill runs through you, but when you look down and see the trail of footprints in the mud that leads from the sheep pen and out into the woods, it feels like your whole body has gone numb.

How could you have missed this? How did you not hear someone wandering around your property? Surely the animals would’ve started squealing and cawing if they had been disturbed, right? If they let this fly by, then what did they let pass through at night? Is this what the dog deals with most nights?

Leon’s getting an earful when he gets home.

–

Leon’s met with you pacing around the home when he finally returns late at night. You should have been in bed by now, awake and waiting. The deer had been butchered and stored away so you could finish cooking it tomorrow, but the yelling, he hadn’t been ready for the yelling.

You repeat yourself over and over about how someone had come to the house today, and how that someone had wandered through the yard and had gotten chased away by the dog. You keep telling Leon about how you hadn’t heard them when you should’ve, how the animals didn’t even make the faintest noise when they passed through without a sound. Leon knows who it is, of course he does, why wouldn’t he? He really should know better than to trust those women, but he can either ignore them and let them take you, or he can do as they say and leave you here by yourself knowing they may not honor the safety deal that had been agreed upon. Lose-lose situation.

Leon hates leaving you, he really does. This does nothing to ease him. He doesn’t know what would’ve happened to you or the animals if the witch hadn’t been chased away, he doesn’t know if it’s happened before, but he knows that it will probably happen again and that he’ll get scolded by the witches for letting his dog scare one of them like that.

You’re still talking his ear off, Leon simply sits at the edge of the bed and stares at you as you pace around your house in your nightgown. You look so worried, it pains Leon.

“Next time- Next time I’m coming to town with you.” You don’t even look at him when you talk, you’re really just talking to yourself, but he listens. “I wish that you had been here, you could’ve- I-I dunno! You could’ve done something!”

“Done what?” Leon muses from his seat on the bed, resting his chin on his hand. You finally turn to face him, your worried look replaced with a glare.

“I don’t know. Kept watch? I don’t mind strangers, but this is scary, Leon. I don’t want someone snooping around our house, and if that’s what I’m hearing outside in the night then- Then I want them out of here!” You walk closer to him, your hands are all over the place as you confess your worries to him for the umpteenth time.

“I know, I know. I don’t like this anymore than you do, and I promise to you that I’ll take care of it.” Take care of it means beg the women in the woods to not come to your house when he’s sent away on an errand. That’s why he left in a rush yesterday. One of those girls found him in the woods and demanded he bring her some of an old man's livestock. He can’t say no. All Leon can do now is listen to you talk and think of a way to fix this.

“Leon, please. I- I’m scared. You know that.” You finally stop in front of him, the tears that well up in your eyes make his heart ache. He reaches out, holding your hand in his, pulling you closer.

“I hate seeing you worry like this, you’ll go gray by the end of the year.” He tries to joke, it does get a small giggle from you, that’s good. “I’m never going to let anything hurt you, you have my word. Things are gonna get better, I’ll be here, I’ll watch the house, make you feel better.” He gives your hands a squeeze, you nod your head and sit down next to him on the bed, he takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder and rest his head on top of yours. “We’ll be okay.”

You nod your head beneath his, sucking back the snot in your nose and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry things are like this, I hope you know I’m trying to make things as easy as possible for you.”

“I know that, but you being gone so much doesn’t make me feel as safe as you think it does.” Leon sighs through his nose and brings a hand up to stroke your hair. Oh, how he wishes things were as simple as they once were.

“I love you.” Is all he can think to say.

“I love you, too.”

Leon holds you like that for a few moments, listening to your breathing soften as you burrow into the side of his neck. Tomorrow will be different, he hopes. He hopes he can cook up that deer meat with you, sit with you and watch you sew while he reads to you, maybe tomorrow night will be special. But that’s always how he hopes things turn out to be until he has to head back to town again.

The moment is interrupted by a pained yelp from outside, it’s made by an animal, you bolt upright, already thinking about what could be happening outside the four walls of your home. Leon doesn’t do anything just yet, he sits for another few seconds, but he’s met with growling and more yelps.

“Stay here, please.” Leon says softly, he kisses your forehead as he grabs the lantern from the nightstand, stands from the bed and walks to the door, grabbing his shotgun before stepping out into the cool night air. You do as he says, good wife that you are. That rush of fear finds its way back into your body, you hear Leon yell. The shotgun is fired once, then a second time, a more human scream following after the second shot, you hold back a sob.

After maybe five minutes pass, you can’t take it.

You pluck Leon's coat off of a chair and throw it on over your nightgown, you don’t bother with shoes when you get to the front door and open it. You’re scared to find Leon dead on the ground even though he’s the one with the gun, you shuffle slowly around the corner of the house. There’s snow under your feet, it’s barely any, really. But you can feel the softness of it that melts when you step on it, only for it to melt and soak into your skin.

“Leon?” You call out. And you find him, by the far end of the house, kneeling over something. The shotgun is on the ground, so is the lantern, you still can’t see very well even as you make your way closer. “Leon, you-” You cut yourself when you finally reach him. You stare at your dead dog from over his shoulder, Leon knows you’re there because he’s gone completely still. Words die in your throat as you take in the sight of the canine's organs that’ve been torn from its body, they stain the snow a dark red. Poor thing, it curled itself into a ball trying to chew out its own guts, its jaw is still open, sharp, bloody teeth out on display. The sight is awful, the smell is even worse, you know you won’t forget it.

Leon can hear your breathing quicken behind him, he turns to look at you. Your eyes are blown wide, mouth agape, chest heaving, you look like you’re about to puke. He quickly stands when you finally turn away from the bloody sight and lean over, one hand holding your stomach while the other covers your mouth. You’ve seen plenty of disgusting things, you’ve helped birth animals, you’ve butchered more game than you can even remember, but this is wrong.

Leon wraps his arms around your hunched over form, whispering quick “I know,”’s and “It’s alright,”’s. You pant for a few more seconds before the feeling of acid in your stomach finally starts to fade, Leon continues to hold you and rub your arm, trying to reassure you.

The animals made no noise, you can feel them watching you, though. They didn’t make any noise when the stranger came by earlier, they didn’t make any noise when your dog was attacked, they didn’t make any noise when Leon shot at something you didn’t get the chance to see.

Instead of puking, you start sobbing, leaning into Leon’s touch as he brings you to sit on the cold ground so he can try and hold you tighter. The kisses he places on your face do little to help ease your shaken state, tears well up in his eyes as well, but his tears are for a different reason.

–

What was Leon thinking, shooting at a witch?

He had hit her, he’s always been a good shot, but it had only been in the arm, she wouldn’t die. Though, he knows that this is only going to get him into trouble and put you at more risk.

He assumes that she had attacked the dog because of how it had chased her away earlier that day, who knows what would happen now. Seeing you cry didn’t make him feel better about anything, and now he knows you’re going to need him now more than ever. He does your chores for you, he doesn’t even try to pry you off of him when you don’t let him get up from your bed in the morning. As much as he enjoys being close to you, he knows that this is partly his fault.

You hardly sleep now, neither does he. The two of you cling to each other at night, you both listen to the noises that come from outside your home, trying to tell when they get too close.

You don’t ask him about what happened, you don’t want to know, but you know that there’s something he hasn’t told you. Maybe it’s better that way, maybe you haven’t just been hearing things this whole time and there’s something Leon knows that you don’t. But your ignorance has kept you safe thus far, right? Sure, you’re scared, but nothing’s hurt you. As much as you want to ask Leon about what he may or may not know, you stop yourself. Now probably isn’t a good time, you don’t want to get into a fight with him, especially when you feel like you’ll die if he has to leave again.

You know he didn’t kill your dog, you know he tried to save it, but the person he shot– you heard it, you know you did.

You try thinking about who it could’ve been, why they’d come to your house at such a late hour, why Leon didn’t go after them, but you come up with nothing in the end. You don’t like thinking about it, it drives you crazy, but you really can’t help it. Even though you have your doubts and your fears, you never pull away from Leon’s touch, you can’t risk losing it.

–

Leon hasn’t left in nearly three weeks, which you don’t mind in the slightest.

You have enough vegetables, you don’t need any tools, anything that you need, you have. The roads are probably too packed with snow to even get anywhere and not get lost or freeze, anyway.

The only problem you’re really starting to run into is with the animals. They keep fighting with each other, three of the chickens have already been killed by the others, their eyes pecked out, feathers torn off, chest ripped open. Your billy goat had killed one of the other goats, ramming its horns into her side until he ended up impaling her, Leon separated the billy goat from the other goat quickly after that. The sheep and horses don’t seem as bad as the others, well, they’re not violent, but they are sick. The pigs are fighting with each other more than normal, they keep biting one another and fighting over food even though there’s plenty for all of them. You make Leon deal with those things.

You still had that deer meat from the one Leon had brought home a few weeks ago, you’ve mostly been eating that. There’s something wrong with the chicken eggs, when you crack them, instead of a white yolk and clear, slimy insides coming out, all you get is an already popped yolk that’s turning green and chunky egg whites. The smell is awful, you can’t imagine how bad it would taste. It’s with all the eggs, neither you or Leon know what to do about it.

Even if there were good eggs, the chickens would have eaten them before you would get the chance to collect them. They do it now with these disgusting eggs they lay, they don’t seem to mind, they keep fighting them, the inside of the coop is a mess.

You’ve tried cooking up the chicken and goat meat, but the meat is already rotting. It doesn’t make sense. Winter has begun, the earth is frozen over, your animals have been dead for barely two days and there’s already bugs living inside the graying flesh. It disgusts you. Leon apologizes for it all, you aren’t sure why, it’s not his fault the animals are being this way. You feed whatever untouched bits you can find to the cat.

Leon’s gone out hunting since the dog has died, you went with him this time. Even with Leon, you find nothing to eat. No deer pass through, not a rabbit burrowing in the snow, nothing. Just a few birds that are so small they’d be blown apart by the force of a bullet. It’s fine, the deer meat should last you for a bit longer, and if you really need to, you can just kill one of the pigs. Anything you eat tastes rotten, you’re not sure why, it should be perfectly fine. Maybe it’s something in your head.

It’s colder now, though. It won’t stop snowing and you’re trying to save as much firewood as you can so Leon doesn’t have to keep going out into the deep snow to get more wood everyday.

You don’t like seeing Leon so worried. He’s too stiff when he holds you, he’s been so on edge for the past few weeks, more than you’d thought he’d be.

Time moves on, it waits for no one.

You and Leon eat whatever you have, burn the wood you’re able to, try to sleep as much as you can. He doesn’t bring up the dog, or the fact that your animals are either dying or killing each other. You can’t bring yourself to go outside and see what’s become of your poor animals, Leon understands, it’s another thing he tries to take care of and hide just to keep you happy.

–

The snow is cold under your feet, as is the air around you that continues to bite at your skin. No jacket, no shoes, what are you thinking? You’re gonna get sick, Leon will just have to keep taking care of you. But you couldn’t stay inside anymore, you heard the keening cries of your poor sheep early in the morning, you ran outside before Leon could stop you.

The scene in front of you is almost the same as that of your dog’s death : blood in the snow, torn open chests and stomachs, warm, heavy organs that melt the snow around them and let steam rise up into the air. You say nothing, you do nothing besides stare down at the pen that once held your sheep in them, their wool is turning the same color as the snow. There’s footprints in the snow, not yours, not Leon’s, some are bloody, some aren’t.

The pigs are dead, the goats are dead, the chickens and horses are on death's doorstep, and now your sheep have gone too. You’ve been feeding the animals, was it just a change in the weather that made them all sick? To be fair, the pigs fed themselves, you didn’t know they ate their own. The goats got violent, the sheep were as weak as ever, but you’ve never heard of an animal's organs falling out on their own. It’s not a rarity for farm animals to be wiped out in one winter, but they’ve survived winters like these before, what’s so different about this one?

You finally decide that it’s not an animal who’s done this, that the things you’ve seen and heard in the night weren’t animals, either.

Whenever you do get to sleep now, there’s these women in your dreams, you don’t know them, but they seem to know you. And in these dreams, you’re eating with them, their faces blur together and you feel warm, full. They laugh and talk, serve you plate after plate of something raw. There’s blood in their mouths as well as yours, it’s like you’re under some kind of spell. Leon isn’t there, and as much as these dreams leave you feeling a bit more content than the day before, there’s something about them that terrifies you. You don’t tell Leon this, though.

Maybe in your dreams you’re eating your animals, you still don’t know who the women are supposed to be. But the sounds of their laughter have poured out of your dreams and into the sounds you hear outside your house at night.

Leon follows you outside after a couple of minutes, holding a jacket and blanket meant for you while he doesn’t have one for himself.

You let him come up behind you and put the jacket over your shoulders, then the blanket on top of it. “You’ll catch a cold,” He mumbles.

“I’m tired of this.” You breathe. Leon doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but you hear him gulp, then feel him run his hand up and down your back.

“Tired of what?”

“Of this-” You look at him and gesture to the pen of dead sheep in front of you, Leon doesn’t look. “I- Is it wolves, or something? Leon, this has never been a problem, I don’t understand what’s changed but we can’t just… We can’t just act like this isn’t a problem.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, we won’t be able to stay here next year. You know, I’ll go anywhere with you, right?”

“Of course, but we can’t just leave our home.”

“Well we can’t stay here if there’s something in the woods that’s treating our land like its feeding ground!” You scoff, you move from your spot in the snow and step closer to Leon, rubbing your hands over your face. “I- I’ve told you about how scared I am, you keep doing nothing.”

Leon wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, “You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stay quiet, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours as you try to ignore the chill creeping up your legs and the smell of blood in your nose. “I wish things were different,”

“Maybe we should wish harder,” The chuckle he lets out is humorless. “We can’t stay here anymore, you know that.”

“... I do.”

“Let’s head back into town as soon as there’s a break in the weather.” Leon goes quiet again, he’s thinking, you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“I like that plan.” He hums after a few seconds, giving you a squeeze before letting his grip on you loosen. His hands slide down to yours, he still hasn’t looked at the dead sheep when he starts to pull you back to the house. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“So make me feel better.”

–

The night is colder than the day, it’s always been this way.

Leon’s asleep in your bed, but you’re wide awake. You had another one of those dreams about the women for the brief amount of time that you got to sleep. It felt different this time, probably because you had been in your barn, eating away at a rotted deer carcass, it tasted sweet on your tongue. You could hear Leon talking to you in your dream, but when you looked around you he was never there and you were left with those odd women again.

Your fingers trace over his face gently, careful not to wake him. You’ve always thought he looked peaceful in his sleep, you hope his dreams are better than yours. It’s too quiet tonight, there’s no tapping on the window, no shouts from outside, nothing. Something tells you that you should go check, though.

You press a soft kiss to Leon’s cheek and stand from your bed, managing to pull on a coat and shoes this time around before you step out into the cold night.

You’re met with silence, the moon shines brightly in the sky, lighting up the snowy land and the woods that surrounds it. You lean back against the wooden door, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for that something that drew you out here.

You wait for a few moments, then for a few more seconds before you decide that this is futile. You turn around and reach for the door handle, but a sharp whistle to your right stops you, it’s already too late to go back inside.

“You look so tired.” Says the voice, you turn to look and see who it is, only to find a stranger. She can’t be any older than you are, she watches you, waiting for you to answer as a smile creeps onto her face and she takes a step closer. “What’s got you so worried?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m worried about you,” She speaks quickly, alive and energetic. “You can trust me, what’s got you up so late?” You shudder, you’ve seen her face before, but you can’t remember where. In your dreams, maybe? The way she stares into your soul makes you feel like she already knows the answer to her question, she just wants to hear you admit it.

“... My husband. And the animals.” You mumble, her smile grows.

“Really?” It’s almost a giggle when she asks, she sways slightly, stepping closer to you once again. “You’re a good wife, then.” You don’t say anything, only watch her. “I bet there’s something I could do to take away that worry.” Again, you give her no answer. “Can we sit and talk?”

It’s stupid, you know it is. The closer she gets, the more clearly you can see the crusted blood on her lips. You grip the door handle, but you can’t move under her gaze.

“I just want to help.”

“Th-Thank you, but I- Uhm, I’m f-fine.” You stammer out, “I just- I’d like to go back to sleep now.”

“Don’t you want to know how I can help?”

“You’re too kind,” You chuckle shakily. “I’m fine, really.”

“Please.” Her voice is firm, she’s not asking you this time. “That husband of yours shot me, you know. Helping you would make me feel better.”

“You-” She reaches out and grabs your wrist, her icy skin makes her grip on you even more uncomfortable.

“Say yes to me.” You both stop, her eyes bore into yours. “You’ll freeze or you’ll starve, do you want to see your husband freeze?”

“It’s just one winter.” She smiles again, like she knows something you don’t.

“Do you want to see your husband freeze?” She repeats. “Do you want to watch him starve?”

“Of course not!”

“I can help you, you won’t have to worry about him anymore if you just say yes.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to know me,” She snaps, “You just have to trust me. Your life can be easy again. You love your husband, don’t you?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Then let me help you.”

“… How?”

“You’ll just have to see. But you’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll feed you food sweeter than anything you’ve tasted, don’t you want that?”

“… Yes.”

—

Those women from your dreams surround you, their laughter is the same, but you can see their faces more clearly now. The fire is warm, even in your nakedness you don’t feel the chill of the snow and crisp air.

You almost laugh with them, but Leon’s here with you this time, that’s what makes you stop. His body lays on top of the snow and you lean over him, holding his hand against the side of your face, his skin is cold, but you still cling to his touch. Leon’s breathing is slow, he can hardly keep his eyes open, you can’t really blame him, not when he’s got chunks bitten out of him, the other women said he had tasted good, offered up the rest of him to you.

You were easy to convince, you wouldn’t call yourself desperate, maybe dumb, in a sense. Easily tricked. How could you know it would lead to this?

Your eyes are watery, tears of your own drip down onto Leon’s face and mix with his. You can’t fully hate this, he’s here with you, there’s something either wrong with your mind or body telling you that this is the right thing. Before you can really stop yourself, you lap at the gash on his wrist, his blood is sweeter than anything you’ve made up in your dreams. The way he looks now isn’t far off from any of your animals' deaths, the only thing is that he’s no animal and there’s still air in his lungs.

He winces when you suck on the wound, the sound is weak and breathy, but it still makes something in you ache.

“Sorry,” You mumble against his wrist, coaxing more blood out with more gentler sucks and nips at the torn skin. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Leon lifts his head only for it to fall back against the snow, you pull away from his wrist, a small string of saliva connecting your bloody mouth to the ugly gash before breaking. You push the hair from his face, still holding his wrist in your other hand.

“I-” You start, stopping when you see how glossy his eyes become. “Were you protecting me?” A weak nod comes from Leon, you smile. “You’re everything to me. I love you, you know that?” Another weak nod, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the way he stops breathing as you hold him. You smear blood across his lips when you pull away, his eyes have gone cold and you can’t seem to find a pulse in his throat. You let out a shaky breath as you kiss your way down from his jaw and back to his wrist, focusing solely on the feeling of his limp arm in your grasp.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper against him, no longer sucking and nibbling, instead sinking your teeth into him, working your way into the skin to pull it away from him and back into your mouth. You take the first bit, chomp down on the chewy bits of meat, tonight is the beginning of your new life.

#claudia’s halloween bash ♡#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #dead dove #dark content

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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hiii idk if you’re still taking requests but can you do something smutty with steve in season 3 w his scoops ahoy uniform on after he gets home from work or something🙏🏼🙏🏼

like sub!babygirl!steve is so 🤤🤤😽😽 and a

dom!femreader 🫶❤️❤️ AND OMG HE HAS A MOMMY KINK😧😧 I BEG OF YOU

✶ ┄ OH, BABY !

summary: after a long day at work, steve harrington needs someone (*cough cough* you) to take care of him. pairing: sub!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: sub!steve, brief use of a mommy kink, r calls steve daddy like twice i think, mention of a breeding kink, 18+ mdni (ignore any typos, i am way too tired to proofread <3) a/n: hi, it's me again, turning a blurb request into a full length fic. also i can't stop writing for sub steve apparently. all i can say is baby girl is baby girlin real hard in this one lol thanks so much for your request! enjoy xoxo

( BLURB SLEEPOVER ) | ( MASTERLIST )

It’s sunset by the time his shift at Scoops concludes. He serves the last few remaining customers while Robin less than kindly ushers out the loitering teenagers that have stuck around all day.

A group of moms clad in vividly colored spandex tells him “we’re being bad today” like some sort of mantra that makes them feel better about ordering plain vanilla ice cream. Some middle school aged girls with a mouthful of braces, crimped hair in pigtails, and absolutely wreaking of fruity perfume and daddy’s money try helplessly to flirt with him while they use a matte black card to purchase a banana boat sundae.

His last customers of the night are an old married couple, all gray and wrinkly and smiling like life’s still so new to them. They order one strawberry cone to share between them and hold onto each other’s shaking, frail hands as they make their exit.

Steve smiles as he watches them go. He sees a lot of you and him in them. He hopes by the time you both are all old and brittle, you’ll still be happy like that, still so in love.

Working in the downstairs abyss of Starcourt makes him feel crazy sometimes. With no windows and only manufactured fluorescent lighting for ten hours straight, it makes time feel less and less real.

Sometimes he’ll be in before sun out and cower like some sort of vampire when his shift is over. Other times, he’ll come out when it’s pouring down rain and be absolutely baffled at the sight of it because it was perfectly sunny when his shift started.

Everything else but ice cream all but ceases to exist in the hole of Scoops Ahoy — weather, time, life.

Even though it’s closing when he leaves, Steve doesn’t realize how dark it’s gotten outside until he’s walking through the desolate parking lot to his car. The bustling mall has fallen asleep with the rest of the town. The sky has long turned to a navy velvet, the stars and full moon bright white silk.

It makes his limbs heavy and his eyelids heavier as his tired bones ache for rest.

Steve makes the longer drive out to the cabin rather than his own home to see you. Hopper’s out for some conference which means El gets to spend every ounce of her time at the Wheeler’s and you and Steve get to play house.

He doesn’t bother to knock before he comes in. He shuffles through the entrance like his feet are made of lead and leans his weight against the door after he clicks it closed.

The sound of his arrival gets your attention from where you scurry around the kitchen. A smile pulls slowly at your face as you turn over your shoulder to look at him, placing a cover over a pot of something that smells like your infamous chicken alfredo.

“Hey, Stevie,” you greet with a beam and a sort of sunshine in your voice that Steve’s been missing all day.

His body relaxes for the first time since he got up this morning at the sight of you, freshly showered and in your pajamas for the night — an oversized t-shirt that definitely didn’t belong to you before, because it used to be his.

You look more like home than any four walls could ever be to him.

Steve tries his best to give you a smile in return, but it’s weighed down by fatigue and not all there.

You can see it all over him, every ounce of exhaustion on his lax and tired features. Slinging ice cream for less than grateful customers for ten hours straight has taken an obvious toll on him. The bright blue sailor’s uniform makes him look more boyish, but no less tired — or hot.

Your heart swells at how cozy he looks, fatigued and warmed and in dire need of being taken care of. It makes you glad that you started dinner earlier than normal, even happier that you’ve got the house to yourselves.

You exit the kitchen and walk the short distance to him, taking his scruffy cheeks in your palms and rubbing your thumbs against his cheeks.

“Hard day?” you wonder softly and smile to himself when you feel Steve nestle further into your touch.

The boy hums lowly in reply — neither a yes or a no, but a short hmph that means he doesn’t want to talk about it now. He doesn’t like thinking about work when you’re in his arms and all over him. He’d rather pretend like you’re the only thing that exists and let the rest of the world slip slowly away.

He turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrists. You smell like lavender, he finds, and it makes him that much more tired and needy for you.

His hands settle on your arms, fingers wrapping themselves just below your wrists. “Just tired,” he answers finally. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I’m assuming,” you quip with a smile. Your hands drag from his face, down the tense columns of his neck, and settle at the white lapel of his uniform. Steve lets you pull him down by his red neckerchief until his lips press against yours, the pillows of them far cozier than the bed and blanket he so craves right now.

He grows somehow heavier against you. He exhales deeply through his nose as his aching muscles start to relax, the warmth of it brushes against your cupid’s bow. His hands fall to your back and ball into your shirt as he clutches so ardently onto you, as though terrified he might have to go another agonizing ten hours without you.

Your smile contorts against his mouth. A laugh exhales sharply through your nose at this tired boy, exhausted and too willing to let you swallow him whole.

As much as you want to take care of you him, you want him to get a little food in his belly and fresh clothes on his skin.

He’s got freshly laundered cottons sitting in a drawer you cleaned out in your room especially for him and a pot of his favorite food simmering on the stove. He’ll be golden in an hour or more and you’ll happily take care of him then.

Steve whines when you pull away from him. The pathetic sound bubbles from his throat and his face screws up like you’ve actually pained him by not kissing him more. He ducks down, looming over you, as his lips chase yours.

You giggle at him, letting him kiss you — one, two, three quick pecks and a fourth sweeter, more drawn-out one he presses against you as the two of you stumble back into the living room.

“You need to eat first, okay?” you protest when you part from him again, lips clicking wetly as they separate. “You probably haven’t had anything all day.”

“I had half a banana in the break room at lunch,” he retorts, half-heartedly.

“Exactly,” you scold. “Go get changed and then we can eat, ‘kay?”

“If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you could’ve just said.”

You roll your eyes at him and how he’s still so sly despite being so damn tired. You push playfully against his chest and squirm out from under where he’d cornered you between his body and the back of the couch. “You smell like a sundae and cheap cologne—”

“Blame those assholes from Abercrombie.”

“—hit the showers, Harrington,” you tell him with a playful sternness, swatting him on the ass as you pass by him.

The action stopped surprising him a long time ago. He’d complained relentlessly about corporate and the stupid outfit they made him wear to work every morning until he realized how much you liked it.

After that, Steve figured he could put up with the itching and the chaffing and the weird stares from other mall-goers. As long as it meant you being unable to keep your hands off of him, dropping to your knees in front of him before he left for work, visiting him at lunch because you just had to see him again.

“You comin’ too, or…?” he jokes in reply, already inching towards the bathroom, but secretly hoping you’ll say yes.

You refuse to amuse him, though, and instead tell him that you have to keep stirring the pasta so it won’t burn. He’s too tired and too excited to wash all the muck of the long workday from his body to beg.

You knew just what he needed — like you always do. He’s as good as gold by the time he gets out of the shower, smelling of your shampoo and practically glittering at how good he feels.

His skin gets to breathe for the first time all day when he slips on a pair of boxers and a faded forest green Hawkins High sweatshirt. They’re freshly washed. He can tell by how soft they feel and the way they smell of fresh detergent.

It makes his heart swell.

While he’s been slinging ice cream and questioning all of his life choices, you’ve been washing his clothes, folding them and putting the in their own drawer in your dresser. You’ve been cooking him his favorite dinner, knowing he hasn’t eaten all day, because you know everything about him.

You do it all because you love him. You don’t have to think twice about it before you so effortlessly take care of him.

He swears you’ll feed him if he begs hard enough, but Steve hasn’t reached that level of tiredness yet. He does, however, force you to sit halfway in his lap while the both of you opt to eat on the couch in the living room rather than the kitchen table.

A repeat of Miami Vice plays on the tiny television across the room and you tell him about what you’d done on your day off in between shoveling forkfuls of pasta into your mouth with your legs slung into his lap.

Most of it was spent taking care of chores, a feat made harder without Hopper and El to take on the extra workloads but easier because their absence meant less shit to get done.

You drove Dustin and Lucas to the Wheeler’s house later that morning, then doubled back across Hawkins when Max called and all but begged you to free her from the hellscape on Cherry Lane, as she so lovingly put it. You picked her up and dropped her off with the rest of her friends.

And even though they all swore they had rides back home, they’d called again some hours later and asked too sweetly if you could take them back across town.

You complain and grumble about it, but you do it for them anyway.

Because you take care of people. That’s just what you do.

“So you were a personal chauffeur for a bunch of kids all day?” Steve jokes and laughs to himself as he swipes a smudge of alfredo sauce from your chin with his thumb

“Basically,” you nod in reply.

When that’s all done — and the episode is over and the dishes are in the sink and your teeth are freshly brushed — you tell Steve to get into bed, and then to get his head out of the gutter at the look he gives you after.

He’s pleasantly surprised when you bring a whole basket of things from the bathroom and into your bedroom. He watches silently, obediently, as you light a candle on the far side of the room before climbing into bed beside him.

“Scoot down a little,” you tell him. “And take off your shirt.”

He does it all without question. He rises, strips himself of his top, and tosses the thing mindlessly on the floor beside the bed. With his lean torso and bare chest on display, spotted with tufts of chestnut-colored hair and smelling of your body wash, he lazes back onto the bed again with his head on the pillows.

Steve holds his breathe when you straddle his chest.

“Comfy?” you ask him quietly.

He can only nod in response.

His eyes are wide, twinkling with love and curiosity. It makes you smile. He’s always so soft in his way, so compliant with you — and, fuck, if you don’t love how he looks when he’s underneath you.

You lean down to press a chaste kiss to the chiseled tip of his nose then reach for one of the many bottles stacked inside the wicker basket. You drip the rose-scented liquid onto a cottonpad and tell him that it’s cleanser.

“I thought I was already clean?” he retorts.

“Well, this shit is gonna make ya glow like a baby, Harrington,” you tell him and swipe the stuff up and down his face — across his forehead, along his nose, and around his stubbly jaw. “Which means it’s perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re a baby,” you quip once, then smile lovingly down at him. “My baby,” you correct.

“Damn straight,” he hums with a soft smile, then shuts his eyes when you trade the cleanser for what you call a liquid exfoliator. He doesn’t ask what that means. He doesn’t say much of anything really, because he’s enamored with the way you dote on him.

Your day has been just as busy as his, maybe not as mind-numbing, but still busy. You’ve been bouncing all across town, trying to make sure a bunch of kids weren’t putting themselves in total danger — Steve knows firsthand how hard that can be.

And yet, you keep caring for him, like it’s more important than how tired you must be.

The way you’ve settled on top of him is just a bonus. It’s not as domineering as you usually are in this position, straddling your legs over him and forcing his face between your legs with your fingers tangled in his hair. He wouldn’t have minded if that’s what you’d done in the first place. He would’ve thanked you for it, really.

It’s comforting more than it is anything, the subtle weight of you on top of him, keeping him grounded.

You rub something that feels like lotion into his skin. The tips of your fingers massage his face — they dig softly into his temples, relieving all the strain there, then trace around his curve of his jaw. Steve sighs and melts into your touch. It makes you laugh.

“Look at you,” you giggle, all soft like the moonlight streaming in rays from the windows. Then you tease him. “My baby’s gettin’ all pampered tonight, huh?”

“That stuff smells really good,” he notes. “Think it’s safe enough to taste?”

You know he’s joking, but you flick him in the center of his freshly moisturized forehead anyway, when his tongue darts out the side of his mouth to lick around his lips.

“You’re such an idiot,” you scold with a laugh. “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to have a kid if you keep acting like one, Steve Harrington.”

The boy's eyes fly open. “…A kid?” he repeats in something short of a whisper.

You only hum in reply with a little shrug like you’re trying to play it all off. Like you didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on him and left him to pick up the pieces. Like it isn't the sweetest goddamn thing he’s ever heard in his life (even though you are sort of making fun of him).

“You want a kid with me?” he presses, eyes sparkling and full of hope.

“‘Course I do,” you shrug again, focusing on capping the moisturizer and putting it away rather than meeting his intense gaze. “Want anything and everything with you, Stevie.”

The boy doesn’t bother to hide the grin your words put on his face. He’s all but beaming from where he lays beneath you, trying to make sure he’s still breathing because his heart has started to flutter something fierce.

It was something the two of you only ever talked about in passing — usually him bringing up the idea of having kids and you swatting them all down.

“We’re too young,” you tell him. “We’re too broke”, “we’re too dumb.” The occasional “my dad is literally in the next room, he’ll kill you if he hears you talking like that” shuts him up real quick.

But here you are now, telling him you want a baby with him, that you want everything with him. It drives him absolutely insane.

“Yeah?” he hums in response, idle hands rising and settling upon your bare thighs, rubbing at the smooth skin there, petting you almost. The room gets suddenly and unbearably hot with the look he gives you, innocent and knowing and hungry.

You feel him shift from underneath you, the hardening cock in his boxers making it hard to stay as comfortable as he had been.

“You wanna be a mommy, honey?” he all but coos. “Wanna take care of our kids like you take care of me?”

Though his words set a fire in the pit of your stomach, the tone of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s like flipping a light switch when it comes to Steve. It takes next to nothing to turn him into a puddle of mush.

He’s always raring to go when it comes to you, and you’d be lying if you said it was totally invigorating.

“What happened to my sweet, sleepy, baby Stevie, huh?” you tease, hands leaving his face to caress the ones he’s got resting on your thighs. “Thought you were too tired?”

He shakes his head defiantly. “Never too tired for you.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you scold with bubbly laughter when you feel his large hands trail up your legs. His finger falls beneath your shirt, the tips of them sneaking into the rounded hems of your underwear, all but cupping your ass to drag you further up his chest.

He’s practically salivating at the mere thought of tasting you. Of knowing that the only thing separating you from him is a couple of inches and the thin fabric of your underwear.

He knows that when he slides them to the side, you’ll be wet and needing him underneath, slick enough for his tongue to slip right in.

And, truth be told, oral sex wasn’t the easiest when you weren’t alone. It was too precarious of a position. If Hopper knocked on the door and barged in hardly a moment later, you needed to break away quickly.

So when your dad and little sister were home, it was easier to use your hands to get each other off. And, maybe, if Steve was real good, you’d let him fuck you.

But his mouth on you? There wasn’t enough good he could be for you to let him do that, not when your father was on the other side of the door in the living room. Because you’re pretty sure death would be easier than your dad catching Steve Harrington giving cunnilingus to his daughter. You’re pretty sure you’d die on the spot, anyway.

But Hopper is miles away. Your sister is on the other side of town. And you’re alone with your boyfriend, hidden away in a cabin in the middle of the woods. It’s the perfect recipe for the best sex of your life.

“Don’t care,” Steve murmurs, pressing kisses to the inner parts of your thigh when he settles you more intently over his shoulders. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” you croon. From below you, the boy notes the arched brow and knowing glint in your eye that usually means trouble. “Daddy wants to make mommy feel good, huh?”

Steve knows exactly why you said it. Why you chose to say it like that. It’s the same reason you brought up the kid thing in the first place. Because you knew it would drive him crazy.

And it’s not like you ever had to try to make him mental, all you really had to do was walk into a room and he was done for. But you didn’t just want to just make him go insane, you wanted to ruin him.

And you know you’ve done just that when a groan spills from his mouth and two strong hands dig rather ruthlessly into your hips. He pulls you down without warning, pressing your clothed pussy closer to his face and dragging his nose between your covered lips. A moan leaves your mouth in a heavy exhale when the tip of it nudges your clit.

“Like being called daddy, huh?” you tease through bated breaths.

Steve nods in reply as he hooks a finger through the hem of your panties and slides them to the side, putting your pretty, glistening pussy on display for him.

He was right about what he said before — you were soaked.

All but drunk on the sight of you, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh. “Like the other thing, too,” he mumbles against your skin, like he’s hiding himself there.

“The other thing?” you question with pinched brows. The confusion ebbs like a rolling tide as you realize: “Oh. You wanna call me mommy, Stevie?” you ask with a joking lilt.

“Shut up,” he groans against you.

He’s pleasantly surprised when your hand grabs the strands of his hair like reigns, pulling him back just before he puts his mouth on your pussy. He’s even more stunned at the stern expression taking over your features, not nearly as playful as you’d been moments before.

Suddenly you’re ten feet tall, and he’s nothing more than an ant, at the mercy of your boot.

“That’s no way to talk to your mommy, is it, Stevie?”

He shakes his head with glazed over eyes. “Sorry.”

“Sorry… what?”

There is an underlying tone in your voice, something teasing and yet somehow serious all at once. It’d make him roll his eyes if he weren’t lying beneath you like this. Now, with your pussy mere inches from his face, he isn’t quite sure how to be anything but obedient.

“Sorry, mommy,” he corrects.

A flip switches and you’re smiling again. “Good boy,” you praise and it makes his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers. Your hand guides him to your pussy again.

Steve’s always been good at oral. A little too good, actually. It made you jealous sometimes, to know that his technique has been perfected over years of experience.

“All the other girls were just practice for you, honey,” he’d soothe your seething rage with a wink and a tongue shoved deep into your cunt.

You believe him now, that every other girl was just an obstacle for him to get to you, because no one’s had him like this. No one will ever have him like this.

You’re the one who’s got him on his back with his mouth on your pussy. You’re the one who’s got him calling you mommy.

And it makes you feel like a fucking giant.

He wastes little time to envelope your cunt with his mouth. You feel the muffled grunt he lets out at the tangy and familiar taste of you. His tongue pushes into your cunt, licking you with the intent of devouring you entirely. His nose presses intently against your clit, prodding the little button as you ride his face. He encourages every thrust, guiding your hips up and down his mouth.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you whine and feel him smile drunkenly against your pussy, never ceasing his assault against your sensitive skin.

Your head falls back, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Your gaze settles on the ceiling, though you’re not exactly looking at it, and moans fall from your open mouth and into the heavy air — billowing laments in the moonlight.

“You make me feel so good,” you murmur to yourself, but to him especially, knowing he turns into a ticking time bomb when he’s praised. “Always make mommy feel so fucking good, baby.”

He groans against you, and it makes your hips twitch over his face.

Your head turns and your glazed over eyes fall on the hard cock trapped in his underwear. It’s more than apparent against the thin fabric with a wet patch of precum darkening the plaid cotton. The sight of it, paired with his lips wrapped around your clit, makes you moan most pitifully.

“Fuck, Steve,” you cry. “You’re gonna make me come. Holy shit, baby— gonna come so hard in your mouth.” The promise makes Steve double his efforts against you, wanting nothing more than to taste every drop you can give him. “I’ll ride you after, 'kay? Make you come so hard you can’t see straight. Fuck. I’m so fucking close.”

You figure his muffled whine is an affirmative.

“If you make me come now, maybe I’ll let you come inside me—”

You barely get to finish your sentence before Steve’s wrapping his arms around your thighs and keeping you pressed against his face. His tongue works overtime inside of your cunt, attentively flicking against every part of your velvet walls that it can reach, while his nose nudges your clit most relentlessly.

It has you reaching your climax within seconds, hips jerking against him while his hold on you tightens. Steve only lets you go when he’s certain you’ve ridden out every inch of your orgasm.

You’re shaking and half-numb when you unfold your body from his and settle next to him on the bed. You press yourself over him as your lips swallow his, tasting yourself on his mouth that glistens with you.

Your torso is splayed over his bare one, knees digging into the mattress at his side as you arch your back to push yourself further into him.

“Was that good for you?” he mutters after you’ve pulled away, sliding the tip of your nose up and down the bridge of his.

A laugh escapes you in a sharp scoff. If he couldn’t have felt how good it was for you — after you all but writhed against him — surely he must’ve tasted it dripping like honey from your cunt.

“It’s always good,” you assure him, then murmur more quietly, “Always so good for mommy.”

You keep the promise you’d made him no more than minutes beforehand. You pull down his boxers at the same time he’s trying to get you out of your shirt, and it��s just a mess of yearning limbs until the both of you are naked.

You rub yourself over his cock a few times, getting it all slick with you in the place of lube, because you know taking him is never an easy feat. The stretch of his dick inside you is always delicious but fuck if it doesn’t burn. It’s like fire in every sense of the word, hot and filthy paired with a distant ache.

Steve lets you set the pace as you get used to his length nestled deep inside your velvet. His hands rest compliantly on your hips as you grind against him, honeyed gaze fixed on your fucked out features as you take him — brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Then, when every inch of him is snug in your cunt and your senses return to you, you deny him of his want to touch you. Your fingers wrap around his wrists and push them into the pillow on either side of his head. “Mommy didn’t say you could touch her, did she?” you purr to him as you lean over him. He shakes his head obediently, if only it meant that you kept fucking yourself on top of him.

And you do. Most ardently.

You keep your bare chest pressed against his fuzzy one, nose-to-nose as you slide your hips over his. And even though he’s had you like this before (in this position and many others), it feels brand new every time. It’s like he’s never felt you before despite how familiar you feel.

It triggers his body into a sense of fight of flight, as though frightened he’ll never get to have you again. It leaves him fucking you like it’ll be the last time he’s inside you, every fucking time.

It never is, though — obviously. Most times he only has to wait a couple minutes or more before he gets to take you again.

But now, with his hands balled into fists beside his head and your’s braced on his chest, digging into the patch of hair there as you rock back and forth on his hard cock — the tip of it nestled deep inside of you and hitting every sweet spot that makes you keen — has left him an absolute wreck beneath you.

He’s chasing his pleasure like he’s never felt it before. Like he won’t feel it again.

“Your cock feels so good, Stevie,” you moan above him.

“‘M not gonna last long, baby,” he mutters between harsh and labored pants.

“’S okay… I want you to come,” you promise and press a too sweet kiss to his swollen, pink lips. You move your hips more intently over him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. “Want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out in something short of a whimper. His eyes are glassy and his brows are furrowed and it takes everything in him not to fuck up into you — because he wants to be good, he wants to be good for you.

“Yeah… Want you come in me… Fuck me until it takes,” you babble over top of him, knowing exactly what it’s doing to the whining boy beneath you. “Wanna give you a baby— fuck— I wanna make you a daddy, Stevie.”

A whine spills from his throat. His toes curl into the fabric of your comforter, eyes rolling back into his head, body tensing as he digs his fingers into the skin of his palms that still ache to touch you.

Your name spills from his mouth along with a string of curses and pretty little cries when he stuffs you full of his come.

You happily accept every load he shoots into you as work him through every aftershock of his orgasm. Yours doesn’t come so easy — you roll your hips over yourself and rub your clit until you’re twitching right along with him.

You come down from your highs together with a tender softness. You lay over him, one hand combing through his curls and the other stroking softly at his sweat-slicked bicep. You watch with heavy eyes as his orgasm rolls over him.

His chest rises and falls with every heavy breath, stuttering when another pang of pleasure hits him all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he whines harshly into the heavy air.

He’s happy you don’t deny him when his arms wrap around your waist, hands rubbing up and down the expanse of your slick back.

You press tiny kisses to his face as he comes down — his nose, his cheeks, his forehead his stubbly chin and jaw. You press one, two, three pecks to his lips before you slide off of him, then laugh when he whines.

You’re gone for hardly more than three minutes, but to Steve, it feels like an eternity’s gone by.

You return from the bathroom, wiped freshly clean, and blow out the nearly burnt-out candle on your dresser before you slither back into his side. One of his arms curls beneath your shoulders to pull you closer to him with his other rests on the back of yours that’s settled on his chest.

You share one pillow, noses inches away from one another’s, while you bask in the warm moment and the sex-coated air around you before you have to break it.

“You know I’m still on the pill, right?” you ask him.

He nods.

“And that we’re—”

“Way too young to have a kid right now?” he finishes for you, though the idea makes him sad. He nods.

“Yeah… And—”

“Too broke? I know that too.”

“Also my—”

“Your dad would kill me if I got you pregnant?”

It makes you laugh. You hadn’t realized you’d talked about having kids this many times — at least, not enough for him to memorize all the reasons why it’s not the best idea right now.

“Yeah, I know it’s not happening any time soon,” Steve says with a sigh. “I like to pretend, though. Plus, it’s not even about that to me, you know? I just… I just like being with you and… everything.”

Everything, you repeat to yourself. A word that means so much and nothing at all.

No one knows what everything means, they just know that it’s a lot, a whole lot. That’s what makes it so special. Steve wants it all with you — the overbearing dad, the sister with powers, the teenage kids who never let you have a single second to yourselves when they’re around.

It’s a lot sometimes, most times, but he’ll weather it all with you.

“You like being with me?” you echo just to see him nod.

He does. “I love being with you,” he corrects.

“Love calling me mommy, too, huh?”

He realizes then, the sincere moment was just a set-up for that stupid joke. He groans and flops his head back on the pillow, but makes no move to distance himself from you.

“Oh, my god,” he moans in annoyance. “Am I gonna have to deal with this the rest of my life?”

You nod. “Sorry, Harrington, but I’m never letting that shit go.”

Good, he thinks to himself, even though he pretends to hate it because it makes you laugh. He never wants you to stop.

#published by bug #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #st oneshots

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loveundrwrld · 9 months ago

Text

(ex) bully x fem reader oneshot

i tried to make sure new readers could understand the situation, but you can read his intro here for context if you'd like.

(cws: stalking, yandere shenanigans, reader has been bullied by the yan in the past and struggles with some trauma from it)

you’ve been stalked for a while by someone from your past. and to your horror, he seems to be finally making the move to approach you…

you aren’t doing so well. every day you feel your skin crawling, feeling someone’s gaze on you.

you’ve always had issues with feelings of anxiety ever since high school. for a long time, you’ve been skittish and untrusting of people, especially men. you know that you can take something small and your mind quickly spirals, turning a small problem into something huge in your mind.

and initially you were concerned that this was what was happening now. that your brain was connecting small things from your life together into something a sinister pattern.

unfortunately, this time… you think you are right to be afraid.

lately, every once in a while when you look behind your back you can see someone following behind you in the distance. someone with their face hidden in a scarf or wearing a dark hoodie. at first you think its just a coincidence... but, the person is always looking in your direction. and in some way or another, they’re always disguised.

later on, you check your mailbox, and there’s always a letter there waiting for you.

you knew it was from your stalker. you didn't really have any friends, and nobody in your family had that kind of handwriting you saw on the envelope.

you didn’t read the letters at first, afraid of what could be in them. in your mind, it would only solidify your fears of what was happening. you could deny that you were being stalked, chalk the person following you as just a coincidence- but seeing it written out in front of you would make it all feel real.

eventually, though, you decide that you need to read them. when you did, you realize with a sinking feeling that your stalker was the very person you wanted to avoid the most.

it's tanner- the person who made your life at school a living hell for you. all of the details and context that he’s sprinking in make that very clear that it’s really him.

it's hard to read, and not just because you feel disturbed by them. they're almost incoherent, his handwriting nearly chicken scratch as he is clearly writing them quickly and desperately. the letters themselves also seem to be just stream-of-consciousness too. from what you can make out of it, it’s absolute insanity- ramblings about how he could hurt himself if it pleases you, desperate pleadings for you to please, talk to him.

you think he's likely trying to mock you or scare you with his words of praise and obsession. you doubt that he's genuine in his intentions- though you don't doubt at all that he's obsessed with you. he’s taunting you by letting you know that he knows, you’re sure of it. his letters are simply too well timed- and have too many… ‘coincidental’ questions that relate to what happens in your life. you feel nauseous with fear thinking of him coming back into your life and tormenting you once again.

you try to go to the police with what you've seen, but nothing happens. no matter what you say, the police seem to not be willing to hear you out. to them, you sound paranoid… even though you tried to show them the letters, they still didn’t think it was worth their time. "well, he hasn't hurt you yet, right?" they would say. it would take you being kidnapped or dead for them to care, you realize.

you tried your best to ignore the pit of fear and uneasiness growing in your stomach and simply went to work.

your shift at work felt long. despite trying to calm yourself down and think of other things, you still kept thinking about tanner. your mind reminded you that you probably would not even be able to recognize him from all the years it’s been since you’ve last seen him- memories tend to distort and fade after time.

what if he wasn’t only trying to stalk you from afar, but he was actively trying to get close to you? it could be possible, your mind reasoned. he could’ve been the grocery store cashier, the neighbor next door who said hello to you, anybody. he could be any number of the customers you see walking into the store you work at.

all throughout the day at your workplace whenever a customer surprised you by walking too close behind you, or tapped you suddenly on the shoulder, you were certain that it was going to be him.

but, in the end, nothing happened. and just as you did every day, you needed to head back home.

it's pouring outside, and you're walking back out of the subway station. you look behind you, and someone in a black raincoat is walking quickly behind you. he turns his head a bit to the side and you see a flash of blonde hair sticking out of his hood.

you start walking faster- it has to be him.

just like you remembered- blonde hair, tan skin, tall, and lanky.

he’s closer to you than he’s ever gotten, and you don’t like that he feels confident enough now to change up his routine.

you walk quicker, turning left. but he's still right behind you, walking close behind.

you see someone close by your apartment stairs, a tall man with a shaved head wearing a long coat over a suit- you rush near him, hoping that the prescence of another man would deter your stalker.

it does not work, it seems- he keeps looking at you with some sort of strange desperation in his eyes.

you grab the stranger in the suits arm. you look over at his shirt- seeing a badge for the nearby bank on the front of his shirt. a security guard who just got off work, you think- he’s perfect.

the man in the raincoat gets even closer to you now, his brows furrowing. he opens his mouth as soon as he sees your hand on the other man’s arm.

"you're the person who lives in room 509, right? i need to-"

"hi, honey- did you wait long?" you ask, looking up at the man in the suit with a nervous smile.

he freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. in a few seconds though, he calms down and returns your smile.

"no, i didn't," he says, looking down at you with a sweet look.

he turns and looks at the man in the raincoat with furrowed brows, his voice immediately dropping. "is this guy bothering you?"

you freeze, not expecting him to address him directly. but you simply tug on his arm, trying to direct his attention away from him.

"don't worry about him, honey, just come inside."

he gives you a warm smile and opens the door for you, closing it quickly. he laughs softly at an alarmed sound coming from outside the door. you drop your shoulders, relaxing now.

once you’ve calmed down you feel a bit bad that you don’t recognize him- you haven’t been the best at being friendly to your neighbors.

you give the man in the suit an appreciative smile, wanting to show that you’re grateful for him playing along with your story.

“thank you for helping me! i don’t know what i would’ve done if you weren’t there.”

he looks down at you and gives you a confused look, but he smiles brightly.

“you're a sweet girl. no need to thank me for anything.”

he moves towards the elevator and you follow him. he presses the up button for you, and looks back at you with a bit of a blush on his face.

you look down where he was looking, and you blush as well. you didn't realize that the rain had soaked through your shirt, causing it to cling to your chest. you adjust your jacket, buttoning it up.

you two wait for the elevator, and he shifts a bit closer to you.

“what happened, by the way?” he says softly, looking at you curiously. “you seemed shaken up. did he ever do something to you?”

you nod, hesitantly.

“something like that,” you say, a bit bitterly.

he looks down at you with a concerned frown, and you two walk into the elevator together. you press the “5” button on the keypad.

"you should be careful. he lives in the floor above you. room 609," he says to you, his voice dropping a bit, becoming low.

he puts his hand on your shoulder, and you flinch a bit instinctively.

“do you need me to do anything to him? maybe... pay him a visit?”

you look at him with wide eyes, becoming uneasy. you slowly shake your head.

"no... you don't have to do anything."

“no, y/n, i do. if anything happens to you, it’s my fault.”

you freeze, taking a step back instinctively. there isn't much room for you to move- your back hits the back of the elevator.

you’ve never told him your name.

“… your fault?” you say, warily.

“i should’ve been more careful. i don’t know what he did… but i should have been there. he must’ve gone after you after he got my letter to you by mistake. it’s my bad handwriting that got you into this mess.”

you remember now that the address of the letters… the messy “5” he wrote for your room number looked awfully like a “6.”

the elevator door opens, and suddenly the man- tanner, you realizes, turns to you. his guilty frown turns into a small smile.

“well, anyways, no need to worry about him. it’s a good thing that i was there that time, right, honey?”

#yandere x fem reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere bully #sorry this one is gendered lol i just thought a female reader would work better for this scenario #tanner whitlock

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

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Miiiiight have gotten strep throat, SO!

How do you think SOLDIER(and Cloud because at that point, he's there everyday) would handle it? Who got it first? Who gets the terrible earache on top of sore throat? Are they all turning to Angeal for home remedies? This kinda stuff!!

*Poof* Everyone has strep throat, because why should you suffer alone?

Sephiroth: Is hit with a violent physical toll. The throat symptoms are severe, but the headaches, body aches, and overall fatigue are worse. It's as if Sephiroth.exe has stopped working; he can only lie in bed while listening to loud, dramatic classical music on blast. He says it's to soothe his spirit, but by the sixth play of "Lacrimosa," Angeal peeks in to see what's happening.

*Sephiroth has a black blanket over his head and is clutching Masamune while rocking back and forth*

Angeal: You okay there buddy? Why do you have your sword with you?

Sephiroth: To defend myself from the Grim Reaper.

Angeal: ........

Sephiroth: I often wonder if anticipating death with the same excitement one reserves for the arrival of an old friend hastens its approach. I suppose I’m about to find out, as I can feel health slowly leaving my mortal form.

Angeal: Oh my god

Angeal: Is extremely sick, with a burning throat, but he’s trying every home remedy he can find to speed up recovery for everyone. He’s brewing teas, mixing honey and lemon, gargling with salt water, and setting up humidifiers throughout the apartment, hoping the moist air will soothe everyone’s throats. It's not working.

Genesis: Has the worst sore throat of the bunch. His pain is so severe that he can barely swallow, and speaking is incredibly painful, though not impossible. He takes to using a mini white board to communicate with his friends, and he will quote Loveless using nothing but images, don't test him. The last time he tried, his voice came out so raspy and uncharacteristic that Sephiroth laughed for ten minutes straight before throwing up :( Speaking of Zack,

Zack: Nausea and vomiting hit him hard. He can't keep anything down, not even water, but his appetite is still there. It doesn't help that strep throat means Angeal is making the most fragrant chicken soup ever, that Zack can't eat unless he wants to throw it all back up. He's the equivalent of a cat snooping over the soup pot when his owner isn't there.

*Angeal checks in on Genesis*

Angeal: Do you want some soup?

Genesis writes: Did Zack eat?

Angeal: No, poor thing keeps throwing up. Chicken soup will only make him sick, so—

*The sound of a pot lid clattering and retching from the kitchen*

Angeal: DON'T TOUCH THE SOUP GOD DAMN IT! ZACK IF YOU THREW UP IN THE SOUP I SWEAR I'LL SEND YOU TO MEET THE REAPER—GO BACK INTO YOUR ROOM SEPHIROTH HE DIDN'T SHOW UP YET

Cloud: He got the earache, and while he’s taking antibiotics like everyone else, his primary coping mechanism is to lie in a fetal position on the cold floor of the apartment. The cold provides some relief and reminds him of his childhood, when his mom would apply cold compresses while praying for him. People who find him either trip over him or think that his whispering and pressing his ear to the ground is just him communicating with the planet.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife

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star-wrote · 4 months ago

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ANYFING WITH FLUFFY MUEPHY MACMANUS PLES PLES PLES PLES LMAOOO

Mo Stór

ao3 link

Characters: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

A/N: loving the energy in this request, anon. if you had a tail, it would be wagging LMAO. i’m sorry this took AGES, but i hope you enjoy anyway! <3

Warnings: cussing, bad irish accent writing, fluff, domestic bliss, seriously it’s so fluffy

Word Count: 817

Dating Murphy MacManus isn’t the easiest thing in the world. In fact, if you were to ask his brother, he’d say something along the lines of “Dunno how ya put up with us being vigilantes and shit, lass.”

You and Murphy have had countless talks about him and his brother’s “hobby,” half of them ending in you begging to join him. He would never let you, it’s too dangerous.

So you work your job to support yourself and the boys. You don’t mind it really, they treat you like their queen. Usually, they’re home when you get off work. Walking in to a warm dinner, even if it was a frozen pizza, was a feeling you wish for every good person on earth.

Other nights, like tonight, the brothers wouldn’t be home. You couldn’t help the feeling of anxiety that went to that pit in your stomach. You rush to the note on the refrigerator, ripping it from the magnet that also held up a picture of you and Murphy kissing. Both the picture and the magnet fell off the fridge as you read the note.

“Went to grab Chinese takeaway for dinner. Be back soon x.”

You sighed in relief as you read Murphy’s chicken scratch handwriting. You remembered the magnet and picture that fell, and quickly retrieved them off of the floor. You smiled as you pinned the picture back to the fridge and silently thanked Connor for capturing that moment on camera.

It had been a long night at McGinty’s, and Doc had kept the rounds coming. You had somehow convinced Murphy to dance with you; it must have been the David Bowie song playing. At the end of the song, he dipped you down like you were in some kind of romance movie, and gave you one of many kisses that you two have shared in that bar. Once he heard the click of the camera, he gently dropped you to the floor and shoved his brother, trying to grab the camera. You laughed on the bar floor as he successfully got the camera and pocketed it. He must not have been too upset about the picture since he printed it out the next day.

You heard the door open while you were reminiscing, interrupted by the familiar sound of the twins bickering; this time about chopsticks.

Connor calls your name as he shuts the door. “Are ya gonna use chopsticks?”

You smile as Murphy rolls his eyes and sets the food down on the table. He makes his way over to you and kisses your cheek.

“Yeah, of course,” you answer Connor, “are you?”

He pulls two wrapped pairs of chopsticks out of his pocket and hands you one. “Of course! Murph here wouldn’t let me grab three because he doesn’t know how to use them.”

You look at Murphy who rolls his eyes again as he grabs your hips to slide past you and take a fork from the drawers. He grumbles out “I’m fuckin’ Irish, don’t need to know how, eejit.”

You giggle as you hug him from behind. “I’m pretty sure the Irish didn’t invent the fork either, Murphy.”

He tried to frown, but one side of his mouth lifted. “Are we gonna eat this shite or not?”

After dinner and the nightly movie, you and Murphy retired to your shared bedroom. You were glad that the movie finished because it was Connor’s night to pick, and he picked the worst possible movie on earth, as usual.

You had both changed into your sleep clothes, and brushed your teeth together, smiling at each other in the mirror.

This was your favorite part of the day. You and Murphy got to cuddle in bed and just look at each other. His hand was on your cheek and his thumb was smoothing out your skin.

“Mo stór.” Murphy interrupts the silence.

You smile at him. “What’s that?”

“My darling.”

You kiss his forehead. “Yeah, I am.”

He smiles and kisses your lips gently.

You rest your forehead on his. “For a second I thought you were asking me to marry you or something.”

Without hesitation, he answers, “I would.”

You bring your head up from the pillow and lift your eyebrows in surprise at him.

He notices the shock on your face and scrambles to say something else. “I mean I don’t have a ring for you or anything. But I would get one. I just know that God sent you to me. I may be a saint, but you’re an angel, lass.”

He grabs your hand and kisses the top of it.

“It seems like it would be a pretty divine marriage if you ask me.”

You feel a tear fall from your eye. “Oh my god.”

He smirks as he wipes the tear from your face and chides, “Lord’s name, love.”

You giggle and then nod.

“Let’s do it.”

#murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus x reader #murphy macmanus x fem!reader #norman reedus #the boondock saints #boondock saints #fluff #daryl dixon

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rheiple · 11 months ago

Text

Attention Seeker

-OneShot

▪︎SUMMARY↦ Why is he following and helping you around with every chance he gets?

▪︎WARNING/s↦ None

▪︎CHARACTER/s↦ Eclipse, Reader

▪︎AUTHOR'S NOTE↦ Gago ang tagal ko nang hindi nagsusulat,, well anyways this the Eclipse wanting reader's attention, the first thing I needed to do at the poll.

I'm not really satisfied with the out come, but I wanted to post it not instead of letting it rot in my notes, and also I might not do the other fics I've planned at the poll, if i did write them then its gonna be for a long time

I've noticed that whenever i write, when I'm passionate about something I noticed that my writing looks good(?)

But when I force myself to write its basically shit, and this Fic is probably one of the few sjit fics I've written

So yea I hope you don't mind

“…It’s really dark in here.. Mind if you shine your eye lights over here bud?”

The sound of metal clinking represents the movement of your very tall and lanky companion. With it’s big bright eyes, you’re able to be see the injured Helpy trying to move it’s way towards a vent.

Here in the storage room, it’s very hard to move and see with how many piled stuff are stored in this small room. You’re surprised that He managed to cramp himself inside here.

Eclipse, your ‘new' friend has been tagging along with you ever since your shift has started.

You don’t really know why- or maybe you do. Perhaps it’s because he’s still new with his surroundings in this Pizza Plex. Couldn’t really blame him, and it’s not like you mind his company anyways. You just found it a little strange.. and maybe cute.

You went to carry the small bear in your arms, you heard a little hiss coming from the taller one. You eyed him as you put Helpy on a table.

Noticing you making eye contact with him, he grinned from ear to ear, he lets out a creepy glitchy giggle. It’s like he’s drunk on something.

Honestly though, you want to have a taste with whatever he’s drunk with. It’d be a good stress reliever for at the moment. But oh well, no matter, you have at least 30 minutes until it’s your break time. You could pull this through.

Just like what you keep saying to yourself for the previous days.

Holding the hammer up high, you gave Helpy a little warning. Knowing he’s been given the ability to feel pain and all. It’s creepy and sad knowing this bot's cursed ability is used to train newbies. You also wondered how on earth are they able to program that.

“All right Helpy, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this and tell you it’s gonna hurt just a little. It’s actually gonna hurt really bad but I need you to be brave for me ok?”

He's shaking, but he nodded his head.

“…Ok, on the count of one… two…”

You aimed the hammer a little close to his knee.

“And…Three-"

Eclipse hold the back of the hammer.

“Wha- Eclipse? What’s wrong?”

He gently took the hammer out of your hand. His other hand softly patting your head.

And immediately slammed it on baby bear bear's knee.

“OH MY GOD!”

While Helpy screamed because of the sudden pain, you screamed in fright because of how loud and painful Helpy's scream is. Eclipse took care of the situation by putting some kind of mask that emits special smoke to calm him down, and put a bandaid on his knee.

His other hand went to give him a lollipop.

You only looked at him flabbergasted. And he only smiled at you.

“Work is over.. Break now..”

One of his hands took yours and led you to the cafeteria.

Well this is humiliating.

You ignore the stares of your co-workers, glaring at them if they ever so much as chuckled at your current predicament.

He held the spoon filled with fried rice and chicken, the lunch you packed for yourself and tried to feed you. He’s making you look like a baby god dammit! You glared right up at him and gently smacked away the spoon. “Eclipse, you’re kinda making me look like a fool here…”

The celestial robotic tilted its head, he slowly brought back the spoon close to your mouth. His other hand holding your chin, trying to pry your mouth open. “…ahh”

You took a grip on his hand and lowered it down where he couldn’t reach your chin once again. He didn’t seem to mind, as he gladly took your hand and intertwined it with his slim fingers instead. He began to rub your hand with his thumb as best as he could.

With a sigh, you took the spoon and placed it on your lunch box. You look at Eclipse and hold his other hand. His rays slowly started moving at the initiated contact. “Look man..” You start off, letting out your thoughts and feelings was really hard for you. You’ve never thought you’d even do it to someone like Eclipse, considering he probably doesn’t know the most of what your saying unless you explained it but.. At least he had sympathy, you wouldn’t be able to find that in most people nowadays. That’s probably why you feel safe sharing your thoughts and feelings to him.

“Eclipse…You know I really really appreciate you helping me around stuff n all but. I kind of feel like you’re just… Babying me at this point.”

He emits a low mechanical whine, you could feel the slight tightness of his hands. “…Not intentional.. wanted to help you… get work done…”

“Awwe, thanks buddy.” You gently squeezed his hands and did the same thing Eclipse did with your hand earlier. “…But are you sure that’s the only reason? I noticed that.. You’ve been a little passive aggressive with the other bots.. Whenever I focus on them instead of you.”

With your confrontation, he looks to the side and whistled out some playful toons.

You confirmed that being rough with Helpy earlier was intentional on his part.

You let go of his hands to put yours on your hips. Giving him the all knowing stare, you called to him in a accusing manner. He only grinned widely at the mention of his name. You guessed that scaring a robot wouldn’t really work considering with looks alone, he’s the scary one than you.

“…Are you jealous?”

“…no..”

“You’re lying.”

“Not lying… only fibbing.”

You scratched your head and raised a brow. “But why? Why are you jealous?”

The tall robot leaned in to hug you. You went to sit on his lap. His faceplate rotated from left to right. “…love your eyes. Better on me.. than on them..”

You snickered and brought a hand up to your face. “Oh my god.. you wanted my attention?” You seem to get the memo as he purred in delight at your question. “..Oh Eclipse.”

You pry yourself off to stand and look at him, cupping his face with your small hands. As expected he leaned in to your touch. “You didn’t have to go through all that way just to get my attention you know that?” Seriously, he really shouldn’t have.

He caused hell to the other bots, he’s scary when he’s jealous.

“If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked! You know I wouldn’t say no..”

He took a hold of your hand with his, and looked at you with bright purple eyes.

“May I… have your eyes on me?” You grinned and kissed his teeth. “Of course..”

He began to stand up, surprising you by picking you up. You didn’t know where your going, but you assumed in one of the dark places where no one could find you. You’re glad you play a vital role at your job, or else you would’ve been fired with the amount of time you’ve went missing during your working hours.

You didn’t noticed, but Eclipse surely did, of a certain robot hanging from the ceiling observing him with envy.

The moon themed animatronic crossed his arms. “…So this is what our star has been wasting their time on..”

‘No fair, no fair! Why spend time with a bootleg version of us?!'

It’s as if Eclipse heard their thoughts, one of his hands gave them the rude gesture from behind.

Moon clicked his tongue. “So…that’s how you want to play…”

He’s been playing unfair for the past few days! Always sabotaging their plans so he could have you in his arms! They tried so, so many times to get your attention. Like making so many messes in the Daycare for you to help them clean it, they made gifts so they could see your flustered face, and they even broke themselves for you to fix them.

Not only did the metal prick cleaned the Daycare, fixed them instead of you- which they much rather prefer, he stole their gifts, lying to you that he was the one who made it instead of them! He is such a big fat liar! A phoney!!

He could imagine his Sunny counter part walking around and huffing in annoyance. ‘Oh the nerve of him to do that! When I get my hands on our star once again he’ll be begging us to let him see her! And even then it’d be over my shut downed body if he ever thought I’d agree!'

The lunar jester is pretty sure the Eclipse would just control their minds to scrap themselves up, before they could even think of hiding away their star.. As much as he wanted to, he and Sun knew it’d just make you sad if you found out they’re not on good terms.

So they’re the ones who tried to give them the time he needed with you but, they’re just abusing their kindness at this point. They need to hatch up a plan to have you back in their arms sooner of later.

The moon slowly backed away by crawling. “…Hoping to see that soon…” He went back to his patrols for now.

#fnaf x reader #fnaf sb x reader #security breach x reader #fnaf sb #moondrop x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sundrop x you #sundrop x y/n #sundrop x reader #eclipse x you #eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader #eclipse fnaf #fnaf x you #five nights at freddy's

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rebelwrites · 11 months ago

Note

Hellloooooo!! God how much i've missed your writing!

What about a little Clay fic?? What about reader thought she wouldn't see him at Christmas as he was working, so she's at her parents house and half way during dinner or like nearly midnight on christmas and the doorbell goes and it's Clay and he somehow made it for Christmas armed with a small present as that's all he had time to buy but reader just loves it and him 😍

Home For Christmas

Clay Spenser x Reader

As this is a flash fic, this hasn’t been edited

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Staring around the room you couldn’t help but let out a loud sigh. Today was Christmas, one of your favorite holidays but this year you just wanted it to be over. Everyone was coupled up apart from you, dropping your gaze down to your hand, you found yourself fiddling with your engagement ring.

This was the first Christmas without Clay, in the four years you had been dating he had never had a deployment fall on Christmas but this year your luck had run out.

For the last week you had been practically holding your breath that he would make it home in time for the holiday, but here you were sitting alone on the sofa with a large glass of wine just wanting the day to be over.

It was currently 8pm and any hope you had of seeing your Clay today had completely vanished, so you found yourself curled up under the blanket with your 6 year old nephew as you all watched The Grinch.

You found yourself constantly checking your phone to see if you had any missed call from Clay, but once again you had nothing. At this point you had no idea if he was even coming home this side of the new year, even though he confirmed with you their deployment was coming to an end. You both knew from previous experience that things could change at the flip of a switch.

Hours had passed and there was no sign of you Fiance, your heart weighed heavy in your chest as you checked the time for the 50th time this hour.

It was nearing midnight, you were absolutely exhausted. Just like every year your nephews had you running around like a headless chicken and this year you had decided you were doing Christmas dinner. One of the many ideas you had to try and keep your mind from wandering.

Everyone had gone up to bed at this point, leaving you pottering around starting to tidy up. The last thing you wanted was to wake up to a house that looked like it had been ransacked. As you carried a load of glasses through to the kitchen you heard a sound coming from the hallway, but you thought nothing of it, it was probably your sister coming down because one of the boys forgot their stuffed animals.

Once you had dumped the glasses into the dishwasher you headed back into the living room but the moment you stepped into the hallway you couldn’t help but freeze.

Your fists came up to your face, forcefully rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren't seeing things. But there he was standing there in his greens, rucksack hanging from his shoulder and a small red gift bag hanging between his fingers.

“Merry Christmas baby,” Clay whispered, his eyes shining brightly under the moonlight that shone through the window in the front door.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” you breathed, taking a few steps so you were within touching distance of your boyfriend.

“Definitely not a dream babe,” he smirked, reaching out causing his rucksack to drop to the floor with a loud thud. Neither of you cared if it woke the rest of the house up right now. Within moments you were wrapped up in his arms, nuzzling your face into his toned chest.

“I know it’s not much,” he whispered, holding the small gift bag in the air, “not many shops are open this late on Christmas.”

You didn’t care about presents, all you cared about was Clay and that he made it home safely and in one piece. A large smile appeared on your face as you pulled away from him to investigate what was in the gift bag. Your heart fluttered when you pulled out three bars of your favorite chocolate. “Thank you,” you breathed, reaching up resting your hand on Clay’s cheek.

“I promised I would make it home for Christmas,” he hummed, resting his forehead against yours, “and I never break a promise to my girl.”

@chibsytelford @supervalcsi @talicat713 @disasterfandoms @bravo-four-seal-team @jasonbabymama @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @seik-o @velvetcardiganbucky @phoenixhalliwell @itsonautopilot @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @softi92 @abby-splace @theysayitscrazy @thelovelyleo23 @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @hippyprincessxx @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @choochoo284 @lmao-liz @babypink224221 @pedrohoe04 @littlekittymeow @nichia88-blog @zozebo

#clay spenser x reader #clay spenser #Clay Spenser imagine #Clay Spenser fanfic #seal team #seal team x reader #seal team imagine #seal team fanfiction

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ficmashup · 11 months ago

Text

Captive Patient

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Heavy Price-involved chapter! Took me a bit longer to write because it's a bit longer and because I wanted to get it right. Sorry for the wait! But, hope you enjoy. :)

Warnings: Vague SA mentions, illness, some crass language, so much fluff.

Word Count: 4.6k

Feral Masterlist

Shopping with Price is different than shopping with Simon.

With Simon, it’s all quick jabs and taking the piss with each other down every aisle. We were even scolded by the manager once when I sent a pack of jerky shooting towards his head with deadly accuracy. A single look from Simon had them scurrying away and I couldn’t stop giggling for two straight minutes.

It’s just…easy with Price.

“Grab the gnocchi for me?” I ask, pointing up at the item while I crouch and reach back to gather chicken stock on the bottom shelf.

“The what?” Price looks directly at the package with furrowed brows.

A smile pulls on my lips as I place my things in the cart before walking over to him. “Gnocchi? Just there.” I tap the bottom of the shelf and he reaches up to get it for me as he looks it over.

“The hell is it?” He asks and I chuckle, gently taking it from his hands and putting it in the cart as he looks at me.

“Like…dumplings? Little, pillowy potato bites. Never had them before, I take it?” I ask with amusement in my voice as he shakes his head, following me as we walk down the aisle again.

“Can’t say that I have. What do you do with them?”

“Other than eat them?” I tease, smirking as he gives me a look.

“I mean, how do you cook them?” He corrects and keeps pushing the cart as I grab a few things, add them to the cart, then slide back into place with him beside me. He coughs again, covering his mouth with his elbow while I listen closely. It’s a wet cough. Maybe he has some congestion dripping down the back of his throat?

I focus back on the conversation. “Hm, well, this time I’m making a sort of twist on chicken pot pie. Same ingredients go in one big pot and it simmers for a few hours, then you’re done.” I explain, unconsciously making hand gestures for the pot, stirring, and so on. There’s still a slight furrow to Price’s brow when I look back at him.

“Why not just make chicken pot pie?”

“It’s supposed to be easier.”

“But aren’t you missing the crust?”

“The gnocchi take the place of the crust.”

“The crust is the best part.”

I shake my head amusedly at his insistence, and slide in front of the cart as I gather a few things. “Look, I’m making it today. Why don’t you come try it yourself?” My hands freeze as I hold a package of chicken, my eyes not even seeing the price as I replay what I just said. This is the problem with things being so easy. I’m usually a bit more careful, a bit more on my guard, but like this…I say things without considering them first. But Price responds before I can take the words back.

“Alright.” He agrees and my eyes snap to his. Those pretty eyes crinkle as he nods, leaning against the cart. “And I’ll make you a real chicken pot pie this week. We’ll compare.” His smirk grows as I realize that I’m staring and I quickly shove the chicken into the cart before pushing it forward a bit.

“You cook?” I ask, struggling to keep my mind from spinning and my body catching on fire.

“Occasionally. I don’t set toast on fire like Johnny.” He chuckles and I relax at the sound, the tension fading from my shoulders as he moves back to my side. “I’ve taught myself a few things over the years. Pot pie was my mother’s favorite, so I taught myself how to make it.” That catches my attention and I can’t think about anything at all when he speaks in that soft, gruff tone.

“You made it for her?” I draw the obvious conclusion and he shrugs a shoulder, half-grinning.

“Tried to. She nearly spat it out the first time I tried. She, ah, she wasn’t the type of woman to hold back her opinions.” He recalls fondly and his eyes look off for a moment as if reliving the moment. My lips press together as I try to hide my smile as he looks back at me with a slightly sheepish grin. “But I got better.”

“Mm, I’d hope so.” I tease and take in the warmth in his eyes like a reptile in the sun before we move on.

* * *

It’s easy enough to sneak a few things into my cart that he doesn’t notice. I don’t have to ask him to help me take my groceries up to my flat, and its child’s play to get him to sit on my couch for a few moments under the guise of waiting for a cup of tea. He sits and I note how tired he seems when he thinks I’m not looking. He leans against the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. His eyes shut while his hands slide over his thighs and I try not to get too distracted by him as he spreads his legs to get comfortable.

Quickly, I grab the secret things I got from the store and set each in front of him on my coffee table. His eyes open, looking at me while his brows furrow. “Drink one of these.” I point to the bottled water and a glass filled with a golden liquid. (Electrolytes, lemon-flavored.) “Then we’ll wait a few minutes until I can take your temperature. If it’s higher than I like, then I’m keeping you here until it goes down.” It’s very clear that nothing I’m saying is a suggestion.

Price blinks at me. “What?”

I set my hands on my hips, fingers drumming over my hipbones. “You’re sick. You’re coughing, you’re feverish, you’re taking more deep breaths than usual as if you’re having trouble getting enough air. It’s also obvious that you’re exhausted and I’d guess you’re not sleeping either because of congestion or hot and cold flashes at night.” I look pointedly to the drinks I set in front of him and he slowly leans forward to take the water bottle, but doesn’t drink it just yet.

His eyes narrow at me. “So you decided to back me into a corner with the promise of a home cooked meal?” Surprise pulls his brows up, but there’s amusement and something almost like pride in his eyes.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Yes. Blame yourself. You told me that you’re insufferable when you’re sick, so I took things into my own hands by making a tactical move.”

He can’t keep himself from smiling now and my stance softens just a touch at the sound of his soft laugh. “Damn. I’ll remember that when considering undercover missions for the team.” He leans toward me with his elbows on his knees, head tilted up at me. My fingers flex against my arms as I see him in this position and I beg my mind to pull itself together. “But I’m fine. No need to go to any trouble.” A particularly bad cough chooses this moment to rattle his chest and I give him a pointed look once he’s finished hacking his lungs up. He returns the look with all the innocence in the world.

“Right. Let’s test that theory.” I pick up the thermometer and hold it out to him, raising a brow when he doesn’t take it. “There are many ways to take your temperature, Captain. Either let me take it willingly or I will shove this up your ass.” There isn’t a hint of hesitation in my voice and Price’s eyes widen a touch. His jaw flexes as he thinks it over before sighing and accepting the thermometer.

“Starting to feel bad for the boys if this is the treatment they got when they needed fixin’ up.” He grumbles as he slides the thermometer under his tongue with the end sticking out between his lips. It’s almost like a poor imitation of his cigars.

“I only treat my stubborn patients this way. If you’re good, then I’ll be sweet as sugar.” I glance at the clock, noting the time so I can be sure he keeps it in long enough for the reading to be accurate.

“Bet you would be.” The words are barely spoken under his breath, but my eyes snap to his immediately. Tension stretches taught as a rubber band between us and my body goes hot as he shifts slightly in place on the couch.

“What was that?” I whisper, frozen in place as I wait for his answer.

“Said I’ll try to be good then.” He responds gruffly and our eyes are locked on one another’s before the thermometer beeps, startling us both. A deep breath vanishes down my throat as I steady myself. I lean forward and slip the thermometer from between his lips, not meeting his eyes now as my hand skims his cheek. My thoughts narrow as I see the digital numbers flashing up at me.

“101. Low-grade fever. Still insisting you’re not sick?” I shoot Price a scolding look while he huffs. I pull away and clean the thermometer and put it away while gathering a few other things. It helps to get a little distance from Price anyway. “Alright.” I walk back to him and press pills into his hand. “Take these and drink as much as you can. Rest. I’ll work on the dinner I promised.”

Price looks utterly dissatisfied. “You want me to sit here while you cook? That’d make me a poor guest.”

I smile and hum in amusement. “But a good patient. You can come sit at the counter, but I’m not having you do much until that fever is down.”

He stands up, shaking his head. “I feel fine—"

“John.” I use my firm voice, holding his gaze without flinching as I place a hand on his chest. We hold that position for a moment, neither of us backing down while I think about the best way to handle him. My stance softens and I sigh softly, leaning into him a bit so my hand pushes against his chest just enough to drive my point home. “You trust me to take care of our team, you trust my advice on missions, now I’m asking you to trust me enough to let me take care of you. Let me.” My fingers tap lightly over his heart and mine beats faster at the vulnerability of asking him for something. Especially since I’m asking for his trust.

His jaw flexes a moment before he sighs, a smile pulling on his lips as his hand slides over mine on his chest. “Fine, sugar. You got me.” He agrees at last and I swallow at the sound of his soft, deep voice as he surrenders.

“Thank you. Now, where do you want to sit?” I raise a brow, seeing if he actually meant what he said.

He shakes his head slightly as if he can’t believe himself. “The counter. I’ll lend moral support.”

I grin, tapping his chest twice before reluctantly sliding my hand off him. “Good. That’s the most important kind.” He chuckles and grabs the drinks I bought him before settling on a stool at the counter while I walk around it to start cooking.

“Think I’d take air support over moral support.” He comments and I chuckle as I get everything out.

“You think so? You’d take a chopper over having the team at your back?” I challenge with a smirk as I get out two cutting boards and knives before organizing what needs to be done. He gives me a look, but can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Touche.” He allows and amusement flits through me. Conversation continues to be easy and John actually behaves well enough after I give him a job. (Cutting vegetables for the soup.) We eat together and it takes me a few minutes to settle as we both sit together and eat. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something so mundane and while I’ve eaten here with Simon, everything with John feels different.

His gaze follows me around the room and the weight is comfortable, soothing, and the very fact that I like it makes me nervous. The only thing that keeps me steady is the fact that he still needs care because he’s sick. It starts getting later and later, but the only thing that I’ve managed to help is his congestion. At least he can breathe a little easier.

I’m curled up in a ball on the opposite end of the couch as I debate making him stay, hating the idea of sending him home to his empty flat. Especially since I know he won’t call me if things get worse. My mouth opens to at least start the conversation, but before I can get a word out, a soft snore fills the room. I glance over at Price with wide eyes to find his head tilted back on the couch cushions, fast asleep. My lips press together to keep in a giggle as I relax back into place.

His position isn’t putting too much strain on any part of his body and if he’s fallen asleep so easily, he really must’ve been having trouble recently with the dripping down the back of his throat. I’ll let him sleep like this a while, then move him to the guest room a little later. I find myself watching him. He looks utterly relaxed slumped on my couch, hands still resting on his spread thighs as soft, rumbling snores leave his lips and each one makes me smile. What’s truly surprising is how comfortable I am having him here. The last time I had a man in here was…a very long time ago. A one-night stand to scratch an itch. Then, more recently, I’ve started having Simon here.

Simon was a bit easier because we have an understanding. Scars that neither of us have voiced, but that we both can see. Scars that are shared. It’s been a give and take of trust with us, always keeping things even, keeping each other steady until we relaxed into friendship. I’d let him into my apartment for barely five minutes the first time since he was the one who invited me to tea. A fair exchange. Then he let me into his place for longer, then I did the same, until we spent hours with each other and found we no longer needed to keep score.

With John…he’s already given me more than I could ever repay. He let me on the team, provided a place for me to fit in, a job to focus on, and provided me with friends within that job, people I could trust and depend on. That’s why it’s so easy for me to find myself off-balance with him. He’s given me so much so freely and only expects me to carry my own weight. Maybe that’s how normal people are supposed to interact and I’m just fucked up, but whatever.

Gently, I ease myself onto my feet and turn the tv off. “John.” My voice is soft as I move close, but don’t touch him just yet. “Hey, John. Come on, I’ve got to move you or else you’ll regret it in the morning.” My foot nudges his boot and he sighs heavily, shifting in place.

“Hmph.” He makes a disgruntled noise and I can’t help giggling. That’s what entices him to crack one eye open. “Am I dreamin’?” His voice is low and gruff and sends warmth seeping through my body.

“Are your dreams the only place you make women laugh?” I tease, leaning forward and taking his hand in mine along with wrapping my other around his bicep. “Come on, I’m getting you to bed.” Slowly, I heave him onto his feet and grunt as I duck under his arm, the heat of his body searing my side as we shuffle towards my guest room.

“Don’t often get to hear your laugh.” He mutters, his eyes only half open as I struggle to guide him around my furniture. “Such a damn pretty sound.” My body is boiling from heat and I’m not sure whether it’s because of embarrassment or pleasure.

“You should tell me more jokes if you want to hear me laugh.” It’s the only thing I can think to say and the warmth gathering in my stomach isn’t helped by the soft chuckle he gives me.

“Not much good at jokes, but I’ll keep that in mind, sugar.” He nods once and a tingle slides down my spine at the little nickname. I wonder if it’ll stick. “Wait.” We reach the doorway to my guestroom and Price reaches out, catching the doorframe with his hand while the arm I have a hold of tightens around me. He blinks a few times and I see him trying to wake up. I can’t imagine how deeply he must’ve been sleeping to have this much trouble. On missions, he’s up and ready to go in seconds, has to be.

“Don’t start thinking now.” I tease lightly and keep gently tugging him forward. Tired eyes meet mine as he lets me. “You’re in my flat, I’m putting you in my guest room because it’s late and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.” I explain as much as is needed and finally sit him down on the bed. He allows it with a heavy sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you.” He shakes his head at himself and I smile softly, wondering if his despondency is due to thinking of how his mother that he’d cooked for would think him a bad guest.

“I wanted you to sleep.” I step closer and press the back of my hand to his forehead. The only light in this room comes from the lamp still on in the living room, the warm light spilling across the bed like a shard of amber. It catches Price’s eyes just right and leaves them half a clear blue, and the other half shadowed like a stormy sea. I nearly forget what I’m doing as I stare into them. “You…you still have a fever. I’ll check in the morning, but for now, some more rest will do you good.” My other hand rests lightly on his shoulder and I don’t realize until after I move away that it wasn’t for any reason. I just wanted to touch him.

The thought makes me flustered as I swallow. “I think I have something you can wear, if you’d like.”

Price raises a brow at me. “Don’t think anything you have would fit me.” He presses the toe of his boots against the heel as he slips them off.

I give him a look, though I’m glad he’s not putting up a fight about staying here. “Wasn’t planning on giving you my clothes. I think there are some men’s clothes still shoved in the back of one of my drawers from an old boyfriend.” Mentally, I look through my drawers and try to pinpoint where I left them.

“Hm. No, thank you, sugar.” He shakes his head and I focus on him again. “Don’t usually sleep in much anyway.” I blink a few times before quickly nodding.

“Right. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.” My feet carry me to the bathroom and I flick on the light, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it with cold water. I wring it out in the sink and purposefully don’t look at myself in the mirror as I walk out. I don’t need to think about what I’m doing and I’m afraid if I meet my gaze, I’ll start reading into all the thoughts spinning around in my head.

Next, I grab two bottles of water and head back into the room, nearly tripping when I see Price’s shirt and pants slung neatly over the end of the bed. His socks are also tucked into his boots just under the cuff of his folded pants. My steps slow and I curse myself for being an idiot as I set the bottled waters on the bedside table. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless before. I’ve seen every member of our team stripped down to their underwear when we had to cross a freezing river in the mountains. Not to mention I’ve treated their cuts and scrapes, Price least of all, but enough to see most of him.

But this is different. This isn’t in the field with the team or on base with half a dozen nurses around. We’re alone in my home with no one to watch or check in. It’s just us.

Price coughing brings my head swinging back towards him and I frown, sitting on the edge of the bed as the coughs ease. “Your throat raw from coughing?” I ask as he sighs, nodding as he leans his head back against the headboard. “I have something for that, hold on.” My hands gingerly lay the folded, cool cloth over his forehead before I get up and come back again with cough syrup.

“That looks like it’s going to taste great.” He grumbles as he peeks at it and I sit back on the bed beside him with my hip pressed against his thigh. He’s pulled the blankets up a little past his hips so we’re…relatively decent.

I smirk and pour the thick, molasses-type liquid into the cap before holding it out to him. “Better than whiskey.”

“Hmph, bite your tongue.” But he takes it anyway, grimacing as it slides down his throat and he hands me back the cap. I screw it back on and set the container next to his waters which he instantly chugs half of to try to get the sickly-sweet medicine taste out of his mouth.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone for the night.” I say softly, meeting his gaze as I think of anything else I can do. “Come get me if things get worse. I mean it.” I shoot daggers at him with my eyes and he only smiles warmly, nodding in acceptance.

“Yes, ma’am.” He agrees and I’m about to get up when I feel the pads of his fingers brush mine on the bed. “Thank you for this.” His gaze holds mine and I freeze as his fingertips ever so lightly slide up and down each of my fingers. “Been a long time since I let someone take care of me. Longer still since someone wanted to.”

“It’s…my job.” I reply and the words taste like a lie.

His fingers pause for a moment, then he continues with a slow nod. “If you’d like to think that, then that’s fine. I won’t push and your standing with the team and with me won’t change. I’ve never lied to you and I hope you can trust me that much.” My brows furrow and I nod. I’ve trusted him with my life and with knowing more about me than nearly anyone else. I trust him not to lie to me. His eyes still haven’t wavered from mine and I’m comfortably caught in them, his words only half-sinking in for now. “But I’m not here because you’re my medic. And I don’t think you’re lettin’ me touch you like this because I’m your Captain.” The words are gentle, wrapped in the warmth of his rumbling voice, but the actual sentiment is blunt.

I blink a few times, keeping my body absolutely still. John is patient and his fingers don’t stop moving against mine. Thoughts whirl through my head, most tinged with panic, but Price is still here, still steady, still keeping his eyes on me as if ready to talk me down or let me run out of here. He’s not saying this like it’s a problem. He’s saying this like he’s trying to break the news to me, as if I don’t already know, as if I haven’t been fiendishly ignoring every little flutter of warmth his every word or gesture gives me.

I finally move, reaching up and pressing my fingers to my temple as I try to think. “It sounds like you have something you want to do about that.” I say softly, feeling like we’re encased in a little bubble here and speaking too loudly will break it.

He quirks a brow at me, surprise in his eyes. “We could start with a date.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “A date.” I repeat, my fingers curling just a touch towards his as he keeps petting mine.

“Mmhmm.” He hums a confirmation with his head tilting just slightly as he watches my reaction. It’s clearly not what he thought it would be.

“You want to take me on a date?”

“Yes, sugar.”

“You realize what a bad fucking idea that is?” My voice is still hushed, my brows furrowed with confusion while Price keeps watching me with that steady gaze. “Forget the headache it would be on base, the gossip, the paperwork, possibly screwing with team dynamics, but you’ve read my file.” My voice shakes, but I don’t break away from John’s gaze. I’ve never hidden myself from him before and I’m not about to start now. “You realize what a nightmare it would be to try and date me? Do anything like that with me?” My words are a warning, bright red and flashing.

“I understand.” He says levelly and glances down to our hands for just a moment. “But I’m used to nightmares, sugar. I’d be glad if you’d let me tackle yours by your side.” His eyes lift to mine and if there was any doubt that he was earnest, the sincerity in his gaze immediately puts them at ease. I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I try to use the dull pain to keep the tears stinging the back of my eyes at bay. “But you don’t have to answer now. Sleep on it.”

“I have limits and boundaries that I don’t even know about yet. Things…wouldn’t be easy. Do you really want to navigate landmines in your personal life and your professional life?” I push anyway, needing his answer if I’m even going to consider this. I need him to know what he’s asking for.

“I understand.” He repeats, his fingers still moving soft and sweet against mine. “Yes, I do.” My next breath is a little shaky as I take in his words and the certainty in which he says them.

“You should sleep.” I say quietly, shifting closer as I flip the cool towel on his forehead and don’t resist the temptation to let my fingers linger. My hand rests against the side of his face, my thumb brushing over his cheek while his hot skin brands me. “Ask me again tomorrow.” His eyes scan my face as he nods, agreeing. Neither of us says anything else as he gets comfortable in bed and I slip out into my own room, curling up underneath my blankets.

For a while, I lay there while my mind swirls. The tears come next and my sobs are quick and quiet as I try to wrap my mind around what John is saying. He wants me. He wants to try. He’s willing to face my nightmares and stay. When I eventually fall asleep with tears smeared over my cheeks, there’s a small, hopeful smile on my face.

Taglist(hello lovelies, lmk if anyone else wants to be tagged!):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes

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cosmic-spider · 1 year ago

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Can you do Jax and Caine with a confession/asking out to y/n hc? Love your writing!

Ok hope I made it up to your expectations I did my best And thanks for the request.

Jack and Caine confesses to reader

Jax

• On this Bunny man would practice in his room for a full week. Change if it every time since when he did it it sounded so cheese to him. After he practiced he got the one he likes that most that was still heartwarming but not to Lovey-dovey

• But for the next Month this man would come up to you and then chicken out half way throw.

•So he would walk up to you then when you focus on what ever he’s going to say. He gets to nervous and then backs out last minute.

•Then because he’s so nervous he would pull a fast prank on you like tripping you.

• As he then runs away like he did in the pilot only leaving a dust outside of his self.But after a bit he got himself together and was able to get you two alone during a adventure.

• Were you need to be in pairs and go find items around the place.

•Caine had pared you and Jax together.( at Jax request of this adventure)As the two of you searched for some items outside the tent. In the debítale trees, lake and in the carnival rides.

• it was starting to get darker as the debítale sun started to set( from Jax request)

• He told you to look in the pop the balloon booths as he went to the rides to check one one time before it dark.

• But instead of looking for the item he got out a two red boxes that most people give on valentines. And a big cartoony bouquet of purple white and light pink debítale flowers.

• He had two so if you said yes to his confession you get chocolate. Plus in case you say no you get a sprinter up fist to the face. So he can pull it off as a joke.When you told his that you expect his confession he was overjoyed.

• what he didn’t expect was for you to kiss him right after the two of you forgot about the adventure.

• you basically told his to come closer to you so you can tell him something as you held the bouquet of flowers and chocolate box in one arm. The next thing he knows you are kissing him on the nose since your not ready for the lips yet.

• Jax’s ears started to rap around them selves and then unknown to him or you his left started to storm on the floor really fastas he blushed a bit of red. in a cartoony thumper type of way.

• As the two of you got back into the tent the others were surprised to see the new couple.

• Ragatha and Zooble made a few snarky comments on how much of a love sick boy. Jack looked like at the moment.

• Jax would try to say something back to defend his self. Until he saw you start to walk of to your room and run after you.

•As he flipped them both of behind you with a blushing face as he walked you to your room.

•Then you gave him a last good night kiss on the nose. As the others laughed at Jax That’s how red he got again after you kissed him,.

• He then walked off to his room and flipped them all off, and told them to fuck off as he then went into his own room for the night.

Caine

• is the type to tell you the moment he found out what he’s feeling for you are.

• but if someone one told him to at least make it more romantic so that it wasn’t boring to you. He would probably go and ask the girls on what to do and on advice on what to say.

• He would most likely bring a notebook with him to write down all of the suggestions.

• The girls give him a few suggestions like simple picnic to maybe a carnival ride to maybe even just separating you away from everyone else during an adventure.

• he would have it all written down in the notebook and then later on after he has all the suggestions, figure out which ones are more likely to be possible with everyone or which ones he thinks he would most likely enjoy.

•After a good few hours of him, trying to figure out what to say do and stuff. He starts to practice it with bubble, kind of like what he did in the pilot at the restaurant scene.

•So after a day or two of practicing and figuring out what he was going to say to you.

•So one day, either during an adventure, or just in your spare time, he would come up to you and tell you to follow him since he will be going on a mini adventure.

•And to make it not seem like it’s suspicious and if you ask everyone else, he would just tell him that he also on a mini aventures to see what everyone’s interest are so you can make better adventures later on.

•After he separates you from everyone else he every now and then looks over at the little notebook that he has with all the things he supposed to say written down so he doesn’t forget as he makes small conversation is Javier things that happened and things that you would like or adventures that you’ve enjoyed

•Then he gets you to the place, he had the planned confession he would tell you to sit down or to play the game if there are any.

• After a bit if you ask him any questions on what he can do to his extent of his abilities. He would show off some magician tricks for basics, and then show you different adventures in the making.

• Then as a final trick he would make fireworks go of as they spell out

{ I love you reader}

{ will you be }

{ My digital partner}

{?}

( in that order)

• If you say yes this AI is over the moon. Literally he picks you up and goes in the sky as he holds you in pure joy as you both float in the sky.

•Plus if you give him a kiss on his tears he. Literally holds still in shock and starts to flow off .

#the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #tadc headcanon #tadc #tadc x reader #confession #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caíne x reader #the amazing digital circus jax x reader #kisses

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tobesolonely · 2 years ago

Text

Y/N and Harry are expecting a baby, and they’re both very impatient.

happy 5k to meee! when I made this account at the height of the pandemic in 2020 to pass the time i would’ve never thought i would’ve made the friends i have or gotten so much support with my writing!! thank you besties! i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut

please buy me a coffee to celebrate! :D

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I just don't think we need three different kinds of bottle warmers, love.”

Y/N looks at her husband looking down at the half-full cart that’s now one bottle warmer fuller. According to every baby blog and “new mom” website she scoured, bottle warmers were a must-have. However, there was no general consensus on the best one. Y/N didn't really see any other option but to try a ton. (Besides, it's not like he couldn’t afford it.)

“Then tell me which one’s the best.”

Harry's eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “How would I know which bottle warmer is the best?”

“How would I know?”

He opens his mouth to quip back but can't think of anything to say because once again she's right. How would she know?

“Ok, darling,” he resumes pushing the cart through the aisle with a defeated sigh. “You're right.”

A credit card swipe and a short 15-minute car ride later they’re home, depositing all their recent purchases in the half-complete nursery. It was nearly stuffed to the brim with clothes and instructions for toys Harry began assembling but never completed and baby wipes and strollers and now, three different types of bottle warmers that it was a little overwhelming. The good kind, though.

By the time they finish that, they’re knackered, sprawled out on the couch with the tv playing lowly in the background.

“How does stir fry sound for dinner?” Harry absentmindedly traces over her plush thighs with the pads of his fingers while he seeks her approval. “I don’t think those bell peppers in the fridge have got much longer.”

“Mmm, sounds good,” she cranes her neck up to look at him, not wanting to leave her position on his chest. “Not too spicy, please. I can’t handle it right now.”

“I know, love.”

Y/N knows Harry knows, but she still reminds him anyway. He gently helps her up and guides her to the kitchen, lifting her up on the counter so she could cut up the vegetables while he stood at the stove and cooked the chicken. He’s about to sprinkle a generous amount of red pepper flakes atop the chicken when he remembers her polite request that he doesn't make it too spicy and he sets it down, deciding he’ll add it to his own portion separately.

“I think these are all chopped up.”

Harry hums and walks over to where Y/N is positioned on the counter to inspect her handy work. Most everything she knows in the kitchen she learned from Harry, and he definitely still teases her about her skills with a knife. At least she tries!

While the look on Harry’s face tells her he thinks her chopping skills look like that of a ten-year-old, all he says is, “Looks great, darling! You’re so helpful.” (The pregnancy has made Y/N more sensitive than usual and Harry knows she's liable to cry over the tiniest things so he’s been extra sweet to her)

With the chicken now simmering on low, Harry adds the vegetables to the dish and adds a bit of water to help soften it faster, making sure to add a generous amount of seasoning. Y/N appreciated this because she wasn't the biggest fan of vegetables (especially peas and broccoli, which Harry coincidentally loved) so whatever he did to make them even the tiniest bit tastier was helpful.

Twenty minutes later they're enjoying dinner, bowls filled with heaping piles of steaming rice and chicken-veggie stir-fry. Harry stands in between Y/N's legs while she’s sitting on the counter (occasionally giving her bites of his food even though they’re eating the exact same thing).

“Who taught you how to be such a good cook?” Y/N randomly questions in between a mouthful of food. She knows the answer is Anne, but she just likes stroking Harry’s ego sometimes.

“My mum,” he answers. “And lots of practice. I could teach you…”

“I’d rather not.”

Harry chuckles at his wife’s hatred for cooking. “Luckily for you, it brings me great pleasure to cook for beautiful women,” Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “I mean you. My beautiful woman. Don't give me that look.”

“Are you gonna make baby food from scratch, too?”

Harry raises his eyebrows in consideration, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Y/N’s nose. “There’s a thought… hadn’t even thought about that. I can do that.”

“I mean, you did say you love cooking for beautiful women.”

“I do,” Harry smiles at his wife for a few moments before the look on his face changes to one of accusation. “Are you trying to tell me something? Did you look?”

“Okay listen, I may have taken a tiny peek at the monitor when we were at the check-up on Tuesday…”

“Y/N!”

“I couldn’t help myself, Harry! I don’t know how you haven’t been going crazy over it,” she absentmindedly rests her hand on her stomach. “If I didn’t know I’d probably be so annoying right now.”

“That’s true. I’m sure you would be.”

Y/N playfully reprimands Harry by swatting his bicep. “You love how annoying I am. It’s why you married me. You said it in your vows, remember? There’s no going back now.”

Harry kisses the side of Y/N’s neck, then travels up to the sweet spot right below her ear before moving to the apples of her cheeks and then finally, her soft lips. “I wouldn’t dream of going back on it. Tell me more about this baby girl we’re having, since you like to ruin surprises.”

“I can’t help my wandering eyes!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Harry responds sarcastically. “Are we telling people?”

“I think it’ll be fun if we kept it our little secret,” she reaches up to play with the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. “Maybe we’ll tell your mum and mine. We’ll see.”

“You’re right,” his hand travels up the back of Y/N's shirt. She shivers at the feeling of his cool rings against her warm back, “Instagram post instead?”

“Harry!”

“I’m joking, love!”

“Help me down from here. My butt’s numb.”

“Have you been thinking of names while you’ve gone all this time knowing without me?” Harry easily lifts her off the counter, not removing his hands from her waist even once she’s steady on her feet.

“H, it’s only been two days.”

“Two days longer than I’ve known,” he bends down just enough to ghost his lips over yours. “Come sit on my lap. Let’s brainstorm.”

Harry gently guides her toward the direction of the living room, plopping down first on the couch so he could pull her into his lap. There was no other place Harry preferred Y/N to be than in his lap whenever he was around her.

“Are you upset that I peeked when we were supposed to wait?”

His eyes soften. “Of course ‘m not mad. I guess since we’re being honest I may as well admit that I took a peek, too.”

“Harry! Why were you gonna let me think I was the only impatient one?”

“You’re just easy to mess with,” he pulls her flush against his body. “I was gonna see how long I could keep it up, but I can’t do it anymore. I feel too bad.”

“When did you peek?”

“Right after you did.”

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “You saw me? I thought I was being sneaky!”

“I’m sorry to say you’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” he fiddles with the strap of her tank top, pushing it down her arm slowly. “I admire the effort though - it’s very cute, love.”

“Thank you,” Y/N cocks her head to the side. “Are you happy? That we’re having a girl?”

“Y/N, I’m so happy that I don’t think I can properly put into words how I’m feeling,” his hands travel along her back. “I’m even happier I’m having a baby with you. I don’t care about anything but having a healthy baby with you.”

“H, you’re gonna make me cry,” Y/N says dramatically, a small pout on her chapped lips. “You’re very cheesy - I love you so much. How did I get so lucky?”

“Would you believe me if I said I asked myself that same question every day when I wake up beside you?” Harry taps her on her side. “C’mon, up you go.”

Y/N lets out a little groan. “Why? I just got comfortable. Your lap is the best seat in the house.”

“Wanna show you how much I love you and how happy I am that you’re giving me a baby girl,” Y/N’s eyes widen as she scrambles off her husbands lap and onto the empty space beside him, legs folding beneath her. “Can I have a taste?”

“I thought we were discussing baby names?” Y/N jokes.

“I think we should do this first,” Harry drops to his knees, “Turn around f’me, darling- on your knees- yeah, just like that,” and immediately attaches his mouth to her clit, giving a firm suck. He quickly moves to her slit and licks up it, collecting her wetness on his tongue. Y/N can tell by his quick pace and sloppy licks that he's feeling plain desperate, and she momentarily wonders to herself how long he's been in this type of mood.

Almost as if he's read her mind, Harry pulls back and says, “Been wanting to get in between these pretty thighs since we were comparing all those bloody bottle warmers at the store…” before diving back in. She turns to watch as he pokes and prods at her holes with the tip of his tongue, working faster the heavier she begins to breathe. His palm rests on her ass cheek, which also aids in keeping her spread open for him. Harry places three pecks on her clit before removing his mouth from her core just long enough to turn her around so her bottom was on the couch instead.

Harry hooks his right arm under Y/N’s left leg and throws it over his shoulder, using two fingers to rub over her clit. He lowers his head back down and attaches his lips to her bud again, looking up through his lashes at her. Y/N uses her shoulders to support her body weight, using one hand to lift her tank top and tweak her nipples while the other tangles in Harry’s curls. His tongue flicks back and forth over her clit as he locks eyes with her before sticking his middle finger in his mouth and inserting it in her heat.

“Harry, I love you,” Y/N tells her husband breathlessly, voice filled with lust. “I love you so much. I’m so- oh!”

She lets out a sharp gasp once Harry adds two more fingers in one swift push, easily accommodating to fit his digits. His fingers burn in the best way possible, and she can’t wait to feel his cock. The whole time Harry’s fingering Y/N he’s giving her sweet praises–telling her she always opens up so well for him, that she get so fucking wet, that she tastes sweeter and better than the finest desserts. It’s nearly too much.

“I can’t put into words how much I love you,” Harry whispers as he relentlessly curls his three fingers up over and over again to stimulate that spongy spot deep inside of her. “I want you to cum for me, my love. Cum for me so I can get inside you, hm? Can you do that for me?”

Y/N’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as she releases all over Harry’s fingers, clenching so tightly around him that he has to tell her to relax so he can comfortably pull them out.

“S’fuckin’ tight…” he mutters moreso to himself, pulling his joggers and boxers down to his ankles in one swift go. “All mine?”

“All yours,” she responds so quickly she nearly sounds pathetic. “Please, H. Just give it to me please-”

Harry pushes Y/N up and back onto the couch so her back is against the armrest. “Comfortable?”

Y/N’s heart swells a tiny bit at her husbands concern for her comfort even when he was having her in such a filthy state. “Very. Please fuck me.”

Harry slips himself inside Y/N’s warm heat, letting out a quiet groan of relief at the feeling. Y/N whimpers and locks her legs around Harry and he takes that as his cue to move. He slides out nearly all the way before slamming his hips back inside her, grunting loudy in pleasure.

“That’s a good girl…just take it, darling,” he snaps his hips quickly into her, skin slapping against skin. “Lay there and take it like a good girl…My good girl…”

Tiny moans esacpe Y/N’s mouth and she doesn’t try to suppress them in the slightest, wanting her husband to hear how good he was making her feel. He always made her feel good, always put her pleasure first.

“My clit, p-please,” Y/N stutters out, reaching for Harry’s hand so she can place it at her core. Harry places his hand at her core and begins rubbing in hard, tight circles, knowing exactly how to stroke Y/N to bring her to her release.

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“So, so good. Gonna cum, H,” Y/N moans, bucking her hips up so they meet Harry’s. “Don’t stop H, please don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You’re there, angel?” his thrusts become impossibly faster. “Me too, baby. You first. Cum for me, Y/N.”

Y/N orgasms for the second time that night, waves of pleasure washing over her body that satisfy her in the best way possible. Harry’s not far behind her - his hips stutter to a stop before he lays his weight on top of her and cums, being mindful not to lay directly atop her bump.

The couple lay in silence for what feels like ages, basking in the afterglow of their sex and orgasms. Harry places a chaste kiss to the top of Y/N’s head before gently untangling himself from her, already thinking about which bath bomb he wanted to use when he went upstairs to run her a bath in a moment.

“So, about those baby names…”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Please let me know what you think! and please buy me a coffee to celebrate! :D

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry concept #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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angel-of-the-moons · 9 months ago

Note

I'm back again since it's been about a month since I last requested. I hope you don't mind me asking another story. So I was thinking of another Hobie one. There is honestly not enough stories about him and I love the way you write him. I was thinking of a more fluff type thing or possibly head cannons. You decide. Regardless about living with Hobie or just spending some downtime with him. Just a chill little thing I wanted to put out there. Thank you. I love your works and appreciate you 😘

Ilysm!!! I am sorry these asks have been rotting in my inbox! I'm finally working on them!!!

Ice Cream

Hobie Brown x Reader

TW/CW: Marijuana usage

Hobie is obviously aged-up in this

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

• When Hobie isn't rocking out with his band at pubs, or fighting the regime™ or working to save the multiverse with the Old Man, he's at home with you.

• He often slips into the window because he refuses to use the front door like a normal person (even if you live on the fifth floor)

• Hobie would find you wherever you were, on the couch, in the kitchen, in bed or in the bathroom; and would immediately wrap his lanky arms around you and breathe deep and relax every muscle in his body

• "Where've you been?" You tease, easing his spiked vest off his stiffened shoulders.

• "Dealin' with the Old Man and his nonstop bitchin'." Hobie said, clicking his tongue, leaning over to rest his chin on the top of your head, holding you against him once more as you carefully ease the rest of his punk paraphernalia off of his person.

• You lead him to the bed, and pull him down on top of you, using your remote to turn on the sound system, playing some of his favorite music tracks on a low volume for background noise

• "You're a goddamn angel, y'know that, luv?" Hobie sighed, closing his eyes as he listens to the soft patter of your heartbeat

• "Mmh, I try." You chuckle, your fingers idly fluffing his wicks and toying with them as you feel his breathing even out

• And in no time, he's out like a light, sprawled out over you like a lanky starfish

• Forget moving this man, despite his thin physique he somehow finds the magic in him to weigh as much as his old, beat-up van

• You're stuck in bed, so the only thing left to do is give in and join him for a nap

• When you two wake up, you work on your usual routine.

• Hobie helps cook, making homemade chips while you batter and bake some fresh chicken

• Once your lunch/dinner is finished, you both cuddle on the sofa and watch some shitty movie on your telly

• He 100% has gutter humor, as well as a perverted sense of one

• Is also very big into physical humor. I'm talking shoving tissues into his nose and pretending to be a walrus kind of physical humor. Whatever it takes to hear you laugh

• Totally plays his guitar for you, singing punk versions of almost any kind of song (except American country. That shite is a travesty upon the music industry!)

• Will often split his pot with you, either rolling joints or using a bong, he'll always offer you a hit if you need or want it

• If you can't handle it, he'll FaceTime you while he smokes on the roof. That way, you're still together and he isn't negatively affecting your health/personal preferences with his smoking

• If you're sick, Hobie will full on hit the breaks to whatever he's doing to take care of you (provided it's a possibility that he can do that)

• This includes sending a selfie with a middle finger to Miguel telling him to not bug him til you're better

• 100% a master at making simple comfort foods when you're sick. Cheese toasties, chicken noodle soup, vegetable soup, even homemade ice cream. He does it all for you

• Runs you a nice hot bath with some eucalyptus and Epsom salts to help your sore muscles and clear sinuses

• If you're nauseous, he'll put peppermint oil in the water with you and run to the market for some ginger pop to ease your stomach, maybe some ginger root tea while he's at it

• Will also buy you some of your favorite digestives just to make sure you get something solid in your tummy

• Will totally fake threaten you about blabbing to anyone about his "secret soft side" and "ruining his image"

• Everyone already knows, he's just blind as hell and doesn't notice lmao

• This man is 100% loyal. If any gal/pal/guy flirts with him, he will flat out shoot em down

• "Nah, mate. I already got the best partner in crime a guy like me could ever ask for. Nobody c'n compare to that!"

• Always makes sure he never worries you (or at least tries to)

• If Hobie is sick or hurt, positions are reversed and you become his personal nurse

• Totally doesn't pretend to be sick sometimes just so you'll spoil him

• You know he's full of shit when he does though, but you just humor him because he's cute about it

• Yeah, you both put up with each other's shit, but you'd never have it any other way

• However... Hobie definitely knows when he's in trouble.

• "Hobart Brown!" You'd shout.

• Yeah, Hobie could easily feel his blood chill when you use his government name

#🌙 answered #hobie brown #hoboe brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie x you #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you

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whimsicalcotton · 4 months ago

Note

36 on the kiss meme?

36 - to give up control

you didn't give me a particular ship so i'm gonna take the liberty of providing myself w more apf because i. am insatiable.

^^^ that's what i said before i started writing and then i got lost in the amberfield sauce. like actually idk what came over me but i straight up just wrote 4.5k of pointless/shameless rachel&max flirting and then took Several days to edit it. sorry? sorry.

--- --- ---

Max Caulfield likes to be sure of herself before she tries something.

Like, super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure. It's caused some problems over the years, and maybe everyone else finds it somewhat irksome, but she needs at least some degree of certainty if she has any hope of working past that initial burst of anxiety that so often arises at the mere thought of doing something unfamiliar. So she tends to stick to the sidelines. Asking a lot of questions she hardly puts to use, watching on as others are able to effortlessly do things she can scarcely bring herself to imagine.

Chloe's been helping her out with it. Or at least attempting to. Serving as the (mostly) gentle push Max needs to step out of her comfort zone, trying to teach her how to be a little more impulsive, but always remaining patient and reassuring when Max finds herself in over her head or chickening out.

And then there's Rachel.

Rachel helps in a… different way. Max thinks she overheard Chloe calling it, “throwing her to the wolves,” in a conversation that probably wasn't meant for her ears.

Whatever it is, it’s how Max finds herself in the blaring lights and veritable sea of drunken bodies known as a party. But it's fine. It's been fine. She’s just been hanging onto Chloe for dear life and trying to remember how to talk like a normal person whenever someone spoke to them. No biggie, no problem.

And then they lost Rachel. And Chloe's immediate response was, “Goddamnit, not again.” That definitely added a few points to the metaphorical uncertainty metre.

Though they still had fun off on their own for a bit. Chloe even mixed her one of those infamous red solo cup drinks, so she's getting a good grade in acting like a normal high-schooler tonight; something that is totally not weird of her to want and surprisingly difficult to achieve. It sort of helped and sort of made it worse that Chloe kept checking in with her every so often, looking at her like she was expecting Max to crack at any second.

Max misses the looks. She realizes it as she's wandering through yet another unfamiliar hallway, semi-frantically looking around whatever rooms she finds, having now lost both Rachel and Chloe. She doesn't know half the faces here, let alone names, so if anyone has to be looking at her she'd really, really prefer it be Chloe.

Alas, for the moment it's just a bunch of strangers’ gazes darting over to her every time she pokes her head into a room, searing into her skin even if only a momentary glance. Not to mention everything everywhere is so goddamn loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I don't know how anyone else's ears aren't bleeding loud. Even in rooms where the music is barely audible, there's chatting and laughing and a hundred conversations all happening at once. And don't even get her started on the lights downstairs.

She's just beginning to debate the merits of tearing her hair out over everything when she nearly crashes into yet another girl she doesn't know.

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, wincing at the sound of her voice. “M-My bad. I didn’t mean to.”

The stranger beams down at her. “Hey, no worries. I saw you come in with Rachel, didn't I?”

Max nods vigorously before realizing she probably looks ridiculous and uttering an, “Uhm, yeah,” in its place. “Have you seen her?”

“Looking for her, huh? Aren't we all. She's pretty slippery when she wants to be.” The stranger leans in to put an arm around Max's shoulder, and she goes rigid as a board under the touch. “Come with me, I think I saw her over this way not that long ago.”

“You think?” Max asks, half in earnest and half in reactionary grouchiness.

“Ooh, the puppy can bite,” answers the stranger, grinning at her with a hungry gleam in her eye. Max gulps. “Have a little faith in me. I've partied with Rachel before, I know where she likes to hang out.”

Max can feel her face going red. Maybe those stupid bright colored lights could actually be helpful right now.

Thankfully the very touchy stranger does actually know what she's doing, and it doesn't take too much walking and weaving through the crowd to find a certain flannel-clad blonde. She's at the head of a table full of people playing cards, and Max has no idea what they're playing but it sure looks like Rachel is winning. She's got her signature big, bright, confident smile plastered across her face, and there's a pile of loose change, cigarettes, and joints off in her corner of the table; next to a small stack of empty solo cups.

“Hey, Rach,” the stranger calls over to her, one arm still wrapped around Max. “Is this your lost puppy I've found?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Max’s face goes hot and she isn't sure if all the ensuing smiles are genuine or mocking and she still doesn't even know the name of the girl draped over her and –

“Maxie!” Rachel's voice is just as bright and boisterous as her winner's grin, and she too has taken to Chloe’s habit of calling her almost every iteration of her name under the sun. But Max is sort of grateful for it right now. “C’mere and watch me wipe the floor with these guys. We're almost done with this game.”

The whole table grumbles in protest to Rachel's gloating, but Max doesn't need to be told twice. She ducks out of the stranger's grip and rushes to Rachel's side, half hidden behind her. She lets out a shakey sigh of relief, knowing there's at least a cap on her nerves now that she's near someone familiar. Usually Chloe is her designated safe person, but she's in no state to be picky, and next to Rachel feels about as safe as she can manage right now.

Rachel looks back to give her a softer, sweeter smile before turning to the girl who brought her here. “My puppy,” she snaps, in full seriousness. “Paws off.”

The girl holds her hands up in mock defense and gives Rachel a scoff, turning to leave.

“Sorry,” she tells Max in a laugh. “A girl's gotta stake her claim. She'd eat you up if I didn't.”

Max chokes on nothing. “She'd what?”

“You heard me,” Rachel answers, pulling some cards from her hand and dropping her offering of cigarettes into the new betting pool at the centre of the table without really paying attention, practically playing with her eyes closed. “You are absolutely fucking adorable, after all.”

Max short circuits for a minute while she tries to process the sentiment. A chorus of groans and grievances circle the table.

“Goddamnit, again?”

“What are you a fucking wizard?”

“C'mon, Rach, you're bleeding me dry here.”

“She barely even looked at her fucking cards! What the hell!”

Rachel answers them all with that dazzling smile, tone honeyed and blithe. “I can't help that Lady Luck favors me so.” She nods towards Max beside her. “Especially now that I have my good luck charm with me. Back out while you still can.”

That's something about Rachel that Max can't help but admire. That damn silver tongue, effortlessly charming and always sharp enough to quip back with ease. She's somehow bolder when she's been drinking, if such a thing is even possible. So far Max has only ever dealt with the aftermath of drunk-Rachel, she's never actually been around to watch it in action. She can see why the girl is often considered the life of the party, bouncing from conversation to conversation without a hitch and still managing to make a show of shuffling the deck all the while.

“Where’s Chloe? Weren’t you guys sticking together?”

Max startles back to attention, still disoriented from being off on her own and maybe the slightest bit buzzed from what little she had to drink earlier. She finds Rachel staring up at her with those all too alluring hazel eyes of hers. Maybe Max doesn't mind her looking, either.

To say it's a struggle to get her voice working would be an understatement. “We were. And then we went looking for you and I– I got lost.”

Rachel hums as if considering a particularly tough equation. “Ah, I see, I see. Well, come sit with me for a bit. Chloe will find us eventually.”

Max raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?”

“Poor, sweet, Maximilian,” Rachel replies in her infamous Shakespearean drama voice. “Always so caught up in the pesky certainties of life. Sit, have a drink, see for yourself if I'm sure or not.”

When Max continues standing there staring at her like a very confused fish out of water, Rachel offers her best impersonation of Chloe by grinning like a great, joyful fool and moving to tug Max down into her lap. Both hands gripping her small waist, relishing in the startled little eep it earns her.

“C’mon, Caulfield. Live a little.” She drops her voice to a murmur, husky and low and so close to Max’s ear that she could probably nibble on it if she wanted to. Not that Max is thinking about that or anything. “You’ll be fine. I'll look after you, promise.”

Max shivers and she knows that Rachel can feel every second of it, that she's enjoying it. For a minute still she debates what to do, but as much as she wants to find Chloe, Max also doesn’t want to get up and risk losing track of Rachel again. Besides, she’s probably right. Chloe will find them eventually. She shouldn’t get so caught up in knowing every last detail ahead of time, that’s the whole point of why they brought her here. Like Rachel said, she should live a little.

So she takes in a breath of that jasmine perfume Rachel's so fond of, tries to relax in her hold, and asks what game they’re playing.

Rachel is all too happy to talk her through it as she deals everyone’s hand, putting an unequivocally silly amount of theatrics into her explanation, not that that stops everybody from hanging onto her every word. Even if most of them have undoubtedly heard the whole spiel before. Max then proceeds to watch her demolish everyone at another few rounds, midway through which someone brings them both a refill of something fruity and red.

“You made mine a double, right?” Rachel calls after them.

“They’re both doubles,” they answer with an enthusiastic thumbs up and a foolish grin, before disappearing back into the crowd outside.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel offers with a half bashful, half guilty expression. “Don't worry if you can't finish yours, I'll take it.” She pauses for a moment, laughs to herself. “Although it would be kinda fun to see you go wild for once.”

And Max, perhaps incentivized by all the physical affection or perhaps looking for a way to enjoy it without feeling like she's going to blow up, takes that as a challenge. “It's okay,” she assures, with far too much determination for her own good, a hamfisted plot to impress already forming in her mind. “I can handle it.”

First things first, she takes a massive gulp of whatever was just handed to her. Then, instead of whatever the hell she thought she was gonna do, she grimaces like she just swallowed a brick.

Rachel laughs, a brilliant, golden sound that serves as higher reward than Max could ever hope for. “Easy there, tiger,” she says, holding Max a little tighter, closer. “You’ve gotta pace yourself.”

“Sorry,” Max splutters in return. “I'm not used to this.”

“I can tell.” Rachel laughs again, this one slow and syrupy; eyes roaming Max’s face with reckless abandon. “Don’t worry, I think it's cute.”

“Jesus, get a room,” one of the boys at the table huffs. “I thought we were playing cards here.”

“I'm in one,” Rachel replies without missing a beat, delightfully glib and sounding far too proud of herself. “And I think you mean losing at cards here. Read ‘em and weep, fellas.”

She lays her cards out for everyone to see with decidedly cocky flair, all but basking in the latest bout of cursing her name to fly around the table. She offers Max a victory toast, giggling once more at the girl's sour expression and knocking back half of her own drink without even flinching. By the time Rachel actually comes out of a round empty handed, they've had so many victory toasts that Max can't remember just how long they've been here. Long enough that she's been able to arrange their hoard of treasure into several smaller piles. Long enough that the sensory onslaught she'd been so arduously fighting through feels a thousand miles away.

Drinking makes everything a little fuzzier, makes all the lights and sounds and staring a little more bearable. It also destroys her sense of time and makes her approximately a thousand percent more likely to say something stupid. But it's not all bad. She manages to crack a few jokes that have everyone laughing, and as the minutes march on and the drinks keep magically appearing beside her on the table, Max finds herself growing bolder.

“Looks like your hot streak is finally over,” someone says to Rachel as the round comes to end, slurring their words and leering over at her in premature triumph.

Max watches in equal parts concern and entertainment as Rachel swings her latest cup around a bit dangerously. “Hey, don't count me out just yet,” she huffs, sneaking a sip between sentences. “Max, quick, give me a kiss for good luck.”

And instead of questioning it, instead of stammering and getting all flustered, Max leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Which is bold by her standards. She's still a bit shy about kissing either of them, but especially Rachel. She's just so intimidatingly pretty, and nice, and way, way out of Max's league. Sometimes she still doesn't understand why Rachel was even willing to be in this little triangle relationship with her, let alone be the one to suggest it in the first place. But when a gift horse opens, you don't look it in the mouth. Or something like that.

And why not try and be a little brave for once? That's what all the liquid courage was for, after all.

But Rachel, as Max has often heard, is someone who isn't afraid to ask for more, more, more. Even as the alcohol robs her of some of her usual eloquence. “I meant tongue luck,” she says, complete with an admittedly adorable and endearingly earnest pout.

For a minute, the nervousness returns tenfold. A thousand worries and wonders swirl around her head and she can't help but think of all the eyes on them, all the pressure, all the ways she could mess this up. All the ways she could disappoint. If it's all just meant to be a joke and she's taking it way too seriously and getting herself worked up over nothing again.

But then she's looking at Rachel and Rachel's looking at her and Max is drunker than she's ever been and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, she doesn’t need to be sure of anything other than the fact that she’s the lucky one for getting to be so close to Rachel. Before she can talk herself out of it, Max takes the girl’s face in both hands and kisses her. Really kisses her, just barely sliding under the bar of full stop making out as she startles back when someone at the table cheers for them.

“I-Is that more what you had in mind?” She mumbles upon pulling away, fixing Rachel with a bashful, doe-eyed stare. She knows people must be staring again, but it’s fine. She can just look at Rachel and pretend no one else exists instead, let go of all her nerves and replace them with those sunny hazel eyes and that silky, honey-blonde hair.

And that's so, so goddamn easy it isn't even funny.

Rachel blinks back at her, momentarily dazed, before breaking out into an expression best described as the cat who got the cream. “Yeah,” she says, half breathless, moving to ruffle Max’s hair. “Good puppy.”

Max just keeps looking at her, for a moment or two, and then she feels her face going red again as it catches up to her, so she rushes to hide in Rachel’s shoulder. “That’s mean,” she whines, piteous and small, doing absolutely nothing to help her case. “That’s so mean.”

“Duly noted,” Rachel answers with a devious little hum, and Max can picture the way she’s grinning ear to ear at the new source of teasing material.

She reaches out over Max to grab her latest hand, and Max knows solely by the way Rachel's fingers dance along her waist that it's another good one. She tries to keep her drunken grin hidden from the silent tension of the rest of the table. The quiet won't last long, of course. Even without looking Max can count down to the oncoming clamor; four, three, two…

The person who'd been taunting Rachel a few minutes ago drops their cards down and heaves a melodramatic sigh, and the guy next to them lets out a cry of, “You fucking jinxed it, dude,” while giving them a playful shove.

“This is madness. This is actual madness.”

“So fucking unfair. Yo, can I get some of that tongue luck over here?”

Max winds up with a fresh lungful of jasmine as Rachel wraps a protective arm around her, threading her fingers through her hair. “Nope,” she answers in Max's stead. “No way. Didn't you hear me earlier? Mine.”

Max is learning a lot of things about herself tonight. Like how it's kind of exciting when Rachel gets territorial over her, or that the more she hears it the less she questions being likened to a puppy. Or that she apparently isn't above letting Rachel hold the cup to her lips and coax her into another victory sip after finding her own cup empty.

Oh, and according to one of the many strangers at the table she's, ‘so light of a lightweight she should win an award.’ Rachel agrees wholeheartedly and gives Max another pat on the head, which Max was too busy enjoying to really pay attention to what they were saying.

All in all a very educational evening.

“I think that’s it for you tonight,” Rachel says, finishing off the rest of her cup in one swig. Max almost shudders just watching her. “Chloe will probably have my head if I get you any more wasted.”

“She’s already gonna have your head.”

Max turns to face the source of the interruption, smiling like she's just laid eyes on the sun after a long dreary winter, but Rachel scoffs and remains oblivious.

“Says who?” she huffs, defensive and gloating. Everyone stares at the space behind her.

“Says me,” answers Chloe, arms crossed, leaning ominously over Rachel and donning an I'm so gonna kill you sort of grin. Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her. Her tone comes out sickly sweet and simmering with a hint of trouble just beneath. “And what have you two been up to while I was running around half the night wondering where the fuck you were?”

“Winning,” Max says, without a hint of irony. In fact she can’t help but to beam with pride as she proclaims, “I’m her good luck puppy.”

Chloe blinks down at her once, twice, and then moves to pull Max up into a hug. Max hums contentedly to herself. She really is the lucky one, having not just one but two girlfriends tossing her around like a hot potato. Oh yeah, this is the life.

“There, there,” Chloe assures, probably meant in jest but Max soaks it up as if it were genuine, leaning up into Chloe's touch as the girl pets her hair. “What's reckless ol’ Rachel got done to you, huh?”

Rachel gasps in melodramatic mock offense. “What have I done? You wound me, good sir.”

“You got Max drunk.”

“Well, you lost her.”

“Not on purpose,” Chloe snaps back. “Pretty big distinction there, Rach.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Max interrupts them with the utmost confidence, even as she finds her tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Ladies, ladies, please.” Both the words themselves and the hiccup that follows them are muffled in the fabric of Chloe’s jacket, but Max doesn't move. “There’s enough a’ me to go around.”

“Oh she's smashed. Jesus, Rach, you really are a bad influence.” Chloe's probably trying to tell her off, but the effect is greatly lessened by the fact that she's audibly covering up a laugh. “Max, Maxster, Maximilian, how are you doing? How much have you–”

“Rachel already used that one tonight,” Max notes, somehow coming in too late and too early at the same time.

“... had. That answers that question.” Chloe pulls back all of a sudden and Max scrambles not to tip over. “Wait, which one? First or second?”

“Second.”

“Ugh, what? C'mon, Rach, you know I've been saving that one.”

Rachel offers her best attempt at that snake-charmer’s smile, and Max finds herself thinking that she'd never be able win an argument against her. “Yeah, sorry, it just kinda slipped out. It is pretty good.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere now, Princess.” Chloe huffs back. “C'mon, up, both of you. I'm cuttin’ ya off.”

One of the guys lets out a cheer. “And my wallet is once again saved by the power of Rachel having a spousal dispute! Thanks, Price. You're a lifesaver.”

Rachel starts saying something about finally getting lucky only to have the competitive smirk wiped off her face by Chloe elbowing her in the side. Max dutifully gathers up the various little piles of Rachel's winnings and the two of them share a look as she hands them over. Though it must have been longer than just a glance, because the next thing Max knows Chloe is between them and has them both by the shirt collars like a pair of unruly kittens getting picked up by the scruff of the neck.

“Well, I’d better get Romeo and Juliet over here back home before they start fucking on the table–”

“Chloe,” Max sputters, having just enough remaining wherewithal to get flustered over such a remark.

Rachel does another one of those laughably dramatic gasps. “What kind of brute do you take me for?” She adds, far too nonchalantly, “I'd bring her to a room first. I'm not an animal.”

“Rachel,” Max squeaks, balking over at the girl with her face undoubtedly turning cherry red. Rachel offers only a drunkard’s smirk and a wink in return.

“ – And as you can see, I've got my hands full.” Chloe continues, barreling over them.

She lets them go and gives them both a pat on the back, trying to get them to start heading out but only succeeding in sending them stumbling into each other.

“Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘em for me,” she sighs. It's quickly replaced with a devilish smirk of her own as she reaches to give the guy a few rough pats on the shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for never learning your lesson when it comes to betting joints against Rachel. I'll be smoking good tonight, thanks to you.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He nods towards Rachel and Max, both of whom are not so subtly eyeing the setup for the next round. “Now get those two outta here before they find a way to win from halfway across the room.”

Chloe turns back to them. “Alright guys, you heard him. Time to scram.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Max says as they head for the door, giving Chloe a haphazard salute.

“Ooh, are we pirates?” Rachel asks, before nodding sagely in approval. “Hell yeah. Yeehaw.”

Chloe fights to form a sentence around the burst of laughter that follows. “That's cowboys, you dumbass. How much have you had?”

“A lot,” Max supplies, trying not to trip over herself as they step into the cool night air outside. “Like, twenty cups.”

“It wasn't twenty,” Rachel huffs. “More like a sensible seven. And jeez, way to tattle on me, Caulfield.”

Max blinks over at her. “Oh, sorry. Can I try again?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Chloe. “Rachel had a nice sensible seven drinks and there's nothing to worry about.” Then, she turns back over to Rachel with a thumbs up and a lopsided, optimistic grin; whispering as if Chloe isn't right next to them and listening to every word. “Was that better?”

“Perfect,” Rachel just barely manages to answer through a bout of giggling. “Thanks, Maxie.”

The sharp flick of a lighter draws both of their attention, and they find Chloe in the process of lighting up one of the joints she'd claimed as ‘drunk-sitter tax.’ They both watch a little too intently as she takes that first drag and lets it plume out into the dark. “Don't mind me,” she coughs. “I'm just tryna get on your guys’ level. You've got like one brain cell between you right now, I gotta get in on this shit if I'm gonna be the one dealing with it.”

“Do you want some tongue luck?” Max asks, too earnest for her own good. “For dealing with us?”

Chloe stops walking. “Do I want what?”

Max turns on her heel and closes their distance, reaching up to take gentle grip of Chloe's jacket. “Here,” she says, getting up on her tiptoes. “Let me show you.”

Chloe makes this cute little noise of surprise, muffled by Max's mouth over hers, and it only serves to spur the girl on. It doesn't take long for Chloe to melt into it however, unconsciously leaning towards Max as she pulls back, keen on continuing.

“Damn,” Chloe whispers, eyeing Max with a look of eagerness and wonder. “Drunk-Max has game.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agrees on the end of a smokey exhale, having nabbed the joint from Chloe's hand while she wasn't paying attention.

Max puffs up like an overexcited budgie trying to show off for its mate. “I can't help being so swaggy.”

For a minute, all is quiet.

“Aaaaand we're back to normal,” Chloe notes with a humorous sigh, while next to her Rachel breaks into a fit of contagious cackling.

Max merely smiles to herself, watching their faces light up as they chase each other in circles over the joint, listening as they calm halfway down only for one of them to start up again and drag the other into a fresh round of barely contained laughter. She may be playing more on the wild side than usual tonight, but she still finds herself sure — super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure – of one thing.

No amount of alcohol could compare to the rush and butterflies of making her girlfriends happy.

#amberpricefield #amberfield #i'll be honest this is the sorta fic that normally wouldn't see the light of day outside my gdocs but. you asked so you shall Receive shgfs #tho i'd be lying if i said i wasn't debating putting this up on ao3 #i just. i just think that max deserves to be a happy/silly drunk. let her have some Fun #also apf being adorable gay dumbasses my beloved <3 #nova writes #nova answers

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