#but sharing is caring which means you all have to share my suffering thank you. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you.

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough.

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes.

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement.

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment.

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them.

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up.

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you.

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie.

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can.

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks.

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy.

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft.

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly.

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait.

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest.

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back.

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow.

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly.

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.”

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you.

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features.

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table.

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness.

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum.

Spencer doesn’t respond.

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy.

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks.

You do it again.

Another squeak.

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can.

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won.

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding.

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one.

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile.

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you.

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously.

“You’d be surprised.”

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him.

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you.

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago.

But you don’t bring those up.

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth.

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face.

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?”

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently.

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that.

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

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textmel8r · 5 months ago

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[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mentions of sex , profanity , crying , angst

୨୧˚ an; does anyone even care about this anymore LMDOAOO but for real, i’m sorry for how late this part got out. i am battling severe writers block it is dangling me by the BAWLLSSS,, im thinking that this series is coming to a close soon and i never meant for it to get this deep but here we are 🦝 thank you all for being so patient with me i lob you

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

There was something about thunderstorms that Toji always felt drawn to. They were great; overbearing in a way, rolling through and burying a perfectly fine day under gallons of rainwater and gray skies. Authoritative, condemning humans to take shelter lest they wish to drown in its fruits. Suffering the consequences; soaked-through clothes and sopping hair. He watches the pane of glass at the roof, a skylight barred into the flat of your high rise ceilings. The rain storm had reduced it into nothing but a drab, dusty square, baring the pelts of precipitation like punishment. Toji holds you in your bed. Your weight drapes across his chest like a blanket, your head tucked beneath the cut of his chin.

“Do you like the rain, Toji?”

He felt naked, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The silken sheets that wrap your mattress were unfamiliar against this flesh, cold and slippery. Regretting the forfeit of pajamas. You two had shared a shower after dinner, of which you held him with all the sentiment in the world. Toji fucking hates when people stand at his back. He doesn’t like it, feeling a presence before seeing them. But he let you stay centimeters behind, working peach and ginger scented shampoo into the roots of his scalp. When he was a boy and his mother had yet to find a place in the Zenin's private graveyard, he vaguely remembers receiving analogous strokes of care from the only family member in his life who didn’t see him as a filthy disgrace. Mom bathed him like this, scrubbing blood and tarnish from his cheeks with a threadbare handkerchief in that tin can he called a tub. All that fucking family money, but a new washcloth or a proper bathtub was never in the cards for him. He remembers mom apologizing often when she washed him.

Toji fucked you in the shower. A difficult means of having sex, sure, but slippery surfaces and soap in the eyes weren’t enough to quell that undying twist of hunger. So he took you against the sleek porcelain wall with his hands shelving beneath the curve of your ass and your legs constricting at his waist. You guided him to a quick orgasm with spouts of hushed praises spoken to his ear; he was certain you didn’t cum, didn’t feel that cute clench you did the first night you two slept together, but you lied and told him you did with a reassuring grin. Why did you lie?

“It’s fine, I guess.” A hand caressed your thigh, the one that was slung over and hiked up onto his stomach. Toji grazed his nails over your flesh, mindless and dejected.

Thunder clapped, then lightning struck, and all Toji could think in the moment was about you and him. Together. Stark nude in bed with limbs entwined. He, the thunder; loud and fierce. Scary, enough to make little children and small animals shake and cower in the corner with fear. You’re more like lightning, he supposes. Elegant and powerful, something so naturally beautiful.

You will hear thunder and remember me.

More thunder boomed. Toji squeezes your body tighter. “I like that.”

“Like what?” He asks.

You trace wobbly circles against his collar bone, avoiding the slices of silvery skin that raised off the plain of skin. Scars, Toji was doused in gauges. Scraped up head to toe, and he could feel your eyes dart lazily between each and every one of them. “I like the thunder,” comes your reply, followed by a small, bashful shrug. “Ever since I was a kid.”

Toji scoffs. Fuckin’ mind reader. “Liar. Nobody likes thunder.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” you slap his cheek playfully. “I mean it. The quiet can be disturbing sometimes. But to me, thunder is so… human-like? Makes me forget I’m alone.”

This has the man tossing his head back against your feathered pillow. “You’re so full of shit.”

Another stroke of brooding thunder rapped against the window like knock, and if Toji was a believer in the Gods above, he’d curse every last one of them for their shitty comedic timing. You’re giggling into his neck; Toji can feel warm puffs of breath fan over his pulse point. “See?” You ask through a grin. “He came back to yell at you.” He, referring to the crack of thunder. Toji rolls his eyes. Leaves a pinch at your thigh.

“Hey, what did you say before?” Toji walked his fingertips down the curve of your spine, stopping just above your ass. “The fuckin’—the french thing?”

How did it go again? Tu mas something?

It took a moment for you to decipher what he was talking about.

“Tu m'as manqué, Toji?”

Toji bit down on the tip of his tongue, stifling a smile at the grandeur in which you held when speaking the delicate French language. He nods, “what’s it mean?”

“Means ‘I miss you’.” Is he melting? Liquifying into a disgusting puddle beneath your prying palms, soaking into the bed sheets. You lament over his absence, spitting such pure genuine inflections that Toji is inclined to believe you when you tell him just how much you missed his unlawful presence. Like a stray dog that you offhandedly feed every now and again, praying for its safe and soon return back on your doorstep, digging into the leftover scraps of meat you’ve so kindly plated on the stoop. He’s that washed-up, flea ridden, unabashedly feral mutt that can’t help but crawl back to the idea of home. “I missed you. A lot.”

Toji doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so vulnerable. Not even in the throes of passion when he’d had you spread and wet for him did you sound like this. Small and volatile, yet self-assured all the same. How the fuck do you manage to balance such contrasting notions? A witch, you must be something of the sort.

There’s a gap of longing silence that fills the room; Toji concludes that you wait for him to return the gesture. So he does, “I did, too.” It’s the cold, hard truth, and he gives it to you on a silver platter. “Thought about you.”

And he’d leave that there. It was a much sweeter sentiment than to admit that he thought about you particularly often in those bloody showers with his hand wrenched around his hard on. Leaves much room for you to wonder.

You hum.

More quiet. He is fond of the quiet moments with you.

“This looks fresh.” Ruined peace. He feels your thumb pad prod ever so gently at the teared flesh of his pec, the same one you used as your own personal pillow. It was inflamed, red and angry unlike the plethora of other battle scars which have now faded into a cooler pinkish tone with time. You were right; it was new. Nothing but a little switchblade slash—one of the men Toji had decimated this past week was armed. It was a careless mistake, one that had no real impact or effect, Hell, he barely felt the paper cut. But it impacted you, he noticed. “Does it hurt?” A fingertip whispers over the wound, and he flinches.

Not because it’s painful, but because your gingerness made him sick to his stomach. Never more than in this moment did Toji feel so guilty for accepting your tender touches, wishing to holy Hell his conscience would allow him to bite his tongue. To let you keep thinking of him as some down-on-his-luck middle aged man with a shit job and no money to his name.

“Don’t touch,” it’s quick, the way he snatching your wrist. Sturdy bone crushed under the bruising grip of his shaky fist. He didn’t mean to grab you so roughly. You’re taken aback by the outburst.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a meager apology that doesn’t sound right spilling from your lips. It’s trembly and skittish, and your eyes widen coquettishly to flit between his face and the iron-clad grip that joins you together. “I’m—I should’ve asked you first.”

His breathing pattern was off its axis. Shit, shit what is he doing? Toji let’s go, flinching his hand far from your arm like you burned him. He shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to grab you, I didn’t mean to.” Toji pushes up from the warmth of your bed—from the warmth of you—and scans the floor for his boxers.

You reluctantly part from him, gathering the blanket up over your chest as a makeshift barrier between bare flesh and the chilled air-conditioned bedroom. “What are you doing, Toji?” You sound sad. He finds his boxers. They’re balled up, discarded on the far end of your too-fucking-gigantic bedroom. “Toji!”

He keeps his back toward you, mechanically stepping into his underwear and dragging them up over his hips. It’s fucking gross, feeling the crunch of dried semen as the fabric contorts, but it’s ultimately ignored. “Thanks for dinner, you’re a fuckin’ A chef.” Toji spots his sweatpants nearby.

“You got that new cut at work.” You’ve made a power move to ditch the comforter, stepping down into the carpet wearing nothing but your birthday suit. The tone of yours shifts, a steep incline from sweet and patient to demanding and accusatory, and Toji doesn’t like that one fucking bit. His sweatpants on, he tosses you a glance over his shoulder.

“It was an accident.”

“Is that right?” Your brows furrow, gesturing to his torso. His marred, battered, abused torso. “Just covered in accidents then?”

Now he faces you, looks you in the eyes despite your naked form. “Pretty much.” Each lie tastes acidic, like that soupy bile he spits out before vomiting. “Thanks for dinner.” He makes an attempt to stalk past to the door, foregoing the shirt because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Probably lost in a forgotten corner of your room, and with the way his heart raced against his rib cage, Toji wasn’t sure he’d survive long enough in this stuffy room to find it. So he thanks you again with an air of finality, only to be stopped. Your hand is flat against the center of his chest, pressed over the beat of his heart. No doubt about it, he’s sure you can feel that manic tempo.

Beat, beat, beat.

“I really thought we were getting somewhere.” You start quietly, voice hovering just above a whisper. His eyes stay fixed on the tiny hand that has glued itself to his sternum. “I thought we… I thought… I don’t fucking know, okay?

I like you. I like you so much, Toji.”

I like you too. “I…” like you I like you I like you.

“Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything. These are complicated feelings, I know that. It’s a lot to spring on a person, but it’s the truth. I’m giving you my truth, and I need you to do the same because I don’t know if I can take another week of you disappearing for however long only to return like… like this!” You gesture to the red gash. “I care about you, and I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but you make it so fucking difficult.”

It felt as though every saliva particle had been vacuumed out of his mouth, leaving a dry desert plain for a tongue. He's never been so at a loss for words before, you actually rendered him speechless. Finally, finally, after a minute of gaping like a stupid fish out of water, Toji finds his bearings.

“You’re a good person, Y/n.” He peels your hand off him. “And I’m not.” Toji moves to disconnect hands, but yours follows him, clamping them back together. He can’t find the strength to let go, knowing good and well that his palm was clammy as shit.

Your brows pinch, knitting with confusion at the seemingly random proclamation. “I mean, sure you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I don’t think—”

You don’t understand. So unscathed by the bleakness of this world, your definition of a bad person is someone who’s ’kind of a dick sometimes.’ Toji’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head, bangs bouncing with the movement. Your fancy conditioner made his hair feel soft against his forehead. “That’s surface level shit. You don’t understand what I’ve done.”

“So tell me—”

“I can’t.” The word cracks in his throat, and he coughs around it. Choking on it like he did your pretty fingers in the kitchen. “Don’t you get that? If it was that easy…”

“Tell me.” Your voice grows calm, yet stern. Aggressive in the gentlest of ways, coaxing the truth to light. Arms crossed over your bosom, you jut a chin in Toji’s direction. “Because I’m really sick and fucking tired of you treating me like I’m incapable of comprehension. I’ll understand.”

You won’t. He knows you won’t.

Time grows slow and thick like molasses; Toji feels caught in the midst of an unwinnable battle. Either direction he takes—to come clean, to dance around the truth some more, to lie—will only serve to worsen things to an unfortunate degree. He stalls. Scratches at his jagged jaw dusted with faint stubble. Then, he paws over the masculine plates of his abdomen, feeling his own flesh. There isn’t any warmth to him anymore. Every ounce of humanity had leaked from Toji’s soul, leaving him to become this cold, withering husk of a man.

When his mouth finally peels open, it takes effort. Like his teeth had been welded together by one of those chewy caramel-coated candies Shiu keeps in his glove compartment.

“I’m a killer.”

A strange sensation splashed over Toji. Maybe it was relieving to finally share that tidbit of himself, to get his shame out in the open and off his chest. His shoulders felt a little lighter, his joints felt a little looser. This high didn’t last forever, though, and soon he was plummeting back down to Earth when your horror-stricken voice shook in his ears.

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“Wouldn’t joke. Not about that.” He swirls the built-up saliva in his mouth.

Your eyes were wide, never leaving him. “You… you kill people? For money?”

Begrudgingly, “yes.”

You sputter. “How do you expect me to believe something so—so unimaginable?” Your brows sewed themselves, drawn close in absolute bewilderment. Hinging on the cusp between puking and laughing in his stupid face. “This is insane, Toji.”

He scoffs quietly. “Ain’t fuckin’ lying woman.” No saccharine ma’am. “Wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to fight to live.” A low blow, but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, far too distracted by your own disturb.

Toji wasn’t prepared for how much this was going to hurt. The disgusted way you looked at him, something you’d never ever done before, made him barely able to contain his quiver. He deserves every morsel of your animosity, but knowing he deserved it didn’t make it any less painful. Toji felt you scanning, analyzing every scar wedged into his torso. His arms. His neck. His face. He sees you making connections, noticing healed-over bullet wounds and knife attacks for what they were: hideous. He watches you make connections, visualizing a new scenario for each scar; for each life he’s taken and how they desperately fought back against him for mercy. Toji’s body bears the story of hundreds of deaths, and you look sick to your stomach at the realization of what he truly is.

An ugly monster.

“Oh my God.” You’re hushed, speaking to yourself. “How many people, Toji?”

He grimaced. “I lost count.”

“Oh my God…” Your hand is pressed to your hairline, and you look exasperated to all Hell. Crazed, maybe. As though he’d just rocked your entire world.

Toji interjects with unnecessary commentary. “I told you. I said you would never understand.”

“No, n-no I understand plenty.” Then, you smile, but it’s not one you’d ever bore to Toji before. It lacks any kindness. It’s empty and unloving. “You’re a murderer.”

He winces. Killer and murderer were synonymous, but for some odd reason being called a murderer was a different type of wrench to the gut. “Yeah.” Toji nods. For the right price, he has slaughtered, fucked, and even sold a few peripheral organs. Because money is everything. Money is food. Money is shelter. Money is life itself. But money isn’t you.

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

You look terrified of him. Toji is frozen stiff.

“I said go! Fucking leave!” Suddenly, you're rushing to collect your crumpled outfit from the floor, feeding your limbs through the small pair of panties and that oversize bed shirt. Amongst the frenzy to get dressed, you snatch your phone from the bedside table and frantically scrawl over the screen with clumsy fingers. Toji sees tears track down your cheeks, they glint from the light emanating off the cellphone. “Or I’ll call the police.”

And turn in what evidence? He’s too good at what he does, Toji doesn’t leave paper trails behind. But he lets you think you have the power to get him in cuffs. You’re already so frightened, clinging to your phone with trembling hands.

“Go ahead. Call them.” His words are lifeless. Lifeless with a touch of irritation. Spat with malice because you would never understand the life he lives, despite how much you’ve preached to him that you would. You teased him, dangling this idea of a normal life in front of his face. One without lies and secrecy, just you and him and this almighty penthouse. This would more than likely be the last exchange between the both of you, the last time Toji would ever look you in the eyes again, and it angered him. All good things have expiration dates. “You know where I live.”

“Just… Fucking leave.” Christ, you were shaking like a leaf. Was it out of fear? Or anger, maybe? Probably a combination of both. Toji gets a few more seconds of stillness in, spent entirely on gulping down eyefuls of you. Even now, face twisted up and cheeks wet from tears, you look so fucking gorgeous. His savior, the one who showed him how to feel again.

“Okay.”

He collects himself, puts on a presence of nonchalant coolness. Like walking out of your bedroom wasn’t the most difficult thing he’s had to do in years. Never-minding the shirt, he walks to the door without sparing a glance back over his shoulder.

Toji leaves. It’s raining, and he is shirtless and sopping wet. Thunder rumbles.

You will hear thunder and remember me.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz z @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie @haesify @svnkenlily @bimbobunnii

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honeekyuu · 5 months ago

Text

stuck. [tsukishima kei x f!reader]

>>Tsukishima is the kind of best friend that makes you want to leave him, but you just can't bring yourself to.

You end up confessing in the middle of a fight and he fucks you to show you how much he really cares.<<

______________________________

tags: smut, fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, alcohol/drinking, college au, tsukishima kei is a dick, drunk sex, unprotected sex (dont do that), creampie, dom/sub undertones

a/n: ahahahaha this was my first hq work posted on ao3, and it is everything Mean Best Friend Tsukishima Kei that i needed. i hope you enjoy!

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

------------------

“Okay, I’m done! How do I look?”

“You look like shit.”

You sigh, trying not to let him get to you.

Tsukki’s always been this way - dismissive, nonchalant, indifferent. Through middle school, he’d been sarcastic. He’d been snarky and brutally honest. And in high school, he’d only gotten worse.

Anyone else in your position might have left him already. People you’d known in school had told you to find someone else, a better friend. Best friends don’t treat each other the way Tsukishima treats you , they’d said. His teammates had been in the habit of scolding him whenever he’d go too far, whenever he’d push your buttons a little too hard. The only one who could see your side had been Yamaguchi, and even he’d had his reservations at times.

But other people don’t know Tsukishima Kei. They know the Tsukki that would refuse to share his notes with you after you’d been out sick. The Tsukki that would steal parts of your lunch and hold it high above your head, far out of your reach, and call you mean names with a cruel smirk. The Tsukki that would often leave you behind after school and head home without you, leaving you to text him and wonder where he’d gone.

They don’t know that the same person would show up at your house with his notes, walking you through calculus and poetry lessons himself because he knows you learn better with a teacher. And, even though you never called him out for it, he would show up the day you’d been out sick, too, just to check on you. Just to watch movies in bed with you, waving off your concerns about him getting sick. He hated being sick, but he would ignore your complaints and force you to relax - because you’d only ever get sick when you overworked yourself, which meant he hadn’t been watching over you closely enough.

They don’t know that Tsukki would secretly swap your lunch out for his own - better, homemade food that wasn’t the cafeteria slop you were often forced to buy because your parents weren’t home a lot. He would watch you push the food around on your tray while you’d laugh at something Hinata had said, identifying at least 3 things you were allergic to on that plate. So he would reach for it, leaving his own (allergen-free, thanks to Akiteru) lunch open for retaliation while he’d use his height as a way to take out his frustrations on you - his irritation that you never seemed to put yourself first, choosing starvation over just simply asking your parents for money before they go out of town.

And the times he’d leave you behind - well, half the time, it had been an accident. It was impossible to remember your packed schedule, all your clubs and student council meetings lumping into a vague ‘ Y/n’s busy ’ block of time in his mind. The other half of the time, it was because he needed to be alone. It’s not that he’s an asshole and loves to make you suffer - in fact, he would often call you later the same night, apologizing in his own, special Tsukishima Kei way and explaining himself. He gets overwhelmed easily, overstimulated by too many people, too many responsibilities, too many social expectations. So he would disappear as soon as he was allowed, needing to be alone with himself and no one else.

So, the people in your life had known a different version of Tsukishima than you do. Where they’d seen a bully, cold and unrelenting even for his best friend, you’d known nothing more than an introvert, expressing his care in a way that was unrecognizable to anyone but you.

Care that had carried over into college, the last three years filled with a Tsukishima Kei that even you hadn’t expected. A version of him that walks you from the library to your dorm at night, despite his increasingly hectic volleyball schedule. A Tsukishima who calls you in the morning on his walk to class to make sure you haven’t overslept, because - even if the calls consist of nothing but your crabby morning disposition, berating him for pulling you from your slumber - he knows you’ll thank him later, as you often do.

A Tsukishima who lets you drag him to parties, even though he hates them to his very core. He lets you tug him along to your dorm, lets you force him to sit through the hour-long ordeal of choosing your outfit. Lets you spin in front of him when you’re done, clearly pleased with yourself, and ask him how you look.

Lets you throw a pillow at his face when he tells you that you look like shit, even if he wholeheartedly believes otherwise.

“Tsukki, can’t you say one nice thing to me? For once?”

He scoffs when you put your hands on your hips, turning his gaze back to his phone as he lounges on your bed like it’s his own. It might as well be, with the amount of time he spends in this room.

“That would require you to have something worth being nice about, wouldn’t it?” He smiles mockingly when he catches the irritated twitch of your eyebrow.

“You’re a dick.”

“Nothing new about that.” Tsukishima watches as you turn back to your closet with a huff, taking the time to look you over appreciatively. No , he thinks, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts and the way your dress hugs your hips, the material tight but soft. His hand itches with the urge to touch it, to find out for himself. It’s not that you have nothing. It’s that you have too much.

He sighs, sitting up, and runs his fingers through his hair.

You have too much, and it’s fucking annoying.

His eyes flick to you again, his own irritation growing. You’d always been too good. Too perfect, too overwhelming. He’d hated falling in love. It had sucked. High school had sucked . Having you cling to him every day and finding himself clinging right back. Not understanding these complicated feelings he has - ones that want nothing more than to hold you in his arms, against others that would tell him to push you away with his sharp tongue, to protect himself from this terrifying feeling.

And now that he’s accepted it - it had only taken him the entirety of high school and at least a year of college - he almost hates it more. Being so close to you and somehow still feeling like he can’t breathe because it’s not nearly close enough.

So he stands, shoving his phone in the pocket of his jeans, and stares you down when you finally turn back to him.

“Can we go? The sooner we get to this stupid thing, the sooner I can go home.” He thinks he sees a flicker of hurt flash across your eyes, but that can’t be it. He’s said worse things before. You always bounce back, a retort on the tip of your tongue for everything he could throw at you. You always match him, blow for blow.

So why, then, can he see your jaw clenching as you turn away from him? Why does he feel like you’re pulling your jacket off the rack with more force than usual? Why are you leaving without responding?

What the fuck ?

Fuck Tsukishima Kei .

It’s the only thought in your mind as you down the shot, wincing as the alcohol slides down your throat. You’d lost count of the drinks you’ve had about an hour ago, when the thought had been something more like ‘ Fuck Tsukishima Kei. Stupid fucking idiot. Never thinks before he speaks ’.

Clearly, you’d mellowed out a little, but the anger is still there, simmering in your chest and threatening to rise every time he gets close to you.

The walk to the frat had been silent, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about your mood, only scrolling through his phone and occasionally glancing over at you. You’d felt the irritation crawling under your skin with every pass of his eyes over you, but you hadn’t returned any of his gazes, only looking forward to getting to the party and being with other people.

But he hadn’t let you wander off so easily, his tall form following close behind as you’d tried to find some of your friends from class. You can tell he’s been trying to silently check on you, like he always does when he knows he’s bothered you.

He’d brought you drinks, only smiling emptily when you’d glared up at him. It shouldn’t have made your heart skip that he’d done nothing more than offered you a drink, tapping his own red solo cup against yours and matching you shot for shot. It shouldn’t affect you when he does the bare minimum.

He’d danced close to you, one hand on your waist and his warm chest pressed firmly against your back. You’d hated it - feeling so safe in the arms of someone who had derived pleasure from picking on you your whole lives. And even if that’s not true - even if you only take into account all the ways that he’d taken care of you, celebrating all your accomplishments with you and holding you while you’d cried about your failures - you still shouldn’t be feeling that familiar tug of nerves in your stomach when he presses his hips against your ass, slipping his fingers through yours and pulling you close.

And when that hadn’t worked - when you’d held your ground and managed to cling to your anger from earlier - he’d even tried to talk to you about it. That isn’t normal for him by any means, but you could see the confusion in his eyes when he’d leaned down to be heard over the music, mumbling his question against the shell of your ear.

“Are we okay ?”

It had taken everything in you to resist him, to resist the pull that is Tsukishima Kei. The same pull that had kept you next to him all these years, through all the teasing and the poking. The pull that kept reminding you that he’s just bad at expressing his feelings. He’s just bad at being nice. He’s just bad at holding his tongue.

But that doesn’t mean you have to sit and take it every time.

So you’d only smacked his hand away and glared when he’d cupped the side of your face, trying to get you to look at him. Stomping over to the bar, you had asked the frat boy for a shot of something random.

After downing it, you try not to look back but fail miserably - you might be pissed, but you’ve never been immune to him. You probably never would be.

Glancing back, you can see his blond head in the sea of people. He’s trying to make his way to the bar, but his head is whipping to the side at the sound of something. A tall guy - you recognize it’s someone from his team - appears at his side, clapping his shoulder, and you can only assume he’d heard his name being called.

They start talking, Tsukki seeming distracted but drunk enough to at least pretend he’s interested in the conversation. You look away just as he’s turning his head back to you - you won’t be caught looking his way again tonight.

Luckily, there’s someone stepping up beside you, catching your attention with their bright smile.

“Y/n?!”

You blink, startled by the recognition. But when you finally see who it is, you can’t help but beam.

“Oh my God, Bokuto?!” You leap toward him, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and dragging him into a hug. You feel him laugh against you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you in tight. When you step away, he keeps you close, hand on your hips.

“What are you doing here?! You don’t go here, do you?”

The man shakes his head, grinning down at you and pointing over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m just visiting a few friends over the weekend.”

You glance past him, seeing a group of boys that seem like they could be familiar to you, but you can never tell - Bokuto Koutarou is friends with everyone.

When you look back, you catch his eyes wandering down the length of your body, his gaze snapping up to yours when you clear your throat. He has the decency to look ashamed.

“Sorry, Y/n - You’ve just, uh… grown up a lot since high school.”

You flush deeply, something that makes him grin when he catches it.

At least someone thinks I look good tonight .

You’re smiling flirtily up at him, feeling confident enough to drag this conversation out. He seems to notice, an interested glimmer in his eye. But then he’s glancing over your shoulder, and his eyebrows are raising in surprise.

A hand wraps around your bicep, much tighter than necessary in your opinion. You barely have time to spot the blond hair in your peripheral vision before you’re being dragged away. You can only wave at Bokuto, who looks a little disappointed but mostly just amused.

Tsukishima only lets you go when you’re outside, his hand dropping from your skin like you’ve burned him. You whip around to face him, more than ready to yell at him on the front lawn of this frat house. But he’s already walking away, in the direction of your dorm.

“Dude, what the hell? You didn’t even say hi to him - he’s one of your closest friends!” You stalk after him, determined to figure out what could possibly be going through his mind. But he won’t answer you, just shaking his head and mumbling something that sounds vaguely like ‘exactly ’ as he makes his way down the street.

You scoff, turning back to the frat. He’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re just going to follow him home quietly.

You start to head back to the party, but you barely make it five steps before his fingers are closing around your wrist and tugging you back to him. When you look up, enraged at his entitlement, you see that he’s incensed, staring down at you with wild eyes. He looks pissed, which he has no reason to be. But there’s something else there, something that’s contributing to this almost panicked anger sitting just below the surface.

“Tsukishima, what do you want?”

He bristles at the use of his full name, golden eyes narrowing as he stares down at you.

“You’re going home.” He punctures every word with barely concealed irritation, finally turning and dragging you back down the street. You don’t say anything this time, feeling that previously mellowed out anger returning full force as you stare at the back of his head.

The walk back is just as silent as the walk to the party had been, but this time you feel ready to explode. You’d been annoyed before, bothered and hurt by his words and the way he treats you.

Now you’re just ready to pick a fight. Which means you’ll probably say something you’ll regret if you don’t get away from him soon and take some time to calm the hell down.

When you get to your door, you’ve already got your keys out. He’d let go of you in the elevator, finally realizing that he’d been gripping you way too hard. You might just be able to get inside without him following.

But the second you unlock the door and slip inside, not a word said to the blond as you try to shut the door behind you, his hand is slamming down on the wood. He stops your attempt, staring down at you with annoyance.

“You’re joking, right?” And then he’s pushing into your room with an angry sigh, letting the door swing shut behind him. You only step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him over.

“What do you want?”

“What do I wa- What is your problem tonight ?” He squints down at you, eyebrows furrowed. When you only raise yours, his jaw is clenching. “Why the fuck are you so mad at me?”

“Because-” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath in order to maintain some semblance of control. “Because you’re an asshole, Tsukishima-”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Y/n-”

“-and maybe I’m just not in the mood for your shit tonight!” You yell over him, clenching your fists against your body. You need him to go. You cannot let him see you cry.

“I’m always an asshole! How is tonight any different-” He’s taken a step further into the small bedroom, and you take a step back, feeling overwhelmed. You’re immensely glad you don’t have a roommate, so they don’t have to deal with the mess that is your friendship with Tsukki.

“Tonight isn’t any different, you dick. It’s the same as it always is. I’m just tired of it tonight.” You feel yourself growing angrier when he just laughs, throwing you a mocking smile as he paces the room. He’s definitely drunk.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize I needed to account for Little Miss Y/n’s fucking mood swings whenever I open my mouth-”

“What the fuck did you just sa-”

“I just didn’t take you for someone who’s sensitive-”

“Well, maybe I am, you fucking asshole! ”

You’re definitely drunk, too.

Tsukishima stops short, taking you in. He can’t hide the shock on his face when he sees you - the way your hands are shaking at your sides, the quiver of your lip as you try your best to stand up to him. You’re trying so hard not to cry, he can tell.

Wow, I really am an asshole.

“Y/n… I-”

“Did you really think I would still want to go to that party once you’d made it clear how much you didn’t want to go? That you think it’s stupid to hang out with your best friend on a Friday night doing something she wants to do - because your idea of a good time is so different from mine that you would try make me feel like a fucking idiot for it?”

Tsukishima’s starting to panic - had he made you feel that way? He’d just been talking. He hadn’t even been thinking about how it would make you feel - he’d thought nothing could hurt you, that your friendship is guaranteed and that having you next to him is a given.

Now he feels like he’s losing you.

“Maybe, once in a fucking while , it wouldn’t hurt you too much to tell a girl she’s pretty when she’s just spent an hour trying to look good for you.”

The frustration on Tsukishima’s face drops, and he’s left staring emptily at you.

That’s what this is about?

He stares for a while, his eyes just flicking back and forth between yours as he thinks of how to take that. It makes you nervous. You’d said too much.

“Fuck this.”

You blink, staring up at him in disbelief. What is that supposed to mean?

“What do you- mmh -”

Tsukishima had crossed the room in just two steps, taking your face in his hands while you’d been preparing to yell at him again. And then he’d smashed his lips to yours.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you let out a noise of shock, muffled against his mouth. Your eyes remain wide open, flitting in a panic over his features as you feel his lips move against yours. His brow is furrowing behind his glasses, and you’re realizing that you still haven’t kissed him back. You push against his lips experimentally, watching that wrinkle between his eyes all but disappear when he feels it, and you think it looks a lot like relief.

He’s nervous.

Your body moves of its own accord, hands sliding up his chest to grip at his shirt, and your eyes slide closed when you feel one of his hands fall to your waist. He nudges you backward, and you feel the hard surface of your closet door against your back.

Tsukishima slides his tongue against your bottom lip, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he feels you inhale sharply in response. He takes advantage of your surprise, pushing past your lips and brushing his tongue against yours. When you slide your hands up and around his neck, tugging at the hair there, he groans and leans down.

Planting a hand on the door behind you, he angles his head, slotting his lips against yours. He presses his hips into you, and you can feel how hard he’s getting. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, smiling when his body reacts to the sound, his cock hardening against your thigh.

Tsukishima Kei might be impossible to read sometimes, but he never could hide from you.

He drops his mouth to your neck, latching onto a spot under your ear and using his other arm to pull you flush against him. The sounds you’re making are clear now, soft gasps and whimpers echoing in your tiny dorm room.

“So stupid… ”

You barely hear him, too busy wondering why it had taken so long to feel his lips on your skin.

“The only person in the world that can see right through me, and you were stupid enough to believe what I said. ” He mumbles it into your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and sighing when you moan against him.

“You’re so mean…” Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand drop to your leg, pulling the fabric of your dress up slightly. He grips at the back of your bare thigh, brushing against your panties and kneading into the plush skin just below your ass.

“What were you gonna do, Y/n, go home with Bokuto?” Tsukishima all but growls the question against your neck, dragging your thigh up and wrapping your leg around his hip. He feels your dress slide up, feels your warmth against his jeans. He’s desperate to get out of them.

“Y-You called me ugly-”

“I never said that.” Yes he had. He knows he had. He just hadn’t realized you would take it to heart. Now he hates himself for even saying it. For pretending you aren’t the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Bo said I looked good… Figured I might as well go for someone who’s actually attracted to me…” You whimper when Tsukishima presses his erection against you, your thin panties useless against the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Does it feel like I’m not attracted to you?”

You breathe out a laugh, clinging to his biceps as he sucks another bruise into your skin.

“How was I supposed to know, you dumbass? You only ever say mean things, and I thought I could get over you by-”

“By what?” He’s getting irritated again at the thought of what could have happened tonight if he hadn’t brought you home. If he’d left you alone, like his brain was telling him to. If he’d given you space and just texted you in the morning.

“You thought you could just fuck some other guy and get over me?” He lifts his head, grinning cruelly when you look up at him, your lip trembling. “Because I didn’t call you pretty tonight? Because you were tired of me being mean all the time?”

You nod, a gasp leaving you when he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up so you’re eye-level, slamming you back against the closet door and pinning you there with his hips. Your dress is bunched up around your stomach now, leaving Tsukishima with a perfect view of the wet spot on your panties when he glances down. His grin widens, an evil glint shining behind his glasses.

“But it seems like you like it when I say mean things, Y/n.”

You whine in protest, growing louder when you feel him rut involuntarily against you at the sound.

“This is different, Tsukki-”

“Is it?” He’s distracted when he asks, too busy steadying you in his arms so he can lift you up and away from the closet. Making his way to your bed, he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress, smiling when you yelp. He removes his glasses and leaves them on your bedside table, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms around your thighs so he can drag you toward him.

You sit up, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips urgently to his - even on his knees, he’s tall enough to be eye-level with you. You feel his fingers, long and calloused, drift up your thighs and hook into your panties while he nips almost affectionately at your bottom lip.

“Tsukki… ” You whisper against his mouth, but he’s quick to shake his head, mumbling back to you.

“Not that. ”

You’re a little surprised - you never really call him by his first name. He’d found it uncomfortable the one time you’d tried it as a joke. But if he’s asking, then-

“Kei .” His pulse quickens under your fingertips when you murmur against his lips, his kiss becoming more full, and you realize just how much he likes it.

You pull away and press kisses to his face, peppering them across his nose and cheeks. It’s a moment that’s far softer than either of you had had before, one that has Tsukishima’s heart beating a little too hard in his chest.

God, he hates being in love.

He pulls away from you, planting one hand on your chest and shoving you away from him. You fall back onto your elbows with a noise of surprise, bouncing lightly on the mattress. Tsukishima only reaches for your panties again, tugging them down and smiling to himself when you lift your hips to help him.

He throws them somewhere over his shoulder, refusing to break his attention. Planting his hands on each of your knees, he pries your knees open slowly, glancing up at your face for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, his gaze flicks back down to what’s in front of him.

And then his breath is cutting short at the sight of you lying bare in front of him. You’re glistening, even in this dark room, and his cock is suddenly unbearably hard.

He’d been thinking about this moment for far longer than he’d ever care to admit.

“Well, isn’t this just the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen?”

You throw your head back at his words, moaning loudly.

“Oh, shut up.” You know Tsukki’s slept with his fair share of girls since you’d started college - being a popular volleyball player has its benefits. You’d done the same, hoping to squash down that jealousy in your own, twisted way. To hear him praising you like this - like you’d always wanted - has you clenching and squirming from the desire coursing through your veins.

“First you get mad because I’m too mean, and now you’re mad because I’m being nice?” He tilts his head, his voice mocking. “You really need to make up your mind.”

And then, before you can let out some kind of snarky quip, he’s dipping his head and dragging his tongue over your slit in one long stripe.

You gasp loudly and moan out his name, falling back onto the mattress as your hands fly to his head. You bury your fingers in his hair, tightening your grip when he does it again, licking through your folds before latching onto your clit, pulling the nub gently into his mouth.

He moans loudly against you when you mewl and pull his hair. The vibration on your clit makes you squirm, and you’re involuntarily rutting your hips against his face. He only laughs against you, his breath tickling your skin, and wraps an arm over your hips to hold you steady on the bed.

He pulls his mouth off of you, and you lift your head to look at him in annoyance. He smirks, holding eye contact while he brings his other hand to your folds. When he runs his fingers through them, stopping briefly to circle your clit, you whimper. And when he drops his middle finger to your entrance, nudging gently at it in question, you bite your lip and nod furiously, just wanting him to touch you already-

“Oh my- Kei-” Your head falls back when he slides his finger in and drops his mouth to your clit to suck on it. He sets his pace with his finger, thrusting into you and curling gently up toward himself, repeating the process until he can tell by your squirming hips that you’re starting to feel something.

And then he’s pushing another finger past your entrance, his cock twitching when you moan at the stretch. He’s been painfully hard for a while now, and all he wants is to be inside you of already. He doesn’t realize you’re feeling just as impatient, only noticing when your hands drop to his shoulders, tugging on his shirt.

“Kei …” You pout down at him, your eyelids fluttering when he thrusts his fingers into you again. His fingertips are brushing against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself, his fingers much longer than yours. You think you might become addicted to his hands soon. But you only pull again on his shirt with a whine, hoping he’ll get the message.

Luckily, he does, because he’s pulling away to rip his shirt impatiently off his back, wiping his mouth with it before throwing it to the floor. He unzips his jeans as he makes his way up to the bed, pausing to scoop you up into his arms and tossing you closer to your pillows so he can climb on top of you.

When he pushes his mouth to yours, you’re moaning. He tastes like you, something he’s apparently proud of, because he’s just smiling against you and shoving his tongue past your lips. He drops his mouth to your neck again as he fumbles with his jeans.

“You taste so good, you know that?” He latches onto your skin, sucking harshly. “So much better than I’d imagined.” He pushes his pants just past his thighs, growing impatient. You gasp quietly when his cock brushes against you, the sound changing to a moan when Tsukishima runs it through your folds, sliding against you.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours in a moment of astounding clarity given the insanity of this whole night.

“You sure?”

Your heart jumps when he asks. He’s got the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance, clearly holding himself back. But the way he’s looking at you makes you realize he wants this to be done right - after all, this had started with the two of you fighting. He doesn’t want you to regret this later and be even more upset with him.

He doesn’t want to lose you.

The idea that that’s what been hiding behind Tsukki’s eyes tonight - that vague panic that you couldn’t put your finger on - makes your heart sing and your stomach swoop with butterflies. You can only nod, cupping his face and bringing him down to your lips. His kiss is gentle and full of something that makes your nerves worse, something that makes you feel more than sure.

“I want this more than anything.”

Tsukishima’s heart skips, and he’s swearing softly against your lips. He hovers over you, keeping his mouth on yours as he presses his thumb against the head of his cock, guiding it past your entrance.

You gasp together as he pushes slowly into you, a moan pulled from your throat when he bottoms out and breathes out your name. The fog in your head - a mixture of alcohol, arousal, and nerves at the realization that you’re having sex with your best friend - worsens considerably when he drops his head to your neck, making an admission against your ear.

I’ve wanted this for so long …”

You whimper, curling your fingers into his hair and holding him close as he pulls out slowly just to slide into you again. You moan at the slow stretch, feeling his shaky breath against your ear.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Tsukishima doesn’t know why he’s choosing now to have this conversation, when you very well can just talk about it after. But there’s a strand of fear twisting around the butterflies in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth is moving without his permission. He needs you to understand what this means to him.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you… I didn’t mean it…” His hips are still slow, moving languidly against yours. He’d expected this to be rough - sex is only ever rough for him - but he needs to concentrate on what he’s saying. And you feel so good like this, so warm and tight around him.

You’re having the same problem, your head completely empty as you feel him push into you inch by inch instead of all at once. You can barely hear him, your ears ringing and your skin overheating while you try to process that this is actually happening - that you finally have Tsukishima Kei the way that you’d always dreamed about.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Your heart stutters when you realize what he’s been saying. Even with everything else going on right now - even as his hips are picking up the pace, even with his breath shuddering against your skin as he moans quietly in your ear - he’s distracted, trying to apologize. Trying to make things right between you.

“It’s okay…” You whisper forgiveness into his hair, but you feel him shake his head, his grip on your hips tightening.

“It’s not. I shouldn’t hurt you. Not you…” He gasps quietly into your neck, his hips stuttering momentarily before he returns to his previous speed. “S-Sorry… You feel really good… Trying to focus.”

You flush, clenching around him and pulling him closer when he groans. You think about what he’s saying. ‘ Not you ’?

You’re about to ask what he means, but he’s mumbling another admission against your skin, this one much more intense than the last.

“I love you, Y/n… So fucking in love, it hurts…”

You inhale sharply, your heart stopping in your chest. But then there’s a moan ripping from your throat, because he’s hitting a spot in you that you didn’t even know existed, the tip of his cock bumping up against something that makes the coil in the pit of your stomach twist harshly.

“I- fuck - Tsukki, I love you, too…”

Tsukishima lifts his head then, staring down at you with surprise written all over his face. You can only breathe out a laugh, moaning quietly while you giggle.

“What, you’re shocked? I just told you I almost went home with Bokuto just so I could stop thinking about you.”

His eyes darken at your words, and his hips are snapping harshly against yours. You moan in surprise, feeling your stomach flip at the way he’s looking down at you. He seems to remember now just how this night could have gone.

He sits up, knocking your hands away when you reach out for him with a whine, and pulls out of you completely. Slipping off the edge of the bed, he wraps his hands around your thighs and tugs you toward him roughly. He only smiles mockingly down at you when you slide across the mattress with a quiet yelp, pulling your hips flush against his.

When he slips into you again, the soft, caring Tsukishima is gone, replaced with the Tsukki you’ve always known. The one who has no problem running his mouth just to get to you.

“That’s it then, huh? If I hadn’t dragged you home, you’d be wrapped around another man right now?” He slams into you, watching with delight as you cry out and arch your back. He keeps this pace, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he drives his cock into you.

“Tsukki-”

“What did I tell you? ” His tone cuts through you, yanking hard on that coil in your navel and setting off a fresh flurry of butterflies.

“I- Kei -”

“You think you can forget about me that easily? You think I would let you?”

You’re writhing under him, hands gripping your sheets tight as you gasp with each hard thrust of his hips on yours. The sight makes Tsukishima’s hips stutter, and he feels his orgasm coming on. He drops his thumb to your clit to push you closer to the edge, throwing his head back with a moan when you clench around him.

“Kei, please- feels so goo- ah- ”

“S-Shit, Y/n, I’m not gonna last… Where should I-” Tsukishima almost loses it when you claw at his hands on your hips, latching onto his wrists as you moan.

“Insi-Inside… Inside, Kei, please…” You look up at him, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the way his eyelids flutter when you clench around him. The way he bites down hard on his bottom lip and moans after a few seconds, breaking his hold on you so he can slam his hands down on the mattress on either side of you, his hair falling into his face as he pants down at you.

“Fuck -” He reaches down, brushing his thumb over your clit again. When you tighten around him this time, he’s letting out a choked gasp and your name, and you’re suddenly filled with warmth as his hips stutter, as he spills into you. He drops his head to your shoulder, his breath shaky as he thrusts into you, riding out his orgasm.

And when he’s done - when his cum is dripping out of you while you squirm, feeling full but unsatisfied - he sits up, pulling you against him again. He wraps his fingers around your wrists, smiling breathlessly when you cling to his forearms, and uses you as leverage when he draws his hips back and snaps them harshly into yours.

You cry out, feeling yourself throb the more he all but drags you down onto his cock and tries to draw your orgasm out of you. He releases your wrists, his thumb circling that little bundle of nerves while his other hand grips the back of your thigh, spreading your legs even further.

When he changes the angle of his stroke, you’re gasping, unable to handle all of the sensations he’s causing in your body. There’s too much going on, too many feelings happening, each of which is bringing you closer to the edge. You slap your hands down over your face, trying both to muffle your moans and also hide your face, feeling embarrassed that your body is reacting so strongly to everything Tsukishima does.

He only coos down at you, his tone almost insulting.

“Oh, is my baby going to come?”

You whine loudly at his words, so rude but so endearing - your stomach swoops as the coil tightens, but you nod anyway. His low chuckle reaches your ears.

“Let me see you, then.” When you don’t respond, only moaning into your hands with each thrust, he clicks his teeth at you in annoyance. “Come on, Y/n. I wanna see how pretty my best friend looks when she comes on my cock.”

Tsukishima beams when that does it, your back arching as you cry out his name. You screw your eyes shut and fumble desperately for his hands. He slips his fingers through yours, holding tight when you come, your walls fluttering around him. He fucks you through it, inhaling sharply when you become impossibly tight, and then drops down over you when you're done, pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a sob against his mouth, your limbs heavy as you try to catch your breath.

“Tsukki …” You wiggle uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. He laughs against your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. And then he leans up again, pressing his lips to your tiredly.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He snickers when you whine but joins in on your soft gasp when he slides out of you, both of you sensitive. Stripping you out of the dress that’s been bunched up on your stomach this whole time, he leaves you on the bed, kicking his jeans off as he makes his way into your connected bathroom. When he returns, it’s with a wet rag and a gentle hand on your thighs.

Tsukishima scoops you into his arms when he’s done, setting you carefully against the pillows and climbing into bed with you. Your head is still empty, and you reach your arms out uselessly for him, mumbling his name. He only smiles, pulling you against his chest and kissing the side of your head.

“You okay?” When you nod sleepily against his chest, he smiles, tugging you closer. “Not too mean?”

You giggle, planting a kiss on his neck.

“I like you a little mean.”

Tsukishima snorts, shaking his head.

“I know you do. But still…” He meets your eyes, suddenly shy, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll be better from now on. Less ‘ toxic boyfriend ’ and more ‘ insufferable but still cute ’.”

You beam at his words, your heart skipping.

“Boyfriend , huh?”

He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I forgot you and Bokuto were basically married.”

“Oh, right, I should probably tell him the wedding’s off-”

“You’re a dick.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut

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asmafamily · 26 days ago

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Hello👋

Help Asma and her family in Gaza survive

Welcome, My name is Asma Salman Abu Daf from Gaza, trapped between walls of fear, despair and extreme sadness in the shadow of the ongoing war in the Gaza Strip, I appeal to every conscientious person, compassionate heart and human being who understands the meaning of humanity to help us.

Help me overcome adversity

I am reaching out to you today as a steadfast and compassionate person facing incredible challenges, life in our region has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and increasing conflict day by day, and I am struggling to secure the basic necessities for our family.

Who is Asmaa and her family?

I am married to Ashraf Abu Daf, 46 years old. I am 39 years old and suffer from chronic diseases, which are Mediterranean fever and Crohn's disease. I take expensive medications and treatments for life. I have 7 children. Jana, 13 years old, suffers from chronic diseases, thalassemia, which results in short stature. She needs treatment for many years to take expensive medications. Rafeeq, 18 years old. Nour, 16 years old. Abdul Rahman, 13 years old. Muhammad, 12 years old. Ibrahim, 5 years old. Misk, 3 years old.

How has the war made our lives like hell?

We all feel fear, extreme sadness and insecurity due to the severity of the bombing and destruction we have been exposed to since the beginning of the war on Gaza until now. My young children do not sleep normally due to the severity of the fear and nightmares. My family and I live in our house that has been exposed to shells and bombing. I fled with my family several times due to repeated threats and requests to move from one place to another. My husband's income is limited and does not cover the required living expenses.

Due to the lack of good food, healthy water and the necessary medicine for our treatment, our situation has gone from bad to worse. Our lives have become threatened either by death due to bombing, shrapnel and missiles or by malnutrition, the spread of epidemics and diseases, psychological insecurity, widespread unemployment, and the lack of fuel, cooking gas and electricity.

Despite the harsh conditions and constant doubts surrounding us, I am optimistic and determined to provide a better future for my husband and children. My spirit is unbreakable, but I need help from people with a living conscience and compassionate and humane hearts to overcome the obstacles we face.

How can you help me?

My family and I aspire to build a better future for our children and ensure their safety and that we all live a decent life, and that they feel safe and stable and live in peace and reassurance. Help us achieve this dream through your generous donation, which will certainly have a great impact in saving us.

The funds collected will be used to:

• Restore the destroyed house and purchase furniture and appliances required for daily life requirements

• Food, water and medicine, and ensure that we have access to daily necessities, medical supplies and health care.

• Education, supporting my children's education by covering fees, school supplies and providing the necessary needs.

Every contribution matters.

No donation is too small, every donation brings us one step closer to relief and a better future, even if you are not able to contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a big difference

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Asmaa Abu Daf

#free gaza #gaza genocide #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #gaza #free palestine #save palestine #palestinian genocide #i stand with palestine #all eyes on palestine #all eyes on rafah

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 9 months ago

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can u guess which gif will be at the end of this. can you guess. i'll bet at least a few of you can guess XD

Charlie: "New plan- group bonding through shared, SAFE, suffering!"

Alastor: “Oh joy~”

Husk: "Not this fucking shit again."

Angel Dust: "Well hey as long as it's consensual sufferin'~"

Niffty: (lifts arms at vaggie) "YEEET ME!!!"

Vaggie: "Ughh... no."

Niffty: "Aww."

Vaggie: "I'm never living that one down am I?"

Charlie: "Vaggie, you don't need to live anything down EVER-"

Alastor: "Cough cough! Lied to her girlfriend for three years, cough cough!"

Angel Dust: "Dude you're not supposed t' SAY cough."

Husk: “That’s the part you’re fucking annoyed at?”

Charlie: "-and the POINT is, your whole idea about going through hell to trust the people who go through it with you? Not entirely on the wrong track!"

Vaggie: "Yaaay."

Husk: "You fucked up but for the right un-shitty reasons."

Vaggie: "Great. Thanks."

Charlie: "SO! We're all gonna share the worst work day of our lives with each other!"

Niffty: "Share?" (excited) "By INFLICTING them on each other!?"

Charlie: "Talking, Niffty. We're going to, talk about them."

Niffty: "Aww...."

Husk: "Is there a time limit."

Angel Dust: "Is there a rating limit?"

Alastor: (thoughtful) "Does it still count as a terrible work day if I was able to murder them at the end of it?"

Charlie: "Uhhhh-"

Vaggie: "How 'bout we stick to how it made us feel, rather than all the... X rated... gory details?"

Niffty: (sighs) (slumps over) "This is my worst most terrible work day ever.."

Charlie: "And how do you FEEL about it?"

Niffty: "Sad..."

Vaggie: "I'll let you use my spear for roach hunting after this."

Niffty: (bouncing up) "OH THE EMOTIONS! WHATEVER ONES YOU WANT FROM ME I DON'T CARE, I HAVE THEM!!!"

Husk: "What the fuck."

Angel Dust: "Yeesh."

Charlie: "Okay that's, that's enough sharing from you. Good, um, good job!"

Niffty: "Spear spear spear-"

Charlie: "Well MY worst work day was definitely the one where we were besieged by an army of murderous angels heaven-bent on the full scale slaughter of most of my family! And they actually did kill one! Yeah- that." (laughs) "That fucking sucked and I hated it!"

Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty: (GASP)

Charlie: "What? What??"

Angel Dust: "You said the "H" word, toots.."

Vaggie: "She said a lot more than that while writing an angry text to heaven afterwards."

Charlie: "Hey! You checked the text for me- you know I was polite!"

Vaggie: "Charlie, it was the most aggressively polite 'fuck off' anyone's ever written in the history of all creation. I’m so proud of you for it."

Charlie: "Heh."

Alastor: “Cough get a room please cough.”

Angel Dust: “’m TELLING YOU that’s NOT how it’s supposed ‘t WORK you're not supposed t' SAY IT-”

Charlie: "Ah-hem. Um. Husk? Worst work day-?"

Husk: "Still living it."

Hotel Crew: "....."

Husk: "...but you stupid fuckers are keeping me company through it, so, fucking thanks I guess."

Charlie: (tearful) "Oh Husk. That's so..."

Angel Dust: "Love you too, Mr. Whiskers~"

Husk: "Shut the fuck up."

Vaggie: "Hey."

Husk: "Him, not her. The day your “her” shuts the fuck up is the day we all know we're fucked."

Charlie: "Gosh I hope not." (wipes eyes) "Angel Dust? You wanna...?"

Angel Dust: "My worst shitty day was also my BEST day."

Charlie: (bracing herself) "O...kay...?"

Angel Dust: "A friend came to work an' almost killed the boss for me. Can ya believe that? An' the only reason she didn't open him up a few new 'fun' an' 'interestin' holes of his own was 'cause I had to stop her."

Vaggie: "HELL YEAH!"

Charlie: "You mean-"

Angel Dust: "Yeah. Thanks, apple cheeks. I spent good crack money commissionin' fanart of you wrecking his shit."

Charlie: "WHAT!?"

Vaggie: "You have GOT to let me see that."

Charlie: "VAGGIE!"

Vaggie: "Oh come on, it's better than him buying crack, right?"

Angel Dust: "It def looks waaay better on my wall."

Charlie: "I- that's not-"

Niffty: "Is there BLOOD?"

Charlie: "Oh please don't let there be any-"

Angel Dust: "SO much blood, baby."

Charlie: "Noooo...!"

Vaggie: "Now I really need to see it."

Charlie: "H-WHA?"

Husk: "I really need a fucking drink."

Charlie: "I'm- you know what? I'm pretending I didn't hear any of that. La la la! I have complete deniability!"

Alastor: "That's the spirit! You hardly knew him, certainly never fantasized about decorating him with his own entrails! Just keep reminding yourself of that while hiding the body~!"

Charlie: "NO! Just.... well maybe for him..."

Vaggie: "You're so pretty."

Charlie: (pouting) "We need to commission a piece of you standing over Lute with your spear at her throat. It's not FAIR otherwise."

Vaggie: "Anything for you, babe."

Alastor: "How saccharine. Young love hand in hand, spattered in blood."

Charlie: "A-anyway. Alastor. Your turn."

Alastor: "Hmm. Well, there was the time someone reorganized the reels, somehow without mentioning it to me before air time. And without asking me before hand. But..."

Husk: "Here it comes."

Alastor: "Reorganized their organs for them later that night, likewise unasked, was QUITE fun."

Charlie: "I THOUGHT WE SAID WE COULD JUST TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS!"

Alastor: "My feelings?"

Niffty: "PURE UNDILUTED JOY"

Alastor: "Mm no, they didn't scream enough for that..."

Charlie: "AAAAAH!" (covers ears)

Alastor: "Shall we say perhaps, accomplished?"

Vaggie: "Over one murder? Wow. You're sure easy to please."

Alastor: "I've always believed in quality not quantity when it comes to my passion projects. Swift, thoughtless killings are so passé."

Angel Dust: "Y'know, meeting you has really ruined the whole dashing dapper man w' a tinted glass monocle for me. It's that creepy grin. You're a total boner kill."

Alastor: "Oh I do try."

Vaggie: "What about the day you died? Didn't you get fucking shot like a deer, venison a la Alastor?"

Alastor: "Fan of my history, hmm?"

Vaggie: "The TV future about it is pretty funny, not gonna lie."

Alastor: "Ah ha ha! TV DID YOU SAY."

Vaggie: "Vox airs it. Every day."

Alastor: "AND YOU WATCHED IT. HMM?"

Vaggie: "Every. Day."

Angel Dust: "I bring the popcorn and pills."

Husk: "I mix the fucking drinks."

Niffty: "I wish it had more BLOOD!"

Alastor: "ET TU, NIFFTY?"

Charlie: "Okay okay, that's WAY more than enough from you, reel back in the shadow monsters please-"

Alastor: "AHAHAHAH...!" (fades into shadows)

Angel Dust: "Creep. He's prob'ly vaping off to go curse the TV again."

Husk: "For mother fuck. I've got that cooking show coming on tonight. Will smacking the aerial with the angel spear get it working again?"

Vaggie: "Probably...?"

Charlie: "Vaggie!" (desperate) (hopeful) "You have a normal worst day at work to finish this exercise off with, right!?"

Vaggie: "...."

Vaggie: "Uh, well sweetie...."

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #chaggie #vaggie #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #incorrect quotes #made the gif first and was like wait #oh no #it's MORE hotel bonding time....!

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theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter · 3 months ago

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Disappointed 💣💧

Misa Rodriguez x reader

warning: angst 💣💔 (good ending ❤️‍🩹)

(my first language isn't english nor spanish, sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes)

Summary :

Disappointed after a lost, Misa redirects unintentionally her anger on you and realises what she's done, only once you're gone.

These past few weeks were tense, to say the least, Misa had been training hard for her future game against Barca. Anxiety had been eating her up, and you could see right through her, how her shoulders were tense even sleeping, the sour mood she put up. You, of course, tried to help her relax, but all your tentatives were stopped by rude "leave me alone." You understood why she was so distance but that didn't stop it from hurting you.

As the final whistle blows, you could see her face filled with disappointment. 3 Goals had gone past her and you could feel how angry she is with herself. Misa ran straight into the changing rooms after a small talk with Mapi, visibly angry and disappointed.

Waiting for her in the parking lot, like you usually did, you saw Olga, one of her teammate, run towards you. You knew her cordially but never built a friendship, not seeing her really often outside of Misa training. Out of breath, she breafly explained how she absolutely needed you come take care of Misa. Panicked about what could be happening to her, you followed Olga into the stadium.

Head in her hands, sniffing, body shaking. This sight of your girlfriend made your heart ache. You were used to seeing her disappointed after a lost game, but never to this point.

My love ?

Your voice fulled of worry, you took her hands in yours, allowing you to see her face covered with tears. You softly kissed her head, putting your forehead against hers, whispering praises. Only to get pushed forcefully away of her, her eyes full of anger.

Déjame en paz, eres inútil.

Leave me alone, you're useless

You knew she didn't mean it or at least hoped she didn't, but after weeks of suffering through her attitude, it was just too much. You got up quietly, Misa face reflected a mixed of confusion and anger. You turned away from her and walked to the exit, stopping by the door, you let out a soft, almost whisper,

Te dejaré en paz si eso es lo que quieres. Me voy a Alexia a pasar la noche.

I will leave you alone if that's what you want. Im going to Alexia for the night.

Before closing it after you, you took a deep breath before going back to the parking, calling Alexia to come and get you. Alexia and you have been pretty close ever since Misa introduced you to each other, having many points in the comment. Misa would often joke about you leaving her for Alexia, which wouldn't be possible either way since you loved Misa to much and Alexia already had Olga and wasn't up for sharing her with anyone.

Alexia knew something went wrong, your face was red from tears, you talked the less possible, responding with yes or no. You went directly to bed, not eating dinner, which worried the woman even more.

By the time you woke up the next morning, your phone was fulled with missed calls and text from Misa. Knowing you couldn't escape the situation for eternity, you quickly left after breakfast, thanking Alexia and Olga for the hospitality of giving you a bed for the night and a delicious breakfast.

Your appartement door in front of you, though spiralling about if you should go in or not. You were cut off by the door slowly opening in front of you, Misa was looking down at the ground, tears on her cheek.

Alexia me llamó, lo siento muchísimo. Sé que no debí haber sido tan grosera contigo. Lo siento, mi amor, lo siento muchísimo. Te amo tanto que no puedo perderte, por favor, mi vida, haré lo que sea.

Alexia called me, i am so so sorry. I know i shouldn't have been so rude to you. I'm sorry, my love, im so sorry. I love you so much i can't lose you, please my live, i will do anything.

The only thing you could do was hug her and cry with her, her body against yours, ears filled with sniffled apologise as you comforted her.

She made it a point to show you how sorry she was for the next couple of days, preparing you breakfast, lunch, dinner, making all the house chores, taking you shopping, watching your favorite show 7 time in a row.

She wasn't perfect, but she tried, and that was more then enough for you.

#misa rodriguez x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #barca x reader #fc barcelona #woso x reader #misa rodriguez

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inuyashaluver · 1 year ago

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Hii! i love you’re fics and i was hoping i could request a story with leah or anyone really about getting caught on a kiss cam at a basketball game?

thank you have a great day :)

kiss cam - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your best friend get shown on the kiss cam at a basketball game - what does this mean for your friendship?

warnings: swearing, extremely long i’m sorry

a/n: thank you so much for the request, i had too much fun and got carried away lmao, hope you enjoy lovelies ❤️ also thank you for the love!!!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your best friend, leah were clearly in love with each other but absolute idiots about it. every single person on the planet thought it was obvious the two of you liked each other - to the surprise of many that the two of you weren’t already dating.

“we’re best friends” both of you say at the same time, both of you not realising the mutual faces of hurt. it killed the both of you to respond to dating rumours, wanting nothing more than to be in a romantic relationship. because the both of you were friends for so long, you didn’t want to risk losing each other, even if it meant to suffer in silence.

what made things worse for the both of you is that you were around each other, all day, everyday. you both play for england and arsenal, as well as having a shared apartment. the apartment is full of so much love, an accurate representation of you and leah.

you both balance each other out, leah was more outgoing while you were a little reserved at first until you got to know someone. though, you had gotten a lot better, due to leah always being there next to you, introducing you to people, whispering words of encouragement in your ear, holding your hand and kissing the side of your head. you swear it was strictly platonic, you’re very silly.

—

“love come on! the bus is here, we need to get downstairs!” leah yells from the bed in the shared hotel room while you were in the bathroom.

“i’m coming, leah, my hair is just being a pain in the ass” you grumble, looking in the mirror and trying to get your hair done for national training. leah comes in the bathroom, standing behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist, resting her head on your shoulder and looking into your eyes through the mirror.

“you look beautiful, babe, let’s go to the bus” she places a kiss on your cheek, you turn bright red, she moves her hands up and down your arms, giving your biceps a gentle squeeze. “i’ll wait for you, hurry up please!” you giggle and nod at her smiling, she sends you a warm grin, light pink settling on the apples of her cheeks.

this was just one of the instances where both of you could’ve confessed your love for each other but the both of you are too clueless and oblivious to do so.

—

you and leah were both highly influential in the football industry, being advocates for numerous charities and organisations. you end up accompanying leah on her new york visit, both of you were invited to speak at the UN.

it wasn’t a secret that you were afraid of heights, leah knew this and promised that she would take care of you. you sat next to each other on the plane, leah distracting you as much as possible. holding your hand and rubbing her thumb over yours, forcing you to watch a movie with her on her laptop, sharing wired headphones with one another. when you land, you give leah a kiss of appreciation on her cheek, thanking her profusely,

“i’d do anything for you, love, you know that right?”

“yeah, i would do the same, lee” both of you thought about the interaction throughout the whole night, maybe - there’s a chance that you liked each other (duh)

both of you explored new york, sharing laughs, taking pictures of each other, going shopping, loving each others company. as the days progressed, both of you got more touchy, clingy - separation wasn’t an option anymore.

leah got invited to the ny liberty game, dragging you along with her with the promise of her buying whatever you wanted - you only joked about this, this girl could ask you to do anything and you would without any hesitation, something she knew all too well.

you were both sat court side with one another, chatting and sipping drinks and eating lollies, genuinely having so much fun. leah sat with her arm around your chair, constantly checking up on you.

“you alright?” she moves down to say in your ear, her lips lightly grazing the shell of your ear, your cheeks lightly flushed. you nod up at her, “are you?” she smiles at you, “never better”

the game was on, leah was focused on the game and you, arm now completely on your shoulder, thumb mindlessly grazing your exposed shoulder, you move closer into her, resting your body back into hers, she couldn’t wipe the smile of her face.

honestly, watching leah watch the game was more entertaining for you, you loved to see the furrow between her brows, her smile and nod when something goes well, always squeezing your shoulder to indicate that you should be doing the same thing as her as you were confused with what was going on, as you were only focusing on the girl beside you.

there was a break until the next half, you and leah going back to chatting, her arm not moving position, keeping you close to her body and not wanting you to go anywhere.

“you look so beautiful, love” she smiles at you again,

“look at you, lee, you look gorgeous” you move your hand to rest on her exposed knee, she shivers at the contact - you slightly perk up, you were stating your intentions and she understood them finally. she places her other hand over your own, looking into your eyes, both of you had wide pupils and cheesy grins plastered all over your faces. looking like lovesick puppies.

leah kept moving her head down to your mouth every time you spoke to her, as well as only speaking directly into your ear, loving the way you reacted each time she did it. she knew now that you felt the same, both of you increasingly becoming more flirty and touchy with one another, shamelessly showing both of your intentions, you weren’t best friends anymore and it was finally clear to both of you.

you were both so engrossed with one another, focusing your attention solely on each other. leah could tell you were uncomfortable in the position you were sitting in, having to angle your body awkwardly just to look at her face. she moves her hand off yours and you look at her confused, she moves to grab both of your legs and placed them into her lap, comfortingly running her hand over your legs. you were so red that she laughed at you. she literally laughed at your face, smirking and moving to whisper in your ear again.

“what’s wrong, baby, are you hot?” you shake your head lightly, looking straight at the floor,

“well you look hot” she pauses “really hot” you lightly slap her chest and she laughs brightly at you, she was so obsessed with you, she wasn’t gonna hide it anymore. you needed to give her a taste of her own medicine, it wasn’t fair she had this advantage over you.

you grab her lightly by her necklace, bringing her ear to your mouth. “hypothetically, would you prefer if we made out or cuddled, or make out then cuddle?”, you graze your lips on her neck before you pull away. leah’s eyes widen and she squeezes the flesh of your thighs, you giggle at her bright red face as she moves away from you, clearing her throat and refusing to make eye contact.

“what? williamson, you’re just gonna leave me hanging?” she quickly glances over at you, making eye contact and flickering to your lips.

“you’re a little shit” before you could reply, you heard cheering, assuming the girls were coming out to play again, when you look up from leah’s eye contact, you noticed both you and leah were on the big screen, in a big, pink heart with ‘kiss cam’ written on the bottom of the screen.

leah was still looking at you, you frantically tap the back of your hand on her chest, her eyes following where yours were. she grins brightly, and pulls you into a searing kiss, your lips moving together in harmony, she gripped your thigh harder, pulling you impossibly closer, the crowd erupted in cheers when you both finally put everyone out of their misery.

you both couldn’t hear them, the camera showing other couples now. too focused on the kiss you were sharing. she prods her tongue on your bottom lip, you grant her access and both of you continue to share your emotions and love for one another through actions. after a little bit, you pull away and leah chases your lips to place a few more pecks on your lips, grabbing the base of your neck to keep you close.

once she finally pulls away, you both giggle - this was a long time coming and both of you were over the moon. she grabs your hands in hers and looks right into your eyes,

“if it wasn’t obvious, i love you, a lot, i have forever” she rubs her thumbs over your knuckles, you smile at her so lovingly, she swears her heart was beating so fast out of her chest.

“i’ve loved you forever, williamson, took you long enough” she scoffs at you,

“then why didn’t you say anything? why is this on me!”

“i’m shy!”

“uh, based on your little flirting in my ear, i think we’re way past shy, baby”,

“oh fuck you, what about you touching me all night?, the leg thing? and let’s not ignore this little outfit you’ve got on, this was your plan, huh? i bet you even organised the kiss cam” you say with fake annoyance, in reality you were so grateful for the kiss cam

she shakes her head at you, both of you pink in the cheeks, looking like you had gone outside without a jumper in the winter. “come on, let’s go then, my girl, i believe you promised me a make out and a cuddle”

“first of all, the game isn’t over, secondly, you didn’t respond i’m not sure if you deserve it-”

“i don't care”

she pulls you up by the hand, smiling as you walk past people, gunning straight for the exit.

once you both get back to your hotel room, let’s just say you kept your promise.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by bethmead_ and 44,232

leahwilliamsonn: thank you to the person that sent me this, new york with my girl was a success in many ways xx @/yourname

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yourname: you’re such a flirt

↳ leahwilliamsonn: pulled you though, didn’t i?

↳ yourname: sigh

↳ leahwilliamsonn: my baby

↳ yourname: MY baby

stanwaygeorgia: fucking finally

↳ leahwilliamsonn: shut up, we’re shy

↳ stanwaygeorgia: righttt

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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dreamerschroniclesofstories · 1 year ago

Note

Hey love ! Hope you’re having a wonderful day/night 🩷

Could you please do a Tommy X reader where the reader works for him ( it could be his maid or secretary) and someone says something mean to them and they feel so humiliated that they leave. At first Tommy doesn’t know what happened until someone tells him and he goes ballistic and ends up defending her then they end up together 🩷 it could be angst to fluff please :) thank you so much

Sorry for any mistake !! English is not my first language

Hey lovelie! Thank you so much for your ask, I can definitely do that for you!. Hope you guys enjoy.

This fic will be based around season three, this means that Tommy and grace do not get married, in this she had Charles then left Tommy. Also, in this Lizzie is a bitch but its only for the purpose in the fic x.

Summery: request above

Word count: 2,321

When you were twenty, you had graduated from bed-ford college, which was very uncommon since not many people could read or write, but luckily your mother learnt you from a young age how to both which allowed you to complete your studies.

However, this meant that when people found out you were from London and had gone to one of the most prestigious colleges for young women, you were judged. Most people thought you were a privileged woman from a rich family. Unknownst to anyone but yourself, you aren't. You lived in a one bedroom apartment with your mother and two younger sisters. Your father had left your mother ,after your youngest sister was born, for a younger woman.

As you grew up, your mother had become ill, she had began to suffer from Melancholia, as her doctor described it. She never recovered from it and died when you had moved back home after graduating. When your mother died, your young sisters were left in your care and you decided you wanted to leave London and find somewhere else for your sisters to grow up. After nearly four years, you found your current home, Birmingham.

You loved your job, all you had to do was respond to letters for Tommy, make sure his schedule was up to date, make sure there weren’t any over laps and make meetings on his behalf. The only bad part of the job was sharing the room with tommys other secretary, Lizzie stark. At first, when she had started working two weeks after you started. She was nice, you spoke everyday, had lunch together whilst on break but once you started to get closer to Tommy she began to change.

At the beginning, you pretended not to notice, thinking maybe she was just having a bad day but every time you went into tommys office without knocking or every time Tommy comes in work, he stops to speak to you and asks you how your weekends been and how you sisters are, Lizzie would grumble under her breath and when you weren't looking would steal the paperwork Tommy gave you to sort out so she could do it and claim you weren't.

Today was one of the days that Lizzie was being extremely bitchy, it was a Friday afternoon which meant Tommy wasn't in the office most of the day. He was either at a meeting or in the betting shop. This left you and Lizzie alone.

You had just gone into tommys office to put the paperwork Tommy needed on his desk when Lizzie walks in as well.

“ Tommy has a lot of whores, one for each month, which one are you?”she sits down at the round oak table, getting out a cigarette then lights it.

You turn around to look at Lizzie and frowns, not understanding the purpose of this conversation “ what Mr Shelby does in his personal life is none of my business”

“don't act dumb, you know what i'm talking about Y/N” Lizzie spits, venom lacing her voice.

“ i don't think we should be having this conversation when Mr Shelby isn't here, its not appropriate” you asserted, picking up another pile of paperwork, being to walk back to the double doors that leads out to you desk and Lizzie.

The sound of scuffing catches your attention, making you stop walking and look towards Lizzie once again “ get off your high horse Y/N, this is Birmingham everyone is a whore, they don’t have money to act like they are better then everyone” Lizzie barked, pointing a finger at you.

Your heart begins to race, the blood running through your veins begin to rush to your face, causing your cheeks to begin to heat up, it was like someone had turned up your internal thermostat to the maximum and now your face is a shade of red that would make a tomato jealous.

“ i'm sorry if i offended you in some way, i did not intend too” you apologise, you knew you hadn't said anything offensive but you didn't like confrontation and you wanted to avoid yelling in any possible way.

Lizzie takes a drag of her cigarette “ you are so insufferable, i dont know how your family deals with you” she chuckles under her breath.

At the mention of your family, you take a shakey breath and turn away from lizzie “ i need to start this paperwork” . As soon as you sit back at your desk, you began to look through the paperwork but you couldn't concentrate. what Lizzie said to you runs laps in your head, making your chin begin to quiver as your eyes begin to fill with tears.

Unfortunately, at the same time polly walks through the main doors into the building, she walks over to you. Wiping under your eyes quickly,putting a smile on your face.

“ hello Polly, what can i do for you?” you ask softly, your voice breaking slightly as you try to hold in your emotions.

Polly raises an eyebrow and places her purse down on your desk, watching as Lizzie walks out of tommys office with a smirk on her face but as soon as she sees Polly, she quickly covers it with a smile.

“whats happened?” Polly asks, suspicion filling her words, looking between Lizzie and you.

“ nothing pol, just talking business” Lizzie puts on a smile and looks towards you, her eyes widening for a second to tell you not to say anything.

“yes, just business” you agree, nodding slightly.

Polly hums “ if you say so, anyway is Tommy free in the afternoon this week” she asks.

You grab his schedule from your draw and begins to look through this weeks page he's free Wednesday afternoon from two o'clock onwards” you grab your pen “would you like me to write you in for a meeting with him”

Polly smiles and grabs her purse again “ yes, thank you Y/N, your a doll” she kisses your cheek softly then leaves.

The visit from Polly, helped you distract yourself from the situation with Lizzie, you smile happily as you begin to write down the information bout polly's meeting in tommys schedule. As you begin to write in the book, the ink tub falls onto the page causing you to gasp.

You look up and see Lizzie standing in front of your desk, smirking. she lights another cigarette “opps, i guess you'll have to tell Tommy you ruined his book” she tuts, shaking her head.

Once again, your pulse begins to race, your heart starts to beat so incredibly loudly, louder then gunshots. Your hands shake as you begin to try and pat the ink with her handkerchief but it wasn't working.

“no,no,no” your eyes begin to well up with tears for the second time, in less them an hour. You look up at Lizzie, disbelief in your eyes.

“ why would you do that, this has all of Tommy's schedules” you ask astonished.

“ you don't belong here, I've known Tommy before you even were in Birmingham, i should be sat in your chair. Everyday i have to see you prim and proper, giggling at Tommy” Lizzie rants angrily.

Unknownst, to both of them. Polly was still behind the door listening to the conversation. she knew something was wrong so she wanted to listen in case they were hiding something.

Polly leaves the office, determined to find Tommy to tell him what she heard between his secretaries. however, she couldn't find him.

It had been a few hours since the incident, you were quiet s you write a letter to Tommy, you have decided to leave your position of head secretary, you couldn't cope with the daily taunting from Lizzie.

The sound of the door opening and close catches both of the women's attention, you stand up immediately when you see Tommy.

“ Mr Shelby, i need to speak with you if that's alright” you ask softly as you walk around your desk, to stand beside Tommy.

Tommy nods and lights the cigarette that was resting between his lips “ come through to my office miss Y/N” he gently places his hand on the small of your back as you begin to walk to his office with him.

As the door to his office closes, you didn't notice Lizzie watching you. Her eyes like daggers.

“please sit” Tommy nods to the chair by his desk as he sits in his own chair, slowly blowing out the smoke from his mouth. You gulp and nod, sitting down slowly on the cold brown leather seat. the coldness helping to cool down your skin.

“ I've been thinking for the past couple of weeks, and i didn't want to do this but its the best thing for me” you explain, nervously fiddling with the letter in your hands. Your hand shake as you give Tommy the letter “ i'm giving in my notice as Secretary, i will be leaving this company after we finish this conversation”

Tommy frowns, taking the letter gently “ may i ask why” he raises an eyebrow, looking towards your direction. you end up making eye contact for the first time during this conversation.

You smile slightly, your eyes showing that you were distressed “ no reason, i just feel ready to move on”

The next day

Tommy had organised a company/ family meeting, he had some business to talk about. Lizzie had to sit in the meeting since you use to but now you had left your position, no one else can do it.

Tommy had ordered two peaky blinders to watch your flat, wanting you to be protected since people knew you were associated with them.

The meeting had started nearly half an hour ago, however Polly just noticed Lizzie sitting at the table. She frowns “ Thomas, where is Y/N?”

Tommy sighs and leans against the wall, taking out his cigarette holder then opens it “Y/N has decided to move on with her career and no longer work for me” he announces.

Polly raises an eyebrow, glancing at Lizzie, seeing her smirk slightly “ have something to say Lizzie?” her voice full of bitter.

Lizzie shakes her head, no saying anything. Tommy nods and lights his cigarette “ Lizzie, by tomorrow afternoon i need an advert in the paper for a new head secretary” he explains.

Lizzie frowns “you're looking for someone else, i thought i would take that position” she admits.

Polly chuckles and shakes her head “ is that why you forced Y/N to leave? or is it because you want to fuck Thomas?” she quizzes.

Lizzie blushes slightly as Tommy raises an eyebrow and looks towards her.

“is that right Lizzie?” he asks, his eyes turning cold.

“ it wasn't fair Thomas, she came in and you gave her the job straight away without even knowing her” she snaps, putting down her pen. The room went quiet after lizzies confession.

“you were jealous of her so you made her feel bad about herself so much that she left her job? ey? are you fucking proud of yourself” his voice begins to rise as he speaks.

“it wasn't-” Lizzie begins to defend herself when Tommy interrupts her.

“ By the end of today, i want your desk cleared and you stuff gone, you're fired” he points to the door as he speaks, Polly smirking as she watches Lizzie stand up and rush out of the door. As soon as Lizzie left, a blinder rushes into the room.

“Tommy, shes leaving. we followed her to the train station. shes got bags and her sisters are with her as well” he states, catching his breath.

Tommy immediately grabs his coat and cap, rushing out of the betting shop.

At the train station

The sound of people yelling and rushing to and from trains fills your ears as you carry your bags, your sisters infront of her, walking towards the platform where your train back to London would arrive. The clunking and screeching of train engines makes you flinch slightly, you never get use to that sound.

Your train was due for another hour but you wanted to have enough time for your sisters to say goodbye to their friends before you went to the train station.

As you sat on the bench with your sisters, you didn’t hear Tommy calling your name since the platform was extremely loud. However, in the corner of your eye you see him walking over.

“ girls, stay here” you instruct, standing up.

You walk over to Tommy, looking up at him as you both stand infront of each other. However, you didn’t have time to say anything before Tommy kisses you. You didn’t know what to do at first but after a few seconds you felt your shoulders relax as you ease into the kiss.

Time slows, your lips felt like they were made to connect with each other. The feeling of Tommys hand on your cheek causes goosebumps to arrise on your skin. You had wanted his mouth on your for months, but now it’s happening, you want to savour the moment.

Your lips part softly, chasing tommys as he pulls away “ what was that for?” You whisper, biting your lip ever so softly.

“ I should have done it awhile ago” he whispers, stroking your cheek bone gently “ come back, I know what happened, lizzies gone” he explains, looking into his eyes. His pupils blown.

You smile, chuckling under your breath “ okay” you whisper, putting your hand over his.

Tommy brushes his pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. A silent harmony parts your lips as a soundless breath leaves your mouth. Your eye lids slide shut as Tommy leans in, brushing his lips across yours, feeling the coldness of his skin, like snowflakes trundling down from the sky. The soft pillow of your mouth gives Tommy the pressure that he longed for.

This is the light at the end of the tunnel, and you’re so glad you survived.

A/N: hey guys, I don’t really like this one. It feels rushed and it’s unedited so there are a lot of grammar and spelling mistakes. Please do like and comment, I appreciate all of your support ❤️

#peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders masterlist #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic

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daydaydayrk420 · 20 days ago

Note

Anything with Chris Evans please -

Be my Meuse pt1

Chris Evans x male reader

⚠️nothing really all the good stuff is in part two⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

Y/n/n - nickname

This ended up being longer than I intended to so I split it into two parts

______________________________________________________________

Chris is a famous actor. Most famous for playing Captain America for Marvel. He's also known for being kind and caring.

Now y/n isn't known for anything. He's no celebrity. He's just a guy who works at the local bar. On the weekends though he teaches art class.

It's a weekend class that's joined mostly by old people who are doing it for therapy.

So basically he's just hosting art therapy. But sometipmes there are people who join for the art not the therapy.

And by sometimes I mean this weekend. What's so special about this weekend? Let me tell you then.

Now pull your hand out your pants there's no porn here.

The day started the same as usual. Y/n wakes up. Does his morning routine. Watches YouTube or plays games for two Hours. Check his bag and go to his car.

The drive is half an hour long without traffic. He parks in his usual spot in front of the studio building that he shares with two more classes. Both include art but they work on different days and don't include the therapy. So obviously those two get the youngsters. While y/n gets left with old shaky hands. Which he doesn't mind. He loves seeing the people relax and smile at their art.

He walks in and sees that some of his regulars are already there. They're all elderly people. They're just by their lockers and the cafeteria getting ready for the class. The ones who notice the younger man greet him with a smile. Which he returns.

"Hey, James." Y/n greets kindly at the shorter old man. James is the oldest grandpa here. 95 to be exact. Yes, he's here for the therapy part of the class. He's a veteran. "Hey y/n/m. How are you doing son?" James greets them with a happy tone. He always saw y/n as a family. James has also been part of this class since it started. Which was five years ago.

Y/n smiles and sets down the paper bag with James's favourite doughnuts on the table where the old man had his coffee. "I'm good j. No bar fight this week." The younger man joked as he sat opposite of James. Said man laughs and takes out a doughnut.

This has become a tradition for them. Share a chat and doughnuts before every class. Sometimes even James brings something to bite on.

"What about you? You seem cheery today." Y/n asks as he removes his jacket to get comfortable. James hummed and wiped the sugar pounder off his lips. "I'm happy." He said with a content smile. Which made y/n smile too. "And I have a surprise for you." That caught the younger man with surprise.

"Oh? What's the occasion?" The younger man asks with curiosity. "Let's just say it's my thank you for the happy five years I've had so far." That melts y/n's heart. He knows James suffered with depression and that he still might be. So knowing he can make James happy is all he needs to be happy too.

"The problem is my gift is stuck in traffic and will be here in about an hour." Jame chuckles. Y/n laughs. "Oh? What kind of a gift is that then?" He jokes. He's really curious now. Stuck in traffic?

"I ain't spoiling my long-planned surprise, kid." James laughs. The younger man dramatically pretends to be annoyed but a smile creeps onto his face.

The two of them chat for a bit before they all go to their usual places in the studio.

Y/n first goes to the toilet before he starts the class.

When he returns he takes his usual spot in the front corner of the class where it doesn't block whatever they're painting or drawing. He sets his stuff where he wants it and faces the class. He scans the faces. The elder people seem happy today. They all talk and laugh about their memories from the week.

That's until he notices a new face. A young face. But he's looking away. Y/n tilts his head. He knows that facial structure from somewhere. He's drawn it before.

"Alright. Does everyone have their supplies?" Y/n called out to get everyone's attention. He makes sure everyone nods or checks for everything.

That's when he finally catches the new face. Chris Evans. Chris fucking Evans is talking with James about what pain he's using.

"I see we have a new face here." Y/n cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Chris looks up and smiles. "Would you like to introduce yourself or would you rather if they want to meet you they come to you." Y/n suggested as he always does so his students aren't uncomfortable.

"I'm alright thanks." Chris smiles. The younger man nods and looks at his papers to see what they're doing. "Alright so as usual. We have fruit on the stand. Or if you want to do your Topic that's fine too. The art style is all up to you, of course." He reads through his notes to make sure he's got everything. "Alright. That's about it. What song should we play first?"

The time passes by. Everyone's drawing including y/n. It's about time that y/n checks in with everyone. So he puts his brush down and goes to the first canvas. Eventually, he gets to James and rests his hand on his shoulders. "Hey, James, how's it going." He asks with a soft voice as he studies what abstract James is painting today.

It's just a bunch of paint splatter on the canvas. "The usual." The old man hummed proudly. Y/n nods and moves on to the next guy. Aka. Chris Evans. Aka Frank Adler. Aka. Y/n big fat celeb crush. But he keeps a friendly smile on his face and looks at the canvas. He stands stunned.

It's him. The charcoal outlines shape him drawing his art. "That's... Sweet." Y/n didn't know what else to say. Chris chuckles. "Thanks."

The younger man admires the drawing for a tad longer than he wanted. Eventually, he snaps out of it and looks at Chris. Who's already looking at him and smiling. Y/n blushes in surprise. Chris hands his hand out. "Chris."

Y/n wants to laugh because he obviously already knows who the man in front of him is but he doesn't and just grabs his hand. "Y/n" he shakes his hand.

"Y/n." The older man murmurs. "Handsome name for a handsome man." Y/n blushes at that again.

"So what brought you to my class?" Y/n wants to start a conversation. He doesn't want to move to the next person. He wants to talk with Chris. "Oh I was invited by James." Chris said casually as if that didn't just blow y/n's mind out of proportion. He looks at James as if asking "this is the gift?" And James winks knowingly.

The younger man faces Chris again and smiles. "James? How'd he manage to do that?" He's genuinely curious. "His granddaughter works with me. She's a movie clothing designer." The older man said as he set down his charcoal.

"Ohh. Jasmine works with movie stuff?" Y/n asks surprised. "You know Jasmine?" Chris looks surprised. "Not personally. Just from stories." The younger man said. Chris nods. "Well I should move on. Keep up your drawing." Y/n smiled and moved on to another person.

The class comes to an end and everyone gathers their things to leave. Y/n has to stay so he can lock up. James and Chris also stay behind.

"So? Happy?" The younger man jumps in surprise when he hears James's voice form behind him. The old man laughs. "I take that as a yes."

The younger man chuckles and nods. "Thank you James. I really appreciate you doing this."

"I know you wanted to meet him for so long. And when I found out that Jasmine knows him I tried my best to bring him here." The old man grins and pats y/n's back.

"Anyway I gotta go my pick-up is here." They hugged goodbye and James left.

"You doing anything after?" Y/n jumps in surprise at the voice from behind him. Chris chuckles. "Sorry didn't mean to scare ya."

"Uh no I'm not doing anything after this." Y/n chuckles nervously. "Would you like to go get some food with me?" The older man asked with a grin. "Sure." The younger man smiles and hides the fireworks that are going off inside his body.

And so they went out. They didn't really have a specific destination they just walked until they found something they'd crave. But that of course didn't last for long because paparazzi have found them. Y/n thinks fast and takes Chris towards the parking lot in front of the studio. He walks fast and moves through some alleys so they could hopefully lose the cameras.

They make it to the car and quickly hop in. They drive off. Once they've calmed down from the adrenaline they both laugh. "Good thinking." Chris praised.

Y/n smiles. "Thanks."

They put on the radio and talk as y/n drives home.

...

Pt2

#x male reader #male reader #chris evans x male reader

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jo-harrington · 21 days ago

Text

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 5: Friends to Lovers

Previous Chapter: Reader Suggestions

Summary: A bit of chaotic Deja Vu ensues as the Writer finally gets a handle on this story.

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos, Smut, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Lore, Criticism of Fanfiction, Analysis of Fanfiction/Fandom, Meta Fiction, Self-Aware Fic

Note: I KNOW THIS IS REALLY LATE (the dedication post not the chapter, I write on my own time and I'm not gonna apologize for that) so please consider this a chapter dedicated to @undead-supernova for her birthday. Love you August. Thanks for being a little gremlin with me sometimes. Hope you enjoy it.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You really didn't know how you fit into this story.

You were utterly and sincerely baffled.

But you could say that about a lot of the stories you found yourself in; this one felt like it was just to make you suffer, more than anything else.

"What's on your mind Wanderlust?" Sawyer groaned as he collapsed beside you on the sand. He held out a water bottle--still a bit cold, meaning he'd just come back from refilling them at the caves--which you took with a grateful nod. "You're staring into that fire as if it's about to tell you the meaning of life."

"I think that's exactly what I'm hoping it does," you told him honestly before taking a swig.

"Well if you find out," he laid back with his arms folded behind his head. "Be sure to share with the class."

You rolled your eyes at him and then kept up with your pity party.

To add to the list of things you didn't know: Sawyer was also one of them.

He was a shithead of the first degree, dangerous, shifty, rude, selfish, suspicious...and somehow the only person you consistently talked to here on the island.

You'd actually been sitting next to him on Flight 815; he'd been a little salty but nice enough to let you have the arm rests, even asked if you were alright when the turbulence began and you began panicking.

For all the years that you'd been driving around the states, you'd never been on a plane before; you thought it was karma that some Writer would not only put you on the longest flight in existence for your first go, and then a plane crash for your second.

But you appreciated Sawyer's compassion, and the subsequent companionship that he shared with you. The care. The protection. The no-strings-attached, no-questions-asked nature of your relationship.

"You have a boyfriend back home kid?" he asked abruptly.

Spoke too soon.

"Loaded question," you snorted, thinking back to the many loves you'd had throughout this strange life you lived.

"Always the bridesmaid?"

"Something like that." You kicked his leg. "What about you?"

"Married to my work, sweet pea," he grinned, eyes still closed. He must've heard you roll your eyes at him. "I'm sure you're curious about why I'm asking."

"The question crossed my mind, if you'd like to share with the class," you parroted his words.

"Might've heard through the grapevine that someone has a little crush on you."

"Hmmm." You hoped the judgment and distaste was clear.

"Figure it was my duty as your unofficial big brother to scare them away before they started sniffing too close. 'specially if you had someone back home waiting for you."

"Well, no one's waiting," you huffed a breath. "But that doesn't mean I'm interested in a weird beach hookup either."

"I figured. I'll tell 'em to scram."

"Please don't be rude about it."

His eyes popped open and he pressed a hand to his chest.

"Now when have I ever been rude?" You kicked him again. "Alright, I'll be nice."

"Thank you."

There were a few beats of silence, filled with the crackle of the fire and the roar of waves just a few yards away.

"What are you looking for then?" Sawyer's voice broke through. "If it's not sex or love or whatever. What's got you looking so deep into that fire for?"

"I think..." You took a second, because all of those things were nice. But what did you want? What did you really want?

You inhaled deeply and then turned your gaze back to him with the hint of a smile.

"I think I just need a friend."

October 1985

You know what really sucked for Eddie about this whole fanfiction predicament?

The absolute unpredictability of it.

Just as you'd explained to him, he actually felt like he was playing a constant game of DnD. The only problem--well, one of many problems, actually--was that the Dungeon Master had no plans, didn't know what they were doing, and was making it all up as they went.

Which is why he suddenly found himself back in time once again, practically at the beginning of the school year, after a shitty, hot October day where everything that could've gone wrong did.

"It's almost like this Writer hates my guts or something," he grumbled as he sifted through the disarray in his locker. "Making me repeat my repeat-repeat-senior year over and over again."

He let the irritation fester within him all day until the end of the day so he could complain to you--and you'd hopefully agree to some under-the-shirt-over-the-bra action on his couch as consolation--only to find your trailer dark and your car missing by the time he got home.

"Great, just great," he grumbled and trudged inside.

For the rest of the night, he did what he always did when he was looking for comfort.

Pizza, Television, Recorded Reruns of Port Geneva.

He sat on the floor, worked on his homework, and munched on his large extra-pepperoni for hours, as you and Sam and Bonnie had your misadventures. A little voice in the back of his head urged him to just get up and try calling you whenever he hit the pause button to complain, but he ignored it and instead kept on complaining.

About school, about life, about himself. About never amounting to anything. It was very reminiscent of all the other "talks" he had with you...both the you on the screen and eventually the you in real life.

What he wouldn't give to just have you here right now to talk to, instead of this old habit that he thought he'd outgrown upon your appearance in Hawkins and the beginning of this unending hellscape.

He looked down at himself, at the homework and the pizza, and stopped to ask, "what the fuck am I doing?"

Was he really so pathetic that he couldn't control himself until you could be there? Or Wayne? Or any of his other friends? Had the turning back of the calendar just regressed him into the pathetic person he was before all of this started? Before you set foot into Hawkins?

Eddie got to his feet and hit the eject button on the VCR, fully intending to call it a night, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd just gotten used to.

This crash, however, started a ruckus. Again.

"Weird," he scoffed at the yelling and the dog across the way barking.

But who was he to pass up some good old Midwestern entertainment? Especially after the most lackluster night?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl of junk on the coffee table, slid the box of leftover pizza into the fridge, and stepped outside to get a prime spot on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

He'd just gotten that first drag of his cigarette and really took in the sights when it all made sense.

Or rather, it actually didn't make any sense.

Because he remembered the Mayfields on their porch yelling at the driver and Mrs. Mayfield threatening to call the police. He recognized that powder blue Volkswagen Beetle and the accompanying license plate. He knew, on instinct, exactly when the driver's door opened and the sneakered foot stepped out.

And then there you were. Looking around and begging the Mayfields not to call the cops, making a deal to pay for the damages.

The weirdest thing was that, even though his mind raced to put the pieces together, his heart ached with all of the emotions that he'd been through the first time he'd lived this night when you'd crashed into Hawkins from your adventures across the fictional universe.

But instead of muttering that it was all a dream like he remembered himself saying, he repeated "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck" over again until you glanced over at him with an apologetic gaze that he recognized even from that distance.

All at once, he felt the calm wash over him. That's all he needed from you, one look, and everything began to feel worlds better.

"Jesus H. Christ," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair in relief.

Eddie watched for a few moments longer as you wrapped up your conversation with the Mayfields, and he would've made the attempt to approach you once you wandered back to your car, if he didn't feel the puppet strings of the Writer and their words rest on the tip of his tongue, waiting for him to speak them.

So he played the part, as he had gotten used to doing, and jumped to his feet.

"Hey!" He called out to you. "Uh...I...know my way around cars, I can take a look at it in the morning. I-if you want. Bang out any dents."

"Seriously? Can you?" you scrunched your nose in the way that made his knees shake. The Writer didn't need to make him do that; even after a few months, he was still pathetic for you. "That'd be nice, thanks."

"Yeah no problem," he smiled the friendliest and most welcoming smile he could muster, and then went back inside as your car trudged across the trailer park.

Your door was unlocked when he ventured to your place in the middle of the night.

The Writer, unfortunately--or maybe thankfully--still gave him as many nerves and as much restlessness as he had the first night you were in Hawkins. Or maybe he was just nervous and restless wondering just what new hell there was in store for the two of you? Still he couldn't sleep, so instead of wait for the morning, he just made his way over to discuss it with you now.

He found you sitting atop your bedroll on the blue plaid sofa in your living room.

"Hey Cigarette Porch guy," you greeted him tiredly, reciting the words you originally greeted him with.

"Cigarette porch guy is my father," he didn't hesitate to recall, the moment the two of you officially met fondly etched into his memory forever. "You can just call me Eddie."

You share a smile and then pat the spot beside you on the couch.

"I'd offer you a drink, but uh...seems like I'm starting over again," you sighed. "Unless I can interest you in some good old Indiana tap water."

He shook his head, then closed the distance and dropped beside you.

"So what are we in for this time?" he asked. "I thought I was just in for another shitty day."

"Well," you paused and held your breath, then you grabbed his hand and squeezed. "I woke up in a motel room I didn't recognize and then felt the urge to get in my car and just drive. I felt...excited to go to a new place; I think I even said it out loud. 'I'm so excited.' But inside I was worried that I'd moved onto another world and left you behind."

It was like a pit opened in his stomach; he'd considered it before, your eventual departure. He'd come to believe that you would move onto your next life after some event--a death, a breakup, maybe some happily ever after after 50 years together, if he was lucky. But to lose you without any kind of warning?

"Shit," he pulled you into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. For your comfort and his own. "I'm sorry sweetheart."

"It's ok," came the weak chuckle as you leaned into his embrace and nuzzled your nose into his t-shirt. "It's ok, we're just...starting over. The Writer is starting the story over; starting over is good sometimes. Maybe they figured out what they were going to do with us, instead of just play with us like little dolls in a dollhouse."

"Well, I'm an expert in starting over so..." he cracked a joke. "I was just thinking that earlier today, actually."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, if it's October again, it means I'm doing senior year for the...what is it...third-and-a-half time?"

You snorted and weakly slapped a hand to his chest, "well how dare they make you experience that fresh hell one more time."

"I guess if we're starting over, that means you can help me figure out how to pass my Civics quiz again," he recalled your first date. Study date.

You shot out of his embrace and grabbed his face in your hands, smushing his cheeks as you grinned, the somber tone in the living room finally dissipating.

"But that's the best part of rewrites," you explained. "You get to live all the best memories with people over again."

You told him about rewrites that you'd been through; stories that generally didn't change and some that changed drastically. He liked hearing the fondness of your voice when you talked about getting to meet so-and-so for the first time again, holding someone's hand, first dates.

"First kisses?" he asked through his still-smooshed lips.

"That's one of the best parts of rewrites," you winked and pecked a kiss against his mouth. Then again and again, until the two of you were smooching all over each other comically like Gomez and Morticia, giggling all the while.

And when it was time to say goodbye, both of you ready to say "hello" for the second first time.

"Hey," you greeted, somewhat out of breath when Eddie opened the door. It was a familiar sight: backpack slung over your shoulder, 6-pack of sodas dangling from your fingers, looking as gorgeous as you always did or at least he thought so. "Sorry if I'm late."

"No," he shook his head quickly and shifted to the side to let you pass into the trailer. "Right on time sweetheart. Hope you like pepperoni."

Of course you did. It was your favorite.

"It's my favorite."

He still felt the strong sense of triumph from knowing what your favorites were, even though the nerves of being around you for the first time had dissipated.

There was another kind of excitement now as you bit your lip and winked at him stealthily and made your way inside to get settled in the living room. Of course you knew he knew that pepperoni was your favorite. What the Writer didn't know was that pepperoni wasn't your only favorite, and they didn't know that he'd gotten half-pep, half-mushroom to surprise you.

How would they? He hadn't felt them as he'd called Pizzeria Uno, just those lurking strings leading him to the door once the pizza arrived.

The past few days had gone like this, where the Writer would control some aspect of your lives, and the two of you would test what the boundaries of this fanfiction were. It was a trick of yours, to feel some semblance of control in an uncontrollable situation, especially as things became out of character or too drawn out.

When the Writer seemed to be writing too much exposition about one thing or another, the two of you sat frozen in time. No talking, no movement as the world around you seemed to shift and morph at the will of your would-be-deity.

You'd silently challenged him to a staring contest over breakfast at Benny's as a water stain in the corner of the ceiling got bigger and dingier and became more of an eyesore.

Had Eddie really never noticed it or was the Writer just obsessed with it?

It was happening right now as his attention was drawn to the enticing softness of the sweater you had on...each piece of yarn knitted and woven together with such care, his hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out and...

"So..." you cleared your throat. "Homework?"

"Yeah," he agreed, shaking himself out of his story-induced stupor. "Lemme put those pops in the fridge so they get cold first. Dr. Pep--Mr. Pibb?" He scoffed at the unexpected label, a laugh dead in his throat.

"Wh...do you...I thought you liked Dr. Pepper," he questioned.

"Why would you think that?"

"Be...because you got Dr. Pepper at Benny's!"

"If I don't have a choice, yeah Dr. Pepper is fine. But Mr. Pibb is my favorite," you laughed and shook your head in amused disbelief. "There's nothing like a slice of pepperoni and an ice cold Mr. Pibb."

Eddie was sure that there were no strings pulling him this way or that, and based on your body language, it didn't seem like the Writer was doing anything to you either. He racked his brain for a moment, trying to come up with any little tidbit that could prove some outside interference.

But then he realized...had The Writer noticed something about you that he hadn't?

Had he, Eddie Munson, number one fan of Port Geneva's--and you--not noticed that your favorite soda was Mr. Pibb?

Then a thought that didn’t really seem to be his echoed in his head.

What if he actually didn’t know anything about you?

No.

That was impossible.

He refused to believe it. It had to be the Writer who was manipulating things. Right?

He looked at the Mr. Pibb for a moment, then back up at you.

"So, uh," he hesitantly backed out of the living room to head to the kitchen. "Anything else shocking and unbelievable that I need to know about you? If we're gonna be neighbors...or friends...or whatever."

"Or whatever," you giggled, scrunching your nose, then pulled his notebook off the coffee table to distract yourself as you continued nervously. "Uh, ok let's see...I don't think there's anything too shocking and unbelievable that I hadn't told you at breakfast the other day. I'm from Port Geneva, I've been driving around for a while, I like to draw."

You flipped through a few pages in his notebook and then paused and pointed to the doodles in the margins of the page.

"And by the looks of this, so do you," you grinned. "These are cool."

"Cool?" he scoffed. "That...I was supposed to take notes for class and I ended up doodling for Hellfire Club the whole time. Ahem...Hellfire Club...my Dungeons and Dragons club at school."

"Oh yeah?"

"Planning a one-shot for my buddy Jeff's birthday in a world where Theodred doesn't die and goes on to become...well...it's just nerd stuff. You're not interested in any of that. Besides, we're supposed to be talking about you."

"Actually," you looked at him expectantly, "we're supposed to talk about your history quiz. But while we're on the topic of me, and history, and these nerd things in your notebook, I guess one shocking and unbelievable thing about me is that I'm actually a nerd too. I happen to like Tolkien."

It was his turn to shoot you a mocking "oh yeah?"

You rolled your eyes at him and then put his notebook down on the table, then held out your hand as though you desired a handshake. As soon as his palm touched yours, you introduced yourself.

"I actually like Tolkien. My mom got me a copy of the Silmarillion for my sixteenth birthday and if I could go anywhere in any universe, I'd like to see Middle Earth from the tippy top of Erebor. And I used to say that I'd settle for the grand canyon, but I've already been there. So I will accept nothing less than Erebor itself. Now you."

You continued to shake his hand as he spoke.

"I'm Eddie Munson. The first time I read the Hobbit, my dad had dropped me off at the library and someone had misplaced it in the Kids section. And I've tried to get my band to play a rendition of Misty Mountains before, but we can't agree on whether or not there should be a harp in it. If we could even find a harp in Indiana like Thorin's."

There was a sparkle in your eye as you began to say "actually I have a funny story about Thorin and his harp," when you froze.

Eddie watched you and got increasingly worried as you fought some kind of internal battle just behind your eyes. He could see the little changes in your expression, from joyful to nervous to angry, and he reached out to rest his hand on yours and let you know that he was right there.

That it would be alright.

"Why don't," you finally spat out forcefully, slightly out of breath, "why don't we try this? We study a little bit at a time, and as we go, we share a new fact about each other? That way by the end of the night, you'll be ready for the quiz, and we'll be good...friends?"

There was something biting about the word friends, almost like you didn't want to say it.

Honestly, it stung him a little to hear it.

Friends.

Weren't you two supposed to fall in love? Hadn't that been what this fanfiction was in the first place? That this Writer shipped you two together? And shit, even though he knew that he could kiss you once the Writer relinquished control, he was kind of looking forward to having this first date all over again, just like you'd discussed.

But now everything was turning out differently.

Not bad, just different.

It was your turn to turn your hand in his and squeeze, then you asked "how does that sound Eddie? Friends?"

His eyes darted between yours, and he felt the pressure build, the pressure to agree and say yes, as thoughts that the Writer put into his head flew through him at light speed.

"Yeah," he finally spoke. "Friends sounds good."

And friends it was...until it wasn't anymore.

You and Eddie seemed to do all of the things that you did before. Study sessions and Saturdays spent together watching movies and putzing around town until it was time for you to go to work.

Only instead of holding hands and smooching and all of the things that really punctuated the romance in a relationship...there were just awkward, forlorn glances and tingles along your skin when your fingers happened to touch.

God damn, he hadn't had this kind of crush since he was in middle school. The last serious crush he had besides that...was on you.

And it was weird to physically feel all of the effects of a crush on you, thanks to the Writer, while mentally being frustrated knowing that dates and kisses and everything were just around the corner. If only the two of you would be allowed to get over that hurdle.

"It's called a slow burn," you laughed one night when he complained to you on the phone, away from the watchful eye of the Writer. You seemed to be taking the glass-half-full approach, where Eddie just missed you so goddamn much. "And I guess the Writer is really letting us simmer."

"I'm gonna melt if they don't let us be together soon." Eddie complained, semi-seriously, basking in your laughter. "Call me Eddie Mun-stew."

"They've got us in a crock pot," you entertained his joke.

"8 chapters on low," he grinned. "Like Uncle Wayne's famous chili. I just want to kiss you, is that such a crime?"

"Apparently it is."

"What if I've forgotten how to kiss?"

"I sincerely doubt that you have. I'm more worried that the Writer will make it a bad first kiss."

"Like if we bonk heads and I break your nose or something?"

"Oh god, let's not give them any ideas," you groaned. "Look, whenever they decide it'll happen, it will. And it's gonna be great."

"Maybe they won't let me make you think I'm a virgin this time."

"You have to admit, that was hilarious."

"It was not!"

Your only response, which caused him to hang up on you, was to cackle loudly into the receiver.

But the Writer must've sensed the antsy energy between the two of you because it happened.

A first kiss. A second first kiss.

You were actually at the movies this time, instead of on Eddie's couch.

The Writer had given Eddie an incredibly long sequence where he and his pals from Hellfire practiced all of the moves he could have finally made on you now to let you know he might be interested.

First, there was the raising of the armrest between the two of you--exaggeratedly performed by Jeff, who played Eddie, and Eddie, who played you.

Next, there was the meeting of the fingers in the popcorn bucket. Gareth was able to do an uncanny impression of Eddie's "don't take all the milk duds" and the awkward laugh he made as the blush dusted his cheeks.

Then there was the old yawn and stretch, which wasn't awkward at all to have Dave do to him.

"Have you ever done this to someone before?" Eddie snarked, as Dave practically squeezed him against his side. It had been more of a grab than a casual drape of his arm around Eddie's back.

Needless to say, his own execution of the move was a lot smoother.

"And then you just kiss her," his friends said in tandem.

"Gee thanks," Eddie scoffed at them, "I know how to kiss a girl, you shitheads."

Except when it came down to it, he was nervous. Hadn't you told him that the best part of rewrites was having those firsts again? What if it was terrible? What if he actually did break your nose?

"Eddie, are you shaking?" you leaned away from him and looked at him worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Shit, had he been shaking?

"This movie is just," he cleared his throat and glanced up at the screen; thank god he chose something spooky for Halloween. "Really scary."

"Oh...kay," you narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but sat back in your seat.

Then you leaned into him a little more.

And glanced up at him from beneath your lashes.

And he couldn't help but lean a little closer, and duck his head, until his breath was fanning against your cheeks.

Until you inched closer and closer.

And your lips brushed.

Damn, this Writer must've been a hopeless romantic because the kiss was everything they said a first kiss should be. Sunshine and rainbows and birds singing and rockets red glare fireworks at the soft press of your lips on his.

It was here that Eddie realized how much he'd missed kissing you, like...really missed kissing you. You'd taken the task of this rewrite a little too seriously, worried that in some way it might inspire the Writer...or possibly even mess with their inspiration.

The two of you were here now, though, and finally all of that waiting had paid off.

So of course you took advantage of it.

Actually, you were a little more eager than Eddie even was, because your hands were on him immediately. One hand found his waist and the other on his jaw, thumb softly caressing his stubbly skin as your lips pressed together. He liked the firmness of your lips, he liked the way you'd waited for him to make the move before taking what you both eagerly wanted.

Writer be damned.

Eddie pulled you closer, using the arm hooked around your shoulders as leverage, and then tried to use the other hand to hike one of your legs over his--you couldn't be close enough--but the damned popcorn bucket got in the way.

He pulled his lips away from yours for a moment to glance down at the obstacle, basking in the little whine you made at the loss of contact.

In fact, you both looked down at the popcorn, and then at the screen, then at each other.

And you both must've decided that "fuck it" was the correct response, because soon the popcorn bucket was on the floor and you were giggling into each other's mouths as you melded back into one writing mass of limbs and kisses and caresses.

It was a joy to be reunited like this; there were some moments that Eddie was eager to move his hand this way or that way, but he felt the strings of the Writer pull him some other way. His own signature moves foregone in favor of something that they thought would be better. Fingers inched under clothing and into hair, lips chased down the column of a neck, and a leg was hitched over a hip until you were practically grinding on each other for all the world to see.

Suddenly a light was shined on you and you both froze, then jumped apart in shock. Your shoulders heaved and you turned towards the source of the light.

"Hey!" An usher shouted from the end of the row, getting the attention of the whole theater as they turned in their seats to stare at the two of you with your kiss-bruised lips and disheveled clothes. "Knock it off."

"Sorry," you apologized in tandem and shrunk back into your seats.

In fact, the usher waited until the armrest was securely back in place between the two of you before he left.

Once he was gone, though, you snickered and slyly lifted the armrest so you could cuddle back together.

"It's good to be back," Eddie whispered and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

"Ok," you took a breath in and stared at the bed. "So...how do we start?"

Eddie looked at you incredulously and then scoffed.

"You're asking me?" He chuckled and ran a hand into his hair.

"Yeah, I'm asking you," you nodded sincerely and then you gestured up towards the ceiling. "Because clearly they don't know."

You'd been making out on the couch when you'd both decided to take it to the bedroom. But when you got there, things seemed to fizzle out, and now you were just waiting for the Writer's next move.

Actually, the two of you had been waiting for that to happen for a little while. Not that either of you could complain. All of the little scenes that had been written developed your relationship into something worth a story being told about it--dates and cuddling and kissing.

Better than some of the bullshit that the Writer had previously pulled. No bouts of interference or jealousy from Steve Harrington or Chrissy Cunningham. It seemed like a normal relationship, and everything the two of you wanted.

There was still the underlying disbelief and mystery that surrounded you, Eddie's favorite character from Port Geneva, actually being in Hawkins, but in reality the two of you knew that whatever the Writer had planned would truly be a drop in the water when it came to what was actually happening to you.

You'd take this love story while you could get it.

However, the one hurdle that you couldn't seem to get over...was sex.

Well, the two of you could certainly get over it.

It was the Writer that couldn't.

And the cockblocking was getting old.

Making out on the couch, Wayne walked in unexpectedly and ruined the mood. Someone knocked on the back of the van when the two of you were getting hot and heavy parked up at the quarry.

Shit, even phone sex was ruined.

The Writer seemed to be attuned to the two of you now and anytime there was any hint of an arousal to be had, they would be there to effectively crush it.

"Maybe they're just a bad writer?" Eddie shouted upwards, throwing two middle fingers into the air, as though The Writer would know.

"Alright, let's not get too heated," you chuckled and grabbed his arms to pull them back down. "It's probably not as easy as we think it is."

"The dick goes in," Eddie pouted. You stared at him with some sense of disbelief. He was quick to recover it with "and other things happen. I know how to warm a girl up. They should just let us get to it, then it would be easy to put it on paper."

There was a spark of inspiration in your eye at that.

"Alright then, Mister know-it-all," you challenged him, "maybe we should put that logic to the test."

"W-what do you mean?" he questioned. "How?"

"Well, what would you do? How would we start?" you asked in return. "Actually...you admitted to writing a few little stories; have you ever written a sex scene about me?"

Eddie felt the heat build up in his cheeks and you grinned wickedly.

"Oh my god, you have."

"Shut up, ok?" He inhaled deeply, held, and then exhaled his response. "Ok yes but it was once and can you blame me?"

You cackled and did a little shimmy.

"You're smart and funny and gorgeous and I'm in love with you," he explained and then caught himself in shock. "Er, I mean, I..."

He fumbled over his words but your gaze got soft, and you leaned in to press your mouth to his.

It was all the reassurance he needed.

Then he got lost in you. Your lips, your taste, the feel of your hands on him, the feel of you beneath his hands. It was a sensory overload but it was a welcome one. To be surrounded by all of you? He couldn't have written it as well as it was to simply experience it.

That's how he felt about everything he'd experienced with you so far, though. Why should this be any different?

You tugged on his clothes and he tugged on yours. You fumbled to get onto the bed, chasing each other as you scrambled up towards the pillows; you refused to let each other's mouths stray too far though.

"You know," Eddie panted as he pulled away from you to pull his t-shirt over his head. "Maybe the Writer was onto something, though; I really like kissing you."

"Uh huh," you scoffed, your own shirt gone, and you fumbled with the buttons of your jeans. "Do you wanna stop then?"

"Fuck no," he responded and ducked his head to your bare stomach.

His fingers fought with yours on your waistband as he kissed up the softness of your belly, then the dip between your breasts, then up to your neck.

"You know I'm really good at giving hickeys," he muttered into the corner of your jaw. The words tumbled out of his mouth, almost like they weren't his. It took him to realize that they weren't actually his. They were The Writer's. Maybe this was working after all. "Like, really good."

"Put your money where your mouth is Munson," came your reply as your hand slipped into his waistband.

And it was such a strange sensation, maybe just for Eddie, maybe the both of you, when your hand wrapped around his cock and squeezed and he sucked on your pulse like his life depended on it.

Pleasure definitely, and maybe pain; a little mortification and a lot of confusion.

The crescendo of moans from the two of you that your brains said sounded like music but all your ears heard was utter filth. The difference between what the Writer demanded--what they wrote--and what the two of you experience.

And then you released each other, and looked into one another's eyes, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"What is this?" Eddie chuckled into your neck. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," you mirrored him. Your free hand reached up and caressed his face, fingers brushing into his bangs. "But I wouldn't do this with anyone but you."

The rest of your clothes were shed, then, and more kisses were shared. You explored each other's bodies with hands and eyes and tongues. He liked the sounds you made when he licked his way down your body and finally got to taste you when he reached your core.

He vaguely wondered what it was the Writer was describing as he found the spots that made you moan and scream and shatter. Was it the heady taste of you? Or the weight of your thigh hiked over his shoulder? The feeling of your fingers in his hair? And then when things were reversed, when he sunk into you? What did you feel? Did you feel the weight of him on your body, the sweet affirmations he whispered into you, or the way your thighs pulled him closer? The need to have him in you and around you?

Did they write about the slow build of pleasure between you? The chase of it as he bucked into you and you pulled him deeper? Did they know the exact moment that your hands reached down to press into the spot where you connected?

What was it that a Writer experienced when the characters they wrote about shared those intimate moments together? Did they feel their own sense of lust at the thought of bodies melding into one another? Did they feel a sense of shame or intrusion?

Or maybe they felt left out? That this love, this experience, would never really happen to them? Maybe it was just some facsimile with their own partner? Or could this only ever experienced secondhand through words written on a page, never to truly be had on their own?

Eddie paused and looked down at you--at the scrunch of your eyes as you touched yourself, as you touched him, and moaned his name--and he did his best to banish the Writer from his mind.

From this room.

Because this truly was something that should only belong to you and Eddie.

Before everything faded to darkness, before whatever "scene" came to a close, you reached your peaks together.

Because strings or no strings, whether the writer existed or not, whether this was real or fanfiction, it was just the two of you.

You and Eddie.

Together.

"I love you."

Next Chapter: Lemon Coming Soon

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