#dunno why this came out so pink

[lovelytsunoda]

give me a kiss (or three) // lando norris

summary: matching clothes shouldn't turn lando on this much.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: smut, the worst description I have ever written, it’s a lil bit cringe. lando has a nickname for his dick, and a box of flavoured condoms in his bedside drawer. lowkey inspired by an audio posted by the wonderful @2-fast-2-curious. (I took a lot of creative liberties and added a ton of things, but the base idea is still there), there's more laughter than sex in here my dudes-

seeing lando norris wrapped up in the soft pink bedspread should not have warmed her heart the way that it did.

she had slipped out of the bed and ducked across the hallway to use the bathroom, and when she came back, her chest seized at the sight of her lover, his arms wrapped around the massive section of duvet that she was previously buried under.

she never thought she'd see the day, and she never thought she could feel this way about someone who felt the same way back.

she slowly began to dress, careful not to make any noise in the small bedroom. not only would she prefer not to wake her roommates, lando himself was a light sleeper and he needed to be well rested before they went to visit her parents that afternoon.

"sweetheart?" lando mumbled, messy-haired and groggy as he began to surface from underneath the duvet. "its so early, what are you doing awake?"

"i have to run to tescos, and then i have boxing at ten." she smiled softly, tightening the strap on her lacy bralette. "i wanted to let you sleep in. you'll need all your energy for the drive later."

lando snorted, sitting up straight, his curls matted by sleep and sticking to his skin. "there's no way you're wearing a bra that nice to your boxing class."

"i'll change when i get there." she chuckled, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

the blankets shifted with the movement, falling away from lando's thighs to where his royal blue boxers hugged his skin. the man looked down, and then over to the matching set his girlfriend was wearing before he let out a laugh.

"what's so funny?"

"your bra matches my underwear." lando snickered. "we match. a perfect pair."

she couldn't help but join in with her lovers laughter and mirth, looping her arm's around his neck with a chortle. his skin was warmed against hers, which had rapidly cooled since she had emerged from her blanket huddle and into the winter air that filled her home.

"you're so cringe." she giggled, standing between his legs, the slight shade of difference between their underclothes making her smile.

he was right. they were almost a perfect pair.

"cringe? you think i'm cringe?" lando feigned hurt, squeezing her sides playfully. he kissed her deeply, nipping at her bottom lip as his hands roamed her lower body.

the kiss was passionate, yet playful, smiles evident on both of their faces (even when lando slipped his tongue into her mouth, earning a surprised shout).

"not as cringe as the time-" she stopped midsentence, whining as lando ran his tongue along the sweet spot on her neck before diving back in to kiss her. "you wore the monoply boxers."

"i thought 'wanna go to jail" was a great line!"

"yeah, for a fifteen year old boy!"

"it still worked, didn't it?" lando laughed, grabbing at her thighs to roll them over.

the duvet was soft and pillowy around her, bunched up just enoough around her that it narrowed her field of vision. all that existed in that moment was her and lando.

just the way she liked it. she loved it when they were silly like this, playful and sexy at the same time. an experience that felt so uniquely like the two of them and their love, and ensured that they never got tired of being intimate with each other.

"am i still cringe when i've got your wrists pinned to the bed?" lando smirked, his body a comfortable weight against hers, her wrists cradled against the goose down.

"i dunno." she smiled arching upwards to press her lips against his. "why don't we find out?"

lando grinned at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "i like the way you think, but don't you have to go to boxing?"

"they won't miss me. i'm there three times a week as it is." she smiled, snaking one bare leg around his.

lando's touch was as familiar as her afternoon stretching routine. every brush of his fingertips against her skin made her feel powerful, like she could do anything. his lips were comfortable and warm against hers, yet new and exciting every time. lando's grip on her wrists let up, and she buried her fingers in his curls, tugging softly.

"fuck, babe. i love it when you do that." he moaned, lips dancing over the material of her bralette, tonguing at her peaked nipples.

"i know." she hummed, breath hitching. "oh, i love it when you do that."

"that's my girl." lando hummed, reverence in his eyes and a serene expression on his face as he continued to kiss across her collarbone, throughout the valley between her breasts. "you want my fingers, baby? want me to make you feel good?"

“please.” she keened, arching into him.

landos calloused fingers danced across her thigh, over the cluster of freckles that used to make her feel so insecure but he so dearly loved, reaching for the damp spot on her panties. his touch was feather light, running up and down her slit, barely applying any pressure at all.

“lando.” she breathed, making a show of spreading her legs wider for him.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” he hummed, tugging her panties to the side before dipping two fingers in with a moan. “all this for me? you’re so wet, love.”

“only for you.” she moaned, breath hitching as she dug her fingernails into landos shoulder blades, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat off her neck. “oh, baby.”

“such a good girl for me, taking my fingers so well.” he praised, using his free hand to guide her face towards his.

lando kissed her deeply, her hands moving to clutch his hair as his fingers fucked her deeper. every inch of her body was on fire with desire, pleasure pooling in her stomach, her lovers hard cock pressing against her stomach while he finger-fucked her to high heaven.

“oh my god, lando, fuck, I think I’m gonna-“

she didn’t have time to finish that thought before lando pulled his fingers out abruptly, making a show out of licking them off as she whined impatiently at her ruined orgasm.

“what the fuck, dude!”

lando just laughed, kissing her forehead. “payback, sweetheart. you called me cringe, so you don’t get to come.”

“fuck you.”

“I beleive you’re trying to.”

the room went awkwardly silent, so much so that you could hear a pin drop. and then, all at once, they both burst out laughing. the kind of laughter that makes your eyes water, your stomach start to hurt. Lando was laughing so hard that he dropped back onto the bed, bare chest heaving as he looked up at the ceiling.

“why the fuck did I say that?” he cackled.

“I don’t know!” she laughed back. “if it helps, I thought it was cute, and it really made me want to suck your dick.”

“yes, actually. that does help.” landos eyes brightened as she shifted his position, sliding his boxers down his legs. “little lando has missed your pretty face.”

“little lando? god I hate that you have a nickname for your penis.”

“we’ll, if you’re going to insult him like that-“

“shut up.” she breathed, kissing him with a smile. “do we have any of those flavoured condoms left?”

lando grinned. “watermelon or fruit punch?”

she slipped off the bed, foot tangling with the flat sheet as she crouched in front of the bedside table, digging through the drawer for the small red box, searching for the elusive fruit punch condom.

she had never been a fan of giving head. there was something about it that had always just icked her out, but lando made her want to try. she wanted to expand her horizons with him, not for him. it took a lot of trial and error, but they found a way: flavoured condoms. this way, it was more enjoyable for her as well as him. it was akin to a warm ice lolly, rather than a body part.

she deftly ripped the packaging open, sliding the rubber shield onto landos cock. she positioned herself between his legs, taking a few deep breaths before taking his cock in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and running her tongue up and down the shaft.

“oh my god!” lando moaned, resisting the urge to buck his hips. getting blown was always a treat for him, considering that y/n didn’t enjoy it all the time, finding it more stressful than it was worth. but every time she did it, he was reminded just how incredible she was at it.

it was a treat, one that he would savour until the end of time.

he bit his lip to stifle a moan, dropping his hand to the back of her head. he was big in her mouth, weighty against her tongue. she closed her eyes, sucking gently.

“god, you’re so perfect.” lando whined, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb on the side of her head. “taking me like such a good girl.”

she opened her eyes, chancing a look at the love of her life. she moaned at the sight of his rippling abs, body contorted in pleasure.

all because of her. she did that.

“fucking hell, honey. I think I’m gonna blow.”

lando came with a howl, hips stuttering as he came inside the condom sheath. she slipped off his cock quickly, leaving a trail of saliva behind as she made her way up his body to press a soft kiss to landos lips. using a handful of tissues, he slipped the condom off, balling it up and tossing it in the wastebasket. his breathing was heavy, but he was raring to go for more.

“sit on my cock, babe. ride me, please. I need it.”

she smiled, kissing him again. “now who’s the needy one?”

“shut up. do you want to come on my dick or not?” he joked, tickling her sides.

she playfully pushed him against the headboard before rooting around for another condom (a normal one, this time). she pressed the foil packet into lando's hand before getting to her feet and sliding off her soaked panties. she moved to take off her bra as well, but lando grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"keep it on, gorgeous."

and how could she argue when he was giving her puppy dog eyes?

she sunk down slowly, dramatically playing up her actions with some hair-fluffing and boob-primping. lando laughed underneath her, the sound distracting her from the sting as he stretched her out with his cock.

she shifted slowly at first, moving her hips in slow, torturous circles, biting her lip to stop a moan. her lover groaned, looking up at her with lust and reverence in his eyes.

"comfy?" he quipped, hands gently moving to grip her backside.

"very." she smiled, leaning in to kiss him.

lando wasted no time in guiding her movements, lifting her up and down on his cock like it was no effort at all. her fingernails dug into his shoulders, small pants coming out in quick breaths as she bounced on his length.

"oh my god, lando." she whined. "you feel so good. so good, baby."

"that's my girl." lando hummed, dotting kisses along her collarbone, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her ass. "only i get to see you like this, make you feel this good." he growled "and you're doing so so well for me, love."

if lando were to explain what having sex with his girlfriend was like in two words, he'd probably say coming home. she was his safe haven. they fit together like a glove, always seemed to know what the other needed without saying a word. and if they spent more time laughing than actually having sex, or fi their sex was goofier than it was seductive? that didn't matter to him. all that mattered was that they spent that time together.

just two people in love, showing the other just how much.

every bit of praise made her skin break out in goosebumps. she could feel herself dripping onto lando's thighs, but she didn't care. she just wanted to be close to him. as close as physically possible. she arched inwards, leaning against his chest for support as lando stopped moving her hips, instead thrusting his up rapidly to meet hers, a strangled moan escaping her throat.

"that's it, princess. you don't need to do any of the work. lando's got you." he cooed, pressing kisses to her sweaty forehead, whispering words of praise in between moans and grunts. animalistic sounds that just turned her on even more, pleasure reverberating throughout her body.

her slender fingers came up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently. lando moaned softly, angelically, his head tilted backwards and his eyes closed. it was a heavenly sight as he leaned down to sew her lips to his, walls beginning to contract against his cock.

"fuck, lando, go faster. i'm so close, baby." she whined, feeling him pick up the pace, hugging her body closer. she matched his movements, circling her hips and reaching a hand towards her clit.

"you coming, baby? you gonna come all over my thick, hard dick?" lando crooned. "touching yourself for me? getting yourself off on my cock."

"lando, please." she breathed, fingers rapidly moving against her swollen bud. she could feel herself getting closer, the band in her stomach getting tighter. "make me come."

he kissed her hard, thrusting deeper, the room echoing with the sounds of his skin slapping against hers, his guttural moans as his head fell back against the pillows. she could feel him release into the condom, his dick shuddering inside her, the latex getting warmer as it filled.

that was enough to trigger her own release, her juices pouring out of her, running down lando's shaft and dripping onto his thighs. she came with a cry of his name, bracing her hands against the headboard. her limbs felt like jelly as she tried to ease herself off him.

"easy does it." lando spoke softly, his voice raspy (as it usually was after sex), his touch gentle as he eased her down onto the bed. "remember to breathe, there's still water on the nightstand from last night. finish the glass, darling." he kissed her forehead softly before stripping himself of the condom and wiping her legs up with a handful of tissues. "come here."

she smiled, placing the now-empty ikea glass on the nightstand before curling up against him, wrapping her naked limbs over his, pulling the flat sheet over their bodies.

"this was a much better workout than boxing." she smiled, resting her head on his chest. "you're more fun than the coach is."

"i should hope so. i need to give you a reason to keep me around." lando joked, kissing her forehead. "i love you, my darling darling girl."

"i love you too, my handsome boy." she smiled, leaning up to kiss him, trailing a hand across his face as they kissed softly.

"by the way, this doesn't absolve you of driving to my mum's later. and yes, we're still going."

"god damn it! she always sends home with so much crap, i can't fit it all in the mclaren!"

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @lorarri @userlando

[kombuuuu]

Somethin’ Soft for someone Tough.

Earth 42!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“Let me stitch you up, Miles.”

i ❤️ miles and he is so bf uhuh (i’m insane put me in a cell)

also he’s soooooo a simp in this, none of that ihu typa love his mama raised him RIGHT

warnings: injury, stitches, medical practices from someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, some angst, slightly suggestive at times

I dot NOT speak spanish so if anyone is willing to help with translation for future fics, I would owe my life to you (and give early release? i dunno wtv u want babygirl)

—

Miles didn’t understand your hurt. He didn’t understand why you hated him being the Prowler—, didn’t understand you crying when you found out. Or your shame and disappointment when it came to his..

-Profession.

It confused him, he did this to keep you safe. He’d already lost enough, he can’t lose you. He won’t. You just didn’t get that.

Having you be mad at him, loath him, despise and detest him for being Prowler. It was easier than you dead because he wasn’t.

He would rather you hate him, than only have your memory.

So when he came home to you sleeping in his bed, waiting for him to return to you only two weeks after his initial reveal, he did nothing but lay down next to you and let your hand slowly drag into his. Interlocking your fingers in a twisted pattern of forgiveness and relief.

And he didn’t try to understand why.

—

It was warm this night, the heat of a summers Sun leaving Brooklyn a mucky kind of hot. Sweat dripping down the flesh of those still dwelling outside so late, only taking solace in the rare occasion of a breeze through their clothes.

Which is why you felt ever grateful lying in an air conditioned apartment dawned only in a pair of your lovers boxers and a ribbed white tank top.

It was the pair you bought him a while back when browsing street stalls, decorated with little cats and hearts. You thought they were funny, he was not impressed (but he was happy you were happy).

Miles had been out a lot lately. Assignments, as he called them, had been increasing in frequency as of late. Willing you more and more worried about the boy you loved, he just kept coming home injured.

Which you endearingly (aggressively) scolded him for, tones of care seeping into your monologue of being safer with his job whilst he huffed and puffed begrudgingly.

Assuring you he was nothing but careful,—

“Mami, ¿por qué iba a ser imprudente con mi vida cuando te tengo a ti para volver casa a? Alguien tiene que cuidar de ti.”

"Mami, why would I be reckless with my life when I have you to go home to? Someone has to take care of you."

A bashful murmur of “Just be more careful.” Would only reward you with a hand on your waist and the beginnings of a smile. You sighed out in boredom, draping a hand over your forehead dramatically. Spread out on Miles’ bed awaiting his return that’s seemingly taking years.

A crash outside your (boyfriends’) window alerted you out of your position, the piercing sound of metal scraping against metal grating your ears. Shooting up from your laid position, you messily shuffled off the bed, almost tripping over yourself to get to the figure struggling beyond the glass. A heavy claw dragged the window open with the apparent little strength it had left, heavy breaths and short rumbles of discomfort reaching your ears.

The neon pink of the Prowlers mask greeted you, quickening your aid in slamming open the window and catching Miles’ stumbling body from toppling through.

A husking groan sounded from your sweetheart as the mask slowly peeled back, revealing the trails of blood creeping from a cut in his lip.

“Hey, mami.”

Miles was gorgeous, he was a still picture of a painted deity in living form. The plump of his lips dripping a slow streak of burgundy did nothing to taint the sight of him, you wished it had, maybe you could be madder.

“Miles, what happened?” Your concern had outweighed your admiration, you were now fretting.

“I tripped.”

You scoffed something unbelieving, smiling despite the ache in your chest at the poor sight of him. Your emotionally stumped man.

“C’mon, baby, come inside.” Your right hand caressed the side of his face, left collecting his claw adorned fingers in yours to help him through and into his room.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he stepped over the sill, sucking in a breath and hoping you didn’t catch it.

Glancing up at you from his hunched position, you gaped back at him, unimpressed but worried.

He dropped your hands, the clasps on his gloves clicking, and the metal dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Pushing his arms back and letting his backpack fall too, he cracked his neck and winced again.

You all but pouted at him, reaching for his hurt body in discontent.

He leaned down to put his head on your shoulder, breath tickling your neck as he peppered you with light kisses, nipping your skin in just a graze. He wasn’t one to usually be so affectionate, but his guard always lowers with you, shoulders dropping and pulse quickening.

“No está tan mal, ma.”

"It's not so bad, ma."

His hand lifting from out of yours and onto your waist, circling the exposed skin between his boxers and your shirt.

His boxers,—

—,his hand twitched.

“Not that bad?” Your hushed voice bled of concern. “There’s a gash in your side!”

The simple serenity he had found buried in your neck had been ripped away from him in an instant.

You all but hauled his body to the bed, urging him to sit down against the sheets whilst he sulked grumpily behind you. Pushing against his chest and sitting him down.

You ran to his bathroom, washing your hands thoroughly before opening the cabinet under the sink, reaching back to the first aid kit you had placed here for this exact reason and towel, you rushed back to his room and shut the door behind you. “Amor, It’s just a—“ Cutting himself off, he hissed and cursed some under his breath.

“No digas que es sólo un corte.”

"Don't say it's just a cut."

“Mi sol, I have suffered worse.”

“Let me stitch you up, Miles.”

You turned back, shooting him an exasperated look while you threw the towel. Miles catching it without much effort and putting it under him. Flipping open the latch on the kit you sat yourself next to his bed, knees underneath you and digging harshly into the scuffed wood. You grabbed everything you assume you’d need, setting it on the open lid of the kit and focusing back on Miles.

“You look good like this, mami.”

You choked slightly, glaring up at him.

“Take off your jacket, Morales.”

"Sabes, si querías que me desnudara..."

"You know, if you wanted me to undress..."

“One more word.”

“Understood.”

He groaned as he did. Jacket falling off his shoulders and onto the bed, he pushed it to the floor beside you and spread his knees. You shuffled closer between them, lifting his shirt enough to see the damage on his torso and sighed shakily when figuring he was right.

It was just a graze, but a damn deep one. On the right of his torso, falling just under his ribcage was a thin, deep gash.

“What were you cut with, Papi?”

His stomach clenched as you prodded around, checking the wound for any signs of oncoming infection and signalling for him to take his shirt off.

“A knife, probably.”

Despite the weary of the situation, a smug look adorned his face. You poked his stomach, him wincing.

“Figures.”

You hid your smile.

He slipped his shirt over his head, grimacing at the pull of his wound. You took it from him and set it aside, getting an unopened bottle of water from the kit and pouring it over the cut. The water ran through the blood, trickling down his abs and soaking the waist band of his pants, he tipped his head back, groaning lowly in pain.

“Mami, entiendo que estés enojada, but please be gentle.”

"Mami, I understand that you're angry, but please be gentle."

He gazed down at you lazily, the drawl of his accent coating his voice syrupy in light of his injury. He looked downright sinful, braids draping lazily and shoulders dropped. Leaning back on his palms with his legs spread.

“I am gentle.”

“Sure.”

You focus returned to his wound, grabbing a clean hand towel and patting his cut dry, gently.

The occasional hiss or moan would interrupt you, but other than that Miles stayed relatively quiet. Watching you work as you fixed him.

“There, all done.”

“Not gonna kiss it better?”

You huffed, amused as you started to put everything back where it belonged. You could change the sheets and dispose of the hand-towels tomorrow, right now he just wanted you.

Miles grabbed your waist as you stood, hands slipping behind you to shove you forward into him. He buried his face into your stomach and sighed. You giggled lightly, the lack of a smile on his face tagged with the need for your touch was something no one but you could get used to. Your hand slowly trailed up his bare back, nails scratching lightly at his skin. He shivered, tightening his hold on you further.

“Lay down, baby.”

He whispered your name, “Chiquita, you take such good care of me.”

Humming, you unhooked his arms from you and pushed him to lie back by the tips of your fingers.

“Gon’ spoil you after this.”

You grabbed the towel, surprisingly dry and dropped it to the floor with the other discarded items.

“You already spoil me, Papi.”

Miles kicked off his shoes, sparing you a glance and a hum at the endearment.

“‘S’cause you deserve it.”

He unbuckled his belt, threading it out through the loops and threw it to land somewhere. You dragged the corner of the quilt back up to the both of you, stopping halfway. Miles sighed in annoyance, huffing at his pant button and cursing it as he fumbled to pull his pants down.

You giggled, “Need help, baby?” He scoffed lightheartedly. “I got it.”

“Mhm.” He eventually did get it, pulling his pants off and over his legs, coughing slightly at the wind crushing his cut had caused him.

“C’mere mami.” He grabbed your thighs, dragging you on top of him. “Mm—“ “Shh, it don’t hurt.” You let yourself relax slightly, mostly leaning on your need as not to hurt him.

The stars in his eyes as he looked up at you, he sighed quietly.

“It’s hot baby, we’re gonna get all sweaty.”

“Hopefully.”

“Miles.”

You rolled your eyes in a laugh, hooking your arms around his neck and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mm, there. Now you’re all better.”

He rubbed shapes into your thighs, loving the proximity. The way your breaths mingled and skin stuck together.

He thanked the Moon and the Stars for letting him keep you, begged every day to anyone out there that could hear him to tether your souls and kill him have he ever lose you. Would kill a million men to keep you safe, and he’d already had a running start.

He cleansed himself of his sins with your love, showering in the light you provided for him, and watched the blood of any man drip from his fingertips and into the rivers you’d created in his veins. Letting it mix with his own and beat by the tone of his heart. Which only ever raced for you. Only beat for you. He could only live for you, your love and acceptance.

Of which Miles would never understand why you loved him, and he would never try to.

“Much.”

He laid down, you following. Lying your head on his chest and listening to his breathing stutter at the contact.

It was late now, far later than a healthy time to finally sleep. But nothing could break the bubble of ease that now seemed to suffocate him. Lulling him into a slumber with his love against his heart.

—

first fic shoulllllf probably be fluff b4 i angst again

as angst is all i’m good for

i literally don’t know how to write fluff so pray it was good

IF ANY TRANSLATIONS WRONG PLESASSSSSE CORRECT ME

[itneverendshere]

If you ever heard the song “Insecure” by Jazmine Sullivan, I was wondering if you could read a fic with rafe about that

it’s Like toxic!rafe and reader

insecure - bsf!toxic!rafe x kook!reader

If someone asked you how it started, you couldn’t even tell them.

It was Rafe Cameron you were talking about.

The guy was a walking red flag, all swagger, all ego, and too much money for his own good. He had the type of face that made you forgive him even when you didn’t want to. And trust, you'd tried to not want to. But that never worked out, obviously.

It’s not like you thought you could change him or whatever. You were not one of those girls. You just...thought you’d be different. Special. Maybe you got a little caught up in that fairy tale bullshit sometimes. Like, maybe if you were the one who held his attention long enough, maybe he’d stop messing around and actually be serious.

Actually see you.

Spoiler alert: That’s not how it worked

You learned that real quick with Rafe.

It wasn’t even two months in before you found some girl's scrunchie in his Jeep.

You were leaving the club, both tipsy, and you slid into the passenger seat when you spotted it in the back. You know how girls leave stuff behind like it’s a game? Like it’s their way of marking territory? That scrunchie was practically a neon sign that read, "I was here."

You picked it up, twirled it around your finger, and waited for him to notice.

He didn’t.

“What's this?” You finally asked, not even looking at him, just staring at that stupid pink scrunchie like it had all the answers you needed.

Rafe glanced over at it for half a second before shrugging, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Dunno. Probably Sarah’s.”

Sarah Cameron, his sister, the golden girl of the family. His excuse every time something came up.

“It’s not Sarah’s.” You weren't buying it. You knew that girl’s style inside and out, and there’s no way in hell she’d be caught dead wearing something this basic. You tossed it into the backseat, feeling your blood boil.

Of course he’d still treat you like shit, why care about a lifelong friendship, right?

Rafe rolled his eyes. He didn’t even have the decency to act like he cared that you were pissed.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, his voice dripping with that condescension that always made you feel stupid for caring. “It’s just a fucking scrunchie.”

But it wasn’t. Not to you.

See, the thing with Rafe is, he never said he was yours. You never had some grand conversation about exclusivity, about titles, none of that. But that’s how it was with him. He’d show up at your door, flash that killer smile, and you’d forget every reason why he wasn’t good for you.

And yet, there was this constant feeling in your chest.

Tight, twisted, like a knot you couldn’t untangle.

It wasn’t just the girls or the scrunchies or the way he’d disappear for days, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and half-assed explanations. It was you. How you felt around him. You were constantly second-guessing yourself, wondering if you were enough, if you were what he wanted. Things were so different before.

If you were even on his radar when you weren't right in front of him. And that feeling, that deep, gnawing insecurity? It was starting to mess with your head.

A week after the scrunchie incident, you found yourself at another one of those parties on Figure Eight. The kind where we Kooks pretend we're so much better than everyone else but still drink cheap beer out of red solo cups. It was the usual crowd—Topper, Kelce, a few other guys you barely knew, and, of course, Rafe.

You were wearing this black mini dress you knew he liked, the one that hugged your body in all the right places. You wanted to feel good tonight, like you could make him see you the way you needed him to. It was pathetic, but you thought if you played your cards right, maybe you'd get more than just half-hearted attention.

But then, halfway through the night, you saw her.

This girl—some random pogue you'd never seen before—leaning against the bar, laughing at something Rafe was saying. And it wasn’t just that he was talking to her. No, it was the way he was looking at her. That look he used to give you when you first started whatever this was between you two.

Like she was the most interesting thing in the room. Like she was the only thing. Even if she was wearing that cheap, threadbare tank top and worn-out jean shorts. The kind of clothes that screamed she probably worked at some surf shop or waited tables just to get by. And here Rafe was, cozying up to her like she was something special. Like she wasn’t just another girl he’d forget about tomorrow. Making yourself compare to someone like her.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, your palms sweaty as you watched them. You could feel your heart sinking, your gut screaming at you to just leave. But you didn’t. You just stood there, like an idiot, frozen in place, watching him slide his hand up the back of her arm, a move so smooth, so practiced, it made you feel sick.

You hated this. Hated yourself. Hated that you let him have this kind of power over you.

Your mind did that annoying thing where it flashed back to the first time you slept with him. Like it wanted to torture you with every little detail of how you got here. You’d both been drunk, of course. But not blackout drunk—just the kind of buzzed where everything feels a little too easy, a little too warm.

You’d known Rafe forever, been best friends since you were kids. He was practically a part of you, or at least, he used to be. You trusted him, which is why when he showed up at your place that night, laughing about something stupid, you didn’t think twice when he crashed on your couch.

Only he didn’t stay on the couch.

You remember how he looked at you from across the room, that cocky smile he always wore, but softer somehow. Like he wasn’t quite sure if he was going to make a move. He’d leaned in, brushed his hand against your leg—casual, but not really. Your heart had pounded in your chest, but you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to stop him.

And when he kissed you? You were done for. All those years of being “just friends” went right out the window. It was like all the tension between you, all the unspoken stuff, just exploded. You were in his lap before you even realized what was happening, tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that it was just this one-time thing, a moment of weakness.

But Rafe… he knew how to get to you.

He made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered, even though you weren’t. You were just there, convenient. But at the time? You didn’t see it like that. You thought maybe this would change everything. That maybe the Rafe you’d grown up with was still in there somewhere, buried under all the coke, the girls, the chaos.

You were wrong.

It hurt. It hurt like hell. And the worst part was, you couldn’t even blame the girl. She probably had no idea who Rafe really was. She just saw the guy with the money, the smile, the charm.

Your throat tightened as he leaned in, saying something that made her laugh again. That same laugh he’d once pulled out of you. God, how could you be so stupid? You knew what he was. Hell, you’d known for years. But still, you’d let yourself get wrapped up in him, like maybe you’d be the exception. Like maybe you’d matter.

But you didn’t. You were just another girl he’d sweet-talk, mess with, and then forget about the second something new and shiny came along.

Topper came up beside you, nudging you with his shoulder. “You good?”

You blinked, tearing your eyes away from the scene in front of you and forcing a smile. “Yeah, totally. Just need another drink.” Your voice was light, casual, but inside, you were falling apart.

He gave you a weird look, but shrugged it off.

Guess everyone knew how you felt about Rafe. You weren't exactly subtle about it.

You downed another vodka soda, the burn doing nothing to numb the ache in your chest, and made a beeline for the back of the house.

You needed air. You needed to breathe.

You barely made it past the kitchen before you felt someone grab your wrist, pulling you into the hallway. You turned, expecting it to be some random guy, but no—it was Rafe. His grip was tight, a little too tight, and you could see the annoyance in his eyes.

“You’re leaving already?”

Rafe’s grip on your wrist was too tight, but it wasn’t like that surprised you anymore. It was always like this with him—one second, things were fine, and the next, you were stuck in this same stupid cycle of feeling small and stupid for caring.

“I just need some air,” you muttered, trying to pull away, but of course, he didn’t let go. His eyes flicked across your face like he was trying to figure out if you were actually upset or just being “dramatic,” which, spoiler alert, you weren’t.

“You’re not seriously mad about that girl, right?” His voice dripped with amusement, like your feelings were some kind of joke to him. He leaned in, lowering his voice like that was supposed to make you feel better. “It’s not that deep.”

It's hard to remember this used to be your best friend, before you two started whatever this game was and he decided you just weren't that girl to him anymore, just another body he could call up when he needed to get laid.

You stared at him, mouth dry, trying to figure out why you were even still standing here.

“Really?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm in your voice. “Because it kinda feels like it is.” You finally yanked your wrist free, stepping back just enough to get some space. “Do you even care? Like, do you even care that you’re making me feel like this?” You hated how your voice cracked, how vulnerable you sounded.

“We’ve just having fun,” Rafe just stared at you like you were overreacting. “I don’t get what the big deal is. Why are you always making this such a thing?”

Fun. God, that word made your stomach turn.

Fun for who? You knew what he meant, but hearing it out loud still stung. You’d been holding onto this hope, this ridiculous idea that maybe you were different, maybe he cared more. But it was so clear now. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t even close.

“It’s a thing because it is a thing,” you said, voice shaky but steady enough. “I can’t just turn off my feelings like you do, Rafe. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt when I see you flirting with other girls like I don’t exist.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You’re making this complicated. I never said we were serious. You knew what this was from the start.”

And there it was.

The slap of reality you’d been avoiding for way too long. He never said you were his, never promised you anything more than what he gave—a few nights here and there, some attention when it was convenient for him, but nothing real.

And you knew that. But it didn’t stop you from wanting more.

“But you still keep me around, don’t you?” you said quietly, mostly talking to yourself at this point. “You keep me close when it’s easy, when it’s fun for you. And I let you.”

God, that hurt to admit out loud. You let him make you feel like this. Over and over.

Rafe just stood there, completely unfazed. Like this was no big deal. He shrugged, and it made you want to scream. “If you’re so unhappy, then just leave.”

You stared at him, feeling your heart twist in your chest. How did it always come back to this? Him pushing you away like you didn’t mean anything. Like you weren’t standing right here, hurting. You searched his face for something—anything—that showed he actually gave a damn.

But there was nothing.

“Yeah,” you whispered, throat tight. “Maybe I should.”

Rafe blinked, staring at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. The moment you said “maybe I should,” it was like the words didn’t even register with him. He let out this half-laugh, half-scoff, eyebrows raised. “Wait—what? You’re not actually serious right now.”

You just stood there, trying to hold onto the last shred of whatever self-respect you had left, but his reaction made you feel like you were the crazy one. Like you weren’t the one who’d been dragged through the emotional wringer for months.

“I’m serious,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible, but inside? You were shaking. “I’m done.”

He shook his head, like you were talking nonsense. “C’mon, stop. You always say shit like this when you’re mad. You’ll cool off in a couple hours. You’re just… overreacting. Again.”

That word—overreacting—was like gasoline on the fire burning inside you.

“I’m not overreacting. I’m tired.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of all the times you’d let him off the hook. “I’m tired of feeling like an idiot every time I care about you. Every time I think we might actually be something.”

He took a step closer, and you could smell the beer and expensive cologne clinging to him. “We are something,” he said, his tone softening just enough to sound almost genuine, like he believed it. “We have fun. You’re acting like I’m out here trying to hurt you or somethin'.”

“You don’t think you’re hurting me because you never even think about me in the first place,” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You never even consider how any of this makes me feel, and that’s the problem. You don’t care.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t fight back like you half-expected him to. Instead, he just stared at you, confusion all over his face, like this was the first time he’d ever heard any of this.

“So what, you’re just gonna leave?” He asked it like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like the concept of you actually walking away from him didn’t make any sense. “You’re not serious. You won’t actually leave.”

Your heart twisted at that—at how confident he was that you’d stay. That no matter how many times he messed up, no matter how many girls there were, or how many times he ghosted you, you’d always be right there, waiting. Because you always were. All your life.

He was so sure of it.

You felt your hands shake, and you hated that he still had that power over you. That even now, standing here in this stupid hallway at some stupid party, your heart was still fighting your brain, still wanting to hold onto him just a little bit longer.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Yeah, Rafe. I’m leaving.” The words came out firm, stronger than you even thought you were capable of right now. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Panic, maybe. Or maybe it was just the realization that he didn’t have you as locked down as he thought. “You’re really gonna walk away from this?” He gestured between the two of you, as if whatever this was had been so good, so untouchable. “Don’t be stupid.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You think I’m the one being stupid? You’ve taken me for granted this whole time, and I was dumb enough to let you."

He just stood there, silent, looking like he didn’t even know how to answer. Because he didn’t. He never actually thought you’d go. He never thought you’d call him on his shit and mean it.

But you did. And now he was realizing it.

Without waiting for him to say another word, you turned and walked away, feeling like you could finally breathe for the first time in a long time. 

You barely made it a few steps before you heard him call after you. “Wait, hold on!”

You kept walking, forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other. You knew if you stopped, if you even looked back at him, you’d get sucked right back in. But of course, Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easy.

“Wait!” His voice was closer now, and before you could pick up the pace, he grabbed your arm—not harshly this time, just enough to make you stop. “Come on, don’t just walk away.”

You sighed, shutting your eyes for a second before turning around. “What, Rafe? What do you want me to say?” You were so exhausted from this, from him, from the constant back and forth. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

He let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but trying to rein it in. “Can we just… talk about this? You’re pissed right now, and I get it, but you can’t just leave like this.”

“I can leave,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “That’s literally what I’m doing."

He exhaled sharply, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’re really just gonna throw everything away? After all this time?”

You stared at him, heart pounding in your chest. “What exactly am I throwing away? Huh? What have we even been lately? ’Cause from where I’m standing, all I’ve been doing is waiting around for you to decide if I’m worth more than just a random hookup whenever you feel like it.”

He winced at that, and for a second, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d get it. Maybe this would be the moment where he actually realized how badly he’d been screwing up. But instead, he went for the same excuse he always did.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, like that would erase everything. “You know I care about you, okay? We’ve known each other forever. You’re… important to me.”

“Important to you?” You laughed, but it wasn’t even close to funny. “If this is how you treat people who are ‘important’ to you, then I don’t even wanna know how you treat people who aren’t. Oh wait, I do know."

Rafe sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say. “Look, I know I’ve messed up. But…Can we just, like, think about it for a second? Talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling the frustration build again. “What is there to talk about? You only wanna have this conversation now because I’m actually leaving. You never wanted to talk about it before.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “No, Rafe. You think I haven’t tried to bring this up? Every time I tell you how I feel, you brush me off. I’ve been bending over backwards, trying to make this work, and all I’ve gotten in return is you treating me like I’m an afterthought.”

Rafe frowned, his jaw tightening. “That’s not true. I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Because I’m walking away,” you shot back. “That’s the only reason you care right now—because you don’t wanna lose control. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You never actually thought I’d leave.”

He didn’t say anything, which pretty much told you everything you needed to know.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “We used to be best friends. I knew you better than anyone, and you knew me. But I don’t even recognize you anymore. And honestly? I don’t recognize me when I’m around you either.” Your voice softened, "I deserve better than this. And you know it.”

For a second, he just stood there, looking at you like he was processing everything. His face wasn’t smug or arrogant anymore. He actually looked… lost. Maybe even scared. It was the first time you’d seen him drop the act in a long time, and for a split second, you felt that pull again—the one that always made you want to fix things, to make it better, to stay.

But you couldn’t do it this time. You couldn’t keep saving him at the expense of yourself.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he finally said, his voice quieter, almost vulnerable. “You’re… you’re one of the only people who actually gets me. I don’t wanna lose that.”

That hit you right in the gut, because deep down, you didn’t wanna lose him either. He was right—you did know him better than anyone. But that didn’t change what he’d been putting you through. And just because he was scared of losing you didn’t mean he was ready to treat you the way you deserved to be treated.

“I don’t wanna lose you either,” you admitted, “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being the girl you turn to when it’s convenient for you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to the ground like he didn’t know what to say. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was finally realizing how badly he’d screwed this up.

You sighed, stepping back. “Look, I hope you figure your shit out. I really do. But I’m not sticking around to wait for that.”

You’d barely taken two steps when you heard him again, this time his voice quieter, almost desperate. “Wait—please. Just… don’t go.”

You paused, but you didn’t turn around. You were trying so hard to keep it together, to not let him see how badly this was wrecking you. Then he dropped the bomb.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sober.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you turned back around, eyes wide. “What?”

He looked at you like he was begging you to understand, to stay. “I’m serious. Since I stopped using…you’re the only thing that’s been helping me hold it together. You leaving—it’s gonna fuck me up. You know that.”

Your heart twisted, hard. Of course he’d pull this now. You stared at him, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” He insisted, taking a step closer. “I swear. I’m trying to do better. You’re the reason I haven’t gone back to that shit. You’ve always been the one to pull me out of it, and if you leave—”

“Stop,” you snapped, holding up a hand. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re really trying to put this on me?” Your voice was rising, and you didn’t even care if people inside the party heard you. “You’re trying to make me responsible for you staying clean? Do you realize how fucked up that is?”

Rafe flinched, his expression shifting from desperate to defensive. “I’m just saying it how it is. You’ve helped me more than anyone else. You know that.”

“No,” you shot back, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m not doing this. I’m not carrying that weight for you. That’s not fair, and you know it.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done. “You can’t just dump your problems on me and expect me to fix them. I’m not your therapist, and I’m definitely not your savior.” Your chest was heaving now, all the anger and hurt that had been building up for months finally spilling over. “You don’t get to use your sobriety as a leash to keep me here.”

His face fell at that, and for a split second, you saw a flash of guilt. But it wasn’t enough. “I’m not trying to manipulate you,” he said, though even he sounded unsure of his words now. “I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t know what to do because you’ve never had to actually deal with the consequences of your actions,” you fired back. “You’ve always just said whatever you needed to say to keep people around. To keep me around.”

Rafe looked at you like he wanted to fight back, but the fight wasn’t there. Not this time. “That’s not what this is,” he muttered, but it sounded weak even to him.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I’m glad you’re sober. I really am. But that’s not my responsibility. It never should’ve been.” You paused, feeling every word you were about to say. “If staying clean depends on me staying in your life, then you haven’t actually changed. You’ve just found a new addiction.”

He stared at you, and for the first time, he didn’t have a response. No cocky smirk, no empty promises. Just silence.

“I’m not gonna be your crutch anymore,” you said softly, the anger fading, replaced with a deep, painful sadness. “You need to get better for you, not for me. And if you can’t do that… then this was never gonna work anyway.”

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, and you could see the defeat in his eyes, like he was finally realizing that no matter what he said, this time you weren’t coming back.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

You blinked back the tears that were starting to sting your eyes. “You’ll figure it out."

His on his knees before you realized. Literally.

Your eyes widened in complete disbelief. “Rafe, what the hell are you doing?”

He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, just staring at the floor, hands running through his hair like he was about to lose it. “Please don’t leave. I’m begging you. I—I can’t… I don’t know what to do without you.”

You froze, staring at him like he’d lost his damn mind. Because maybe he had. What was this? You felt like you were watching some movie, except it was your life, and it wasn’t dramatic or romantic or whatever he thought it was. It was just… sad. And kind of terrifying.

“Get up.” Your voice wasn’t even loud—it was flat, emotionless. You didn’t even know what to feel anymore. “Rafe, seriously. Get the fuck up.”

He didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaky. “I’m so fucking sorry. You’re all I’ve ever had, okay? Since we were kids, you’ve been the only person who’s ever stuck with me. Everyone else leaves. Everyone. But not you. You’ve always been there, no matter how much I’ve messed up.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut because, deep down, they were true. You had always been there. Through everything. The good, the bad, and the absolute worst. And maybe that’s why it hurt so damn much now—because he’d taken that loyalty, that friendship, and twisted it into something ugly and unrecognizable.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “I seriously can’t believe you right now.” You shook your head, staring at him in disbelief. “You think this is gonna fix everything? You think getting on your knees and saying some bullshit is gonna make me forget all the times you hurt me?"

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy, and it almost made your heart break. Almost. But you weren't going to fall for it anymore. “I didn’t mean to take you for granted. I just—I never thought you’d actually leave. You never left before.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re here,” you snapped, “You always thought I’d stay, no matter how bad you treated me. You counted on it."

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice cracking. “I know I fucked up. But I’ll do anything to fix it. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Please, just don’t go.”

You stared at him, the guy you’d known since forever, the one you’d stuck by when no one else did. The one you thought you could save, even though now you realized you couldn’t even save yourself when you were with him.

But this? Him on his knees? This wasn’t him fixing anything. This was him panicking, terrified that the one thing he’d taken for granted all these years was slipping away.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to keep you alive. That’s on you. I’ve been there for you since we were six, and look where that’s gotten me. Look where that’s gotten us.”

His eyes were pleading, desperate, but you knew that if you stayed, this would keep happening. He would hurt you again, and you’d forgive him.

Because that’s what you did. That’s what you’d always done.

“I can’t keep being your safety net,” you whispered, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “You have to figure out who you are without me always picking up the pieces.”

He shook his head. “But I don’t know how.”

And that was the saddest part of all. He didn’t know how. He had no idea who he was without you constantly there to catch him when he fell. And you were tired of being the one holding him up while he pulled you down.

You took a deep breath, looking down at him—this broken, scared version of Rafe you never wanted to see.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, “but this? This isn’t love. This isn’t healthy. This is you being afraid of losing control. And I’m not gonna let you use me to keep your shit together anymore.”

His eyes filled with tears, and for a second, your heart ached. Because yeah, you loved him once. Maybe you still did in some messed-up way. But love wasn’t supposed to feel like drowning.

“I hope you get better,” you said, taking a step back. “I really do. But I can’t be a part of this anymore.”

And for the first time in your life, you were the one to walk away.

[pennymart]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy

CW: AFAB! reader, dudes a cyborg, dirty talk(ish) chest riding?. I dunno what else

Boothill

I’ve decided to take part in the Boothill fans… im not exactly a writer or anything so take this what you will

Also this is my first smut don’t laugh at me

Tucked away into an dark hotel room, where the only source of light was from the open curtains letting the lights from the Penacony illuminate the room. Well that and the little lights from his robotic body.

The cowboy was laid on his back on the soft bed, his usual cocky smirk showing off those sharp teeth of his as he watched you bounce yourself desperately. “What was that you said?” He chuckled, his large hands coming to grip the fat on your hips to speed of your movements.

From his point of view, you seemed to be going crazy. Dragging that pretty pink pearl against his metal chest, each ridge and bump of the metal sending a shock of wave pleasure through your body. The cold metal shining in the city lights from your slick, hands pressed down on beside his head to stable yourself.

Each bounce and drag of your clit against his cold metal chest pushed a moan out of your throat, trying to purposely drag your heat to his dents, or well scars of his chest. “So good..” he heard you whine out, the cyborg smirked, cold grip grinding your hips down in hard enough to leave bruises, bring more loud pitched whines and moans out of that pretty mouth of yours.

“Here, why don’t ya’ show this cowboy how good you can ride?” The man below you teases as he pinched at your nipples, egging you on to see if he can push the limit. An annoying gesture but it’s mean to make you mad, how cruel of him. But any other thoughts are replaced when he sets his hat on your head, he even roughly stopped your movements to be able to place it on you properly.

He smiled up at you as he fixed your hair, in that moment, it took two whole seconds before you picked up you pace again, reaching towards a rough climax. “Atta girl!” He laughed his gruffly laugh, the laugh that gets you going. It was almost too soon when you finally felt the knot snap, juices smearing his chest and lower torso… heavy pants and small breathy whines left your mouth as you came down from your high. Unknown to you, this was only the prep, you sure are in for a long night cowgirl/boy.

Anyway…

[wannaeatramyeon]

The Crew Heads with Reader: Suits

G/N. Silly. You wonder about their outfits. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo). Non plot panel spoilers for 505 under cut!

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television | Gacha | Board Games | Suits

"Why do you always wear suits to fight?" You ask the four men lounging in your living room.

You hold up their dry cleaning. "A. It's costing a fortune to clean and B. Aren't, I dunno, track pants comfier?"

"I don't." Johan pipes up and you get the urge to pat him on the head. His custom God Dog designs are frankly adorable.

It is utterly charming having him show you the latest outfit he has drawn. With a logo and everything. He never explicitly asks what you think, but you know he seeks your approval anyway.

"Not you," you agree, giving Johan a warm smile that makes him avert his eyes and his ears turn pink.

The rest of the guys, Samuel, Jake and Eli exchange shifty glances at your questions.

"And there's no way-" You hold up a rag. You assume it must have been a Big Deal jacket at some point before it was torn up, "-They said they can repair this. They said I was out of my mind."

Jake had surmised it was a long shot. It was technically missing the lapels. And sleeves. And had long gashes down the back so most of it was ripped off and in tatters.

You're not wrong that it's costing a lot and he thought he would chance a repair instead of having to get a new jacket for Lineman.

You're right, unfortunately. He's going to have to look into some tracksuits instead.

"Thanks for trying," he says with a shrug.

The thing is, the Big Deal uniform just looks cool. Men in suits, who doesn't like that?

Samuel pre-Workers and pre-Big Deal also favoured suits because of how it looked. Authoritative. Like he means business. He wasn't a huge fan of the Workers white but the status that came along with it more than compensated for the colour.

Eli was convinced during the Fifth Affiliates when he was provided made-to-measure Workers suits to represent the crew. Warren and Max and Derrick didn't need much convincing after the girls oohed and aahed over it.

Except the Hostel budget didn't stretch to nice tailored suits, so they had to settle for black shirts and pants.

Still. That was cool enough.

But they can't admit that.

It's embarrassing to let you know they base their whole outfit on what looks good because truth be told, they can barely stretch in those things.

The material isn't made for high kicks and full body slams and sudden movements.  One lunge and they risk a split along the asscrack.

It's why their clothes end up torn off so often.

And yes, there has been awkward popped buttons or ripped seams during inopportune moments mid fight when even Gun Park's eyes momentarily flickered down to exposed underwear or an ass cheek hanging out.

But goddamn, the aesthetics.

"It's comfortable," Eli says unconvincingly, as you raise an eyebrow at his answer.

Somewhere to your right, you hear Johan mutter, "Liar."

[sanguineterrain]

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

[xsublimelimex]

CW: pee/messing & breastfeeding kink

Disclaimer: all characters depicted in this story are consenting adults over the age of 18. If you are NOT 18 or older, click away now!

Little droplets of sweat roll down between my breasts from the heat of the sun beaming down on me. I’m currently elbow deep in my garden and have been for an hour or so.

I sit back in my heels and look at my sweet little girl laying on her stomach soaking up the sun and the beautiful warm weather. Today I dressed her in the tiniest Jean shorts I could find and a little pink bikini top covering her small breasts. She looks absolutely delicious in her outfit I can hardly wait to get my hands on her.

Today my pretty little girlfriend decided she wanted to be a big girl and only wear her training panties no pull-up. I was a but skeptical because I know my sweet Angel usually can’t hold herself but she begged me and I’ve been trying to potty train her so I agreed but not before instilling in her how important it is for her to tell me when she needs the potty. So far so good, there’s been no accidents.

She looks so beautiful laid out on her tummy her soft skin glistening in the sunlight. I check my watch and decide it’s time to go inside and have a snack. I pull off my gloves and walk over to my sweet baby. I hear her little grunts and immediately know what’s happening, she’s having an accident!

I rush to her side and between her legs is soaked in her yellow piss her Jean shorts completely soaked through. “Aw sweetheart you had a little accident hmm?” I coo at her and she immediately pops her head up and looks at me her eyes wide. “Mommy I didn’t mean too!!! I forgot I had to go pee and it just came out, I promise I meant to call for you!” She says in a rush with tears in her eyes.

I sit on my knees beside her head and caress her hair. “It’s okay my love accidents happen that’s why I like to have you in pull-ups but it’s okay sweet girl.” She nuzzles her face against my knee and sighs before groaning. “Uh oh does my sweet girl need to go poopies?” I question her. She nods against my knee and curls her legs up into her belly on her side. “I need to go poopies really bad mommy I dunno if I can make it to the potty my tummy hurts so bad.” She whines and stuffs her thumb in her mouth. My poor baby girl.

“It’s okay sweetheart why don’t you go poopies in your undies.” I say and she looks up at me uncertain but I stroke her face softly. “It’s okay sweetie mommy will clean you up don’t you worry about a thing just use your undies and go potty in them.” She nods and suckles her thumb harder making grunting noises as she attempts to squeeze her poop out. I need to feel her push out this big load so I put my hand right above her Jean shorts where I know her little butthole is my fingers resting right over her pussy hole and wait. She pushes her butt against my hand obviously stimulated by my hand between her pretty legs.

“Keep making pushies Sweet Girl come on. Mommy knows you can do it.” I encourage her pressing down on her hole. She whines and moans just as her big load pushes out into my hand. “Good girl! You did so well for mommy I’m so very proud of you honey.” I praise as I pull her up onto my lap. She straddles me and squished her mess against her ass as she presses down on my lap. I push her up and held her grind herself against me. Loving the sounds of her mess squishing.

She mouths at my chest using her hands to squeeze my heavy tits. I help her unbutton my top and immediately pulls my left tit out and slips my fat nipple into her mouth. She sucks hard and sighs in content when my milk fills her mouth. Her gulps audible as she suckles. The sound is so fucking erotic my pussy is throbbing in need.

I caress her face as she suckles. “You see sweet girl” I squeeze her messy butt. “This is why you need to wear a diapie, no more panties for you. You hear me missy?” I say softly but sternly. She looks up at my with her big doe eyes and nods with my nipple still squeezed in between her lips inside her warm wet mouth.

[sergeantxrogers]

Can you please write something with the idea of y/n asking Bucky if she can tie a pink ribbon around his bicep? Thank you

Request: "Can you please write something with the idea of y/n asking Bucky if she can tie a pink ribbon around his bicep? Thank you"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none, just fluff

Note: hooooly shit guys, i've been gone for way too long. hope you enjoy <3

_____

The jingle of keys in the doorknob had you lifting your eyes from your book, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing softly. The quiet whispers of a jacket being taken off, laces being untied, keys being set on the small table beside the door travelled through the apartment, meeting your ears and bringing a smile to your face.

Soft footsteps padded against the hardwood floor, careful to avoid any creaky spots.

"I'm awake, Buck," you called out softly from the comfort of your bed, and you heard him pause his movements. And then continue, a bit quicker than before.

Brown hair and blue eyes popped around the the edge of the door frame, brows furrowed. "It's midnight. Why are you still awake?"

You shrugged, sitting up in bed and setting your book aside. "Dunno, really. Got caught up reading."

Bucky frowned, and stepped into the room, walking over to the bed. "You can't sleep?"

It was a casual question, but you sensed the undertone of worry laced through it, and smiled to yourself.

"Actually, I spent most of the evening redecorating, so I'll probably start snoring as soon as the lights are off."

Bucky's hands reached for yours, grabbing them and bringing them up to his lips as he stood in front of you. One, two, three kisses along your knuckles. One hand, then the other.

"Redecorating?" he murmured against your skin, and you nodded slyly. His eyes narrowed, partially in amusement, partially in curiosity.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hands back, settling yourself back into the fluffy down of your pillows and blankets. "How was work today?"

At your question, Bucky's jaw ticked.

"It was fine."

You studied him for a few seconds, and cocked your head. "Just fine?"

He let out a heavy sigh, then collapsed atop the comforter at the foot of the bed. On nights like this, when he came home later than usual, the tension in his shoulders a bit more prominent than usual, the bags under his eyes a bit heavier, he found it hard to form sentences adequate enough to explain how he felt or what he needed.

Ever since the government cleared him of all charges and his mandated therapy ended, Bucky had taken up a job at the DCSA.

Defense Counterintelligence and Security Agency.

On paper, James Buchanan Barnes was an ordinary, ex-military security guard working for the Department of Defense and the United States.

In reality, the executive branch of the federal government reached out to him themselves and offered him a job doing what they claimed he did best: making people disappear, and making it seem like an accident. He was hesitant at first, unwilling to be the very thing he tried so hard to run away from being, but soon enough, they had made it very clear he had limited options: accept the position, or get thrown in prison for all the charges they claimed to have dropped.

So, for all his hesitating and hatred, Bucky Barnes was the United States government's own personal hitman, killing anybody who posed a threat to the life of the president, his family, or anybody in the Senate.

At least they paid better than HYDRA, Bucky had once joked. You could see, in his eyes, how much it pained him to revert back to his old ways, once again not having a choice.

Bucky cleared his throat, and glanced at you, blinking away the shadows behind his eyes.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I promise. It could have been worse."

Your heart cracked in your chest and you frowned, burying your cheek even deeper into your pillow as you looked at him. "If you say so."

Bucky pursed his lips to the side, then looked toward the door connecting your bedroom to the bathroom. Without a word, he got up, walking towards the bathroom and simultaneously pulling his shirt over his head. You smiled to yourself as you watched him disappear behind the door, flicking the lights on and letting the soft, yellow glow flood the floor of your room. You listened to him shuffle about, letting out a soft sigh as he unbuckled his belt.

His movements paused.

Your smile grew.

"Y/N?" he called out.

"Yes, babe?"

The door creaked open all the way, and behind it stood Bucky, holding his toothbrush in one hand, with a confused look on his face.

"Why is there a pink bow on my toothbrush?"

It took all your strength not to burst into a fit of giggles immediately as you schooled your face into one of nonchalance, and said, "I told you. I redecorated."

Bucky's bewildered eyes flickered from you, to the toothbrush, then back to you. Then he turned to look at the bathroom. And you saw the exact moment in which he realized there were pink bows everywhere. Big, small, light pink, dark pink, neon pink, cotton, silk, linen. A variety of ribbons tied in bows around everything you could think of: toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo bottles, the soap dispenser, the toilet brush, the towel rack, your skincare bottles, his deodorant and cologne.

"Y/N," Bucky said calmly.

"Yes?" you replied, batting your eyelashes innocently.

"Can you please tell me, why, exactly, you decided on redecorating with pink bows everywhere?"

You hummed, then shrugged. "You know, I'm not exactly sure. I just think they make pretty things look so much prettier. I may have gone a bit overboard, though."

"You think?"

You bit back a grin as you watched him shake his head, as if to snap him from his stupor of amusement, and bend over the sink to brush his teeth. You watched him brush his teeth, wash his face, change out of his jeans and into pajama pants. You tracked him as he turned the lights off and sighed, trudging over to the bed, exhaustion creeping into every one of his movements and pulling at him like gravity. You opened your arms wide, lifting the covers as you did so, and Bucky gladly crawled into them, nuzzling his head into your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist and back.

You placed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, and let your arms come loosely around his neck. Bucky said nothing, content to lay in silence and listen to the beat of your heart as it lulled him to sleep.

After a few minutes of you silently running your fingers through his hair, you whispered his name. "Bucky?"

He hummed in answer against your chest.

"You know how I said pink bows make pretty things even prettier?"

You felt, rather than saw, his body pause at the question, and then his head was up and his blue eyes were staring into yours with a puzzled expression. "Yes... why? What's that have to do with anything?"

"Well..."

You paused. All of a sudden, you felt stupid. Bucky's furrowed brows and sleepy eyes urged you to continue.

"I have a pink ribbon under the pillow, actually, and I was... I wanted to..."

"What, honey?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could tie it around your arm."

Bucky paused, blinking up at you slowly, as if he hadn't heard you.

"My arm?"

You nodded.

"Why?"

You shrugged. "Because it's already beautiful, and I want to make it even more so."

He laid there quiet for a moment, and you were about to tell him to forget about it, but then he unwrapped his arms from around you, letting you drop flat onto your back, and shoved a hand beneath your head. Beneath your pillow.

He emerged with a baby pink ribbon in his fingers, the material pliable and soft in his grip, as he handed it to you.

"Go ahead," he said simply.

You gave him a skeptical look. "Really?"

He shrugged with one shoulder. "Why not? Did you think I'd say no?"

You fell quiet, then let out a sigh through your nose, turning over slightly to better reach his arm. His left arm.

You wrapped the ribbon around his bicep, the vibranium cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warm pink silk in your fingers. You looped it through, pulling it taut, then let go. You stared at it for a second, then glanced up at Bucky. Leaning in, you pressed a light kiss to the exposed metal right above the bow.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, then laid down again, this time face to face with you. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns against the skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you closed your eyes against the feeling.

"I love you so much," he muttered quietly. "You know that, right?"

You nodded, eyes closed and a smile playing at your lips. "I know. I love you, too. Every part of you."

Bucky loosed a breath that sounded somewhat like a disbelieving breath, and you felt him lean in and press a kiss to your temple.

You fell asleep without even realizing, lulled into dreams by the steady thrum of his heartbeat and his hand stroking your hair.

[cute-sucker]

Hi! I wanna request a story of like kook reader having a crush on Rafe and her friends always warns her about his behaviors but she doesn’t care at all and continues to admire him and he definitely notices it but he’s so nonchalant and cold about it😭😭

rafe cameron was your world. 

if it was up to you, the sun set on him, and the moon awakened when his face came into view. it was cheesy you knew, after all, you had been his neighbour forever, but you couldn't help but find yourself drawn to his behaviour. when either it was his looks or the cocky smile that he had. whatever it was, it was not okay. 

well, you didn't see a problem with it. it was just a crush. just something to smile about sometimes, or think about. that's what you had promised some of your friends. but sometimes your friend mindy would tap your shoulder as she mouthed a soft "no," "no." 

at a certain point, you had become wheezie's babysitter in hopes of getting closer to rafe. it was pathetic you knew, but wheezie was such a sweet girl that you loved it even more. days at tanyhill were filled with finger paintings and fairy tales. sometimes you would go all out and let wheezie cook, although that did entail both of you getting completely covered in flour. and that was how you met him. formally. 

you had been smiling up at wheezie, as she told you the gingerbread cookies looked more crooked than usual. you had batted it off telling her that the two of you just had different styles. still you were covered in flour as rafe walked in. while you did have a small crush on him, you tried to ignore him as much as possible. if he was in a room, you walked out choking, blushing so hard. you were just so shy, you could barely say a word. 

yet here you were on the floor as you giggled with wheezie. the two of you were tired. until a voice rang out. 

"what the hell is going on? the place is a mess. shit." 

you felt your heart race as you got up, while wheezie continued to roll on the floor telling you how this perspective of the world was wicked. finally, rafe came into view, eyes squinted as his eyebrows were furrowed. "who the hell are you?" 

wheezie rolled her eyes, "oh my god, rafe can you be more embarrassing. she's my babysitter?" his expression stayed confused before he shrugged it off walking to the fridge, wheezie scoffed, "damn rafe do you even pay attention-" 

"hey!" he snapped, swinging the fridge open to take out a carton of milk, a warning finger in the air, "don't swear." 

at this wheezie scoffed, putting her hands on her hips, "you do it all the time, i don't know why i can't-"

"wheezie, i'm older than you," he interjected, and then he held the milk carton up to his lips. wheezie winced, making a disgusted face, as she pushed him away from the fridge. rafe stumbled away a satisfied grin on his face, ruffling wheezie's hair.  

"ugh, boys you know," wheezie huffed, closing the fridge door with a bang.  

finally wheezie looked up at you, almost as if she was realising you had said nothing and arched an eyebrow at your expression, placing a comforting pink manicured hand on your shoulder. it was humorous how the 13 year old was trying to make you feel better. her nails were still a shocking neon pink with sparkles. 

"don't feel too bad. rafe is weird." the two of you left it at that before going back to making cookies. 

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉

"and then he came in, like all khakis, and that hot polo shirt," you giggled into your phone, kicking your feet. your friend mindy made a hurrupted sound on the phone, "i met him, like actually met him. why aren't you as excited about this?" 

suddenly the phone went silent, and you could hear her soft breathing, "i dunno, i mean lets think about this rationally," she sighed out, and you groaned, turning over in bed. this meant that hard truths were going to be told. 

"-okay i know you hate this, but you've babysitting for the camerons for what, two years?" 

"three years," you corrected, before realising your error. 

"yeah, three years and he hasn't noticed you at all? hasn't thought to ask, 'hey who's that rando girl staying in our home dad?' at all? they invited you to the midsommers, and to all of their parties. and he doesn't know you?" 

you winced at that, before you pouted turning back on your back, "listen, i know it sounds bad, but i don't know. it'll happen."  

you didn't think about it too hard, but there was a noticeable shift. you were putting a lot of care into changing into a cute dress, or painting your nails with extra care, or making sure you asked wheezie where he was. you didn't think it was obvious, but one time wheezie brought it up. 

"do you have a crush on rafe?" she asked, stuffing her face with the burger you had made her. 

you were taking a gulp out of your lemonade and almost spat it out, "wheezie! don't ask me things like that." 

she blinked at you innocently, "i don't know what you're talking about. it's a valid question," and then she pouted, "i thought you'd tell me everything about yourself." 

"well, no, i don't have a c-crush on your brother," you sputtered out, glaring at wheezie who gave you a sly grin. she quickly let go of the conversation, and the two of you were arguing over jenga and who had won. 

quickly enough the days passed at the tanyhill, you had settled down into the belief that rafe would not notice you. who cared? you had a nice job, wheezie was a sweetheart and mr. cameron loved having you around. it was perfect all of it, until rafe approached it. 

it was for a frat part you could tell. with his backward cap on, a fitted tee, he looked like a dream. the babysitting shift was over, and you were slowly walking outside only to see rafe revving up his motorcycle. 

you found yourself flushing at the whole scene and murmured out a soft 'bye.' as usual, you were ignored, or maybe you were too quiet, goddamn it you were so stupid-

"hey!" 

you turned around to see rafe cupping his face to yell at you. he had pulled off his helmet to talk to you. 

"hey," you stuttered out, grasping at your tote bag. you looked like a total grandma, with your cardigan, and written-on sneakers, "what's up?" 

"just heading off to a party, and uh," he scratched his head, squinting his eyes before tearing his eyes off his motorcycle to look back at you, "wanna come? it's at like nine." 

"sure! of course. yeah, sure," you blurted out, flushing even more. he regarded you again, a well-natured smile flittering across his face. 

"yea, i'll see you then." 

so there it was. an invitation. rafe cameron had invited you to a party. 

maybe this was a start of something.

[pepsichrry]

Touch Me || Regulus A. Black

Summary: You and Regulus are best friends and have been since childhood, every moment you spend is together, even ones that aren’t so platonic…

Set during the Marauders Era!

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Innocent!Reader, Innocent!Regulus, Best friends to Lovers? kind of, Virgin!Reader, Virgin!Regulus

Rosier!Reader

—————————————————————————

It was a dreary spring evening in the library when you and Regulus sat studying for your upcoming Potions exam. It was also when you’d decided to bring something up that you never had before.

As you were both approaching the end of your fifth year at Hogwarts, it wasn’t uncommon for people to start getting into relationships. In fact, couples seemed to be everywhere you looked, kissing, touching and giggling together. You couldn’t help but be jealous. As a Rosier and a respectable young Pureblood girl, you were expected to stay far away from the opposite gender, and therefore stay a virgin until you were inevitably married off. Of course, these rules had been broken by other Purebloods, like your brother Evan, but not you, nor your best friend, Regulus Black.

Regulus sat opposite you in a secluded corner of the library, the sun breaking through the window panes and casting a heavenly glow over his pointed features. Beneath the table, your ankles interlocked as yours bounced lightly, but Regulus didn’t seem to be affected, he never was.

“Reggie.” You blurted, not wanting to hold your thoughts back any longer. His pretty grey eyes didn’t look up at you despite the call of his nickname that only you were allowed to call him, he only hummed in acknowledgment as his quill kept scribbling against his parchment. You continued. “Do you think that I should date somebody?”

At that, Regulus frowned, slowly lifting his head to look at you, a hint of disgust over his face.

“Why would you want to do that?”

He asked incredulously. You knew that you two were closer than most best friends tended to be, as Evan so kindly reminded you every time he saw the two of you together, but Regulus made no move to suggest that he wanted anything more than a friendship with you, so you figured the idea of a boyfriend would be okay.

You smiled bashfully. “Well, lots of my friends have been getting into relationships and telling me how great it is. I can’t help but feel I’m missing out.” You informed him quietly, mindful of the somber atmosphere of the library.

He frowned further, inky lashes meeting his brow. “Missing out on what?”

You looked down at your book, starting to feel shy at the question. There was lots that you were missing out on. You shrugged, feeling your neck grow hot.

“I dunno, like hanging out and talking and touching. It just all seems so nice.” You admitted half of your thoughts, looking up at him again.

Regulus shook his head dismissively and looked back down to his parchment before continuing his writing. “You don’t need a boyfriend for that! You have me and all of your other friends to do that.”

You laughed lightly under your breath. “I know that, but there are other things.” You tell him, finding his obliviousness sweet. You knew that Regulus was pretty much a genius, a true master at everything he did and tried, but Merlin, how he was stupid. Especially when it came to people.

“Like what?” He scoffed, quill etching a little harsher now.

“Like kissing, and…” You trailed off, making a little noise to suggest what you meant. Regulus’ head snapped up, his look of shock almost made you ashamed.

A second passed as he looked at you closely. “You don’t mean…” You did.

You knew that Regulus was just as inexperienced as you in the matter of sex, but you never knew he’d be so shocked at the mention of it. By the look of his face and the shade of pink he was turning, you began to think bringing up the idea was wrong, maybe it could have stayed between you and your girlfriends.

You gave him a guilty look and he placed his quill down onto the table, recoiling.

“Dove!” He hissed. It had always been his nickname for you, ever since you were young. Now, it nearly sounded like a term of endearment.

“Reggie, it’s really not that outrageous to want to try it.” You told him, but he wasn’t having it.

“It is! You’re a respectable young woman, you shouldn’t want for some boy to take your purity.” He took your hand, resting his warm palm over your knuckles. “You’re too good for that, Dove.”

You knew he was right. You didn’t want to regret anything that you did or lose your virginity to the wrong person, but you wanted to experiment, to be a normal teenager instead of worrying about what your mother would think. You knew she’d have a heart attack if she found out what your brother got up to in his spare time.

“I know, but plenty of other Pureblood girls have done it. Merlin, Evan has even done it!” To that, Regulus made a face of disgust.

“He has and he shouldn’t have. The Rosier name is worth more than some experimentation.” Regulus shook his head, you truly hated to see the disappointment in his eyes when he looked at you.

You sighed. “And what about the Greengrasses? All four of the sisters have slept with someone! Nothings happened to them.”

Regulus retracted his hand, folding his arms in front of him like a teacher reprimanding a student. “The Greengrasses are nowhere near our standing, Dove. We are better than them, you are better than them.”

He was right again. Rosiers and Blacks were far more important than the Greengrasses, it was just common knowledge. Your family name would be slandered in High Society if anybody found out that you’d lost your purity to anyone, the Greengrasses didn’t suffer the same issue, fortunately for them.

“I suppose you’re right.” You agreed, sinking back into your seat.

“I am. You’d be best not to mention it again, Dove.” Regulus said, looking back to his parchment and continuing like the conversation had never happened, the only trace of it being the pink dusting his cheekbones and your own memory of it.

You did wonder why Regulus was so dismissive of the idea, you had been taught the same things by your parents and had similar thoughts and experiences, so how come you both disagreed on something like this? Was it just because you were influenced easier by hearsay than he was?

“Reggie.” You called again, and he hummed, again. “Aren’t you curious about what it’s like?”

The question made him sigh and press his quill firmly down onto the table.

“No, and you shouldn’t be either.” He scolded you, flipping his potions book shut with his incomplete essay inside. “Now come on, we need to get to dinner.”

Nothing more was said as the two of you collected your things and exited the library. But that wouldn’t be the end of it.

The next time the subject was brought up was when you were lying on Regulus’ bed as he read.

It had been a week since your conversation in the library, and it hadn’t been discussed since, you were too worried about what Regulus would say. His tone alone made you feel sheepish about your questions and ideas, so you wished to avoid any further reaction from him. Except this time, he was the one to bring it up.

“Dove?” He said from beside you, gently closing his book and resting it flat against his chest.

“Yeah?” You replied, turning your head to look at him, but his eyes were trained on the ceiling firmly like he was avoiding your gaze.

He drew his bottom lip into his teeth, gnawing as though he was nervous. Finally, he spoke. “Why were you speaking to Avery in the common room today?”

Avery had come to speak with you about your astronomy assignment that you’d been paired with each other for, but the conversation lead pleasantly to recent gossip travelling around school. You found him to be good company, albeit a little dull.

“He just came to talk to be about our astronomy homework.” You answered honestly, playing with your fingers that were folded across your stomach.

Regulus hummed. “Really?” He asked, turning his head to you.

“Yes.” You frowned.

He looked at you closely, stormy eyes circling your own as though he was searching for any hint of a lie in your words. Suddenly, he pushed himself up, off of the bed and started towards his bookshelf. You sat up, watching him move away from you. After waiting for a moment for any sort of conversation from him about the subject, you decided to speak first.

“Why do you ask?” You drew your legs up to your chest and rested your chin against your knees. You weren’t blind to when something was bothering him, usually he would keep it to himself until he exploded, but sometimes, he just needed a small push in the right direction and he’d let loose.

You watched his back straighten as he took in a breath.

“I was worried that maybe you were considering him…” He turned to you, and upon seeing the confusion on your face, he added, “…As your boyfriend.”

“What?!” Your face scrunched up. Why on earth would you want to date Avery?

Regulus scratched at his forehead, shrugging slightly awkwardly. “I just thought… After our conversation in the Library…” He trailed off quietly.

“You thought that I’d want to date Avery?”

“Well, maybe not date but-“ He cut himself off, eyes widening as though he had realised what he said. He quickly turned and busied himself in the bookshelf behind him. He didn’t dare to turn and see your face.

Of course, that wasn’t originally your intention, he just wanted to talk about astronomy, but you couldn’t help but think of it once or twice whilst you were talking. You wouldn’t have gone through with it, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like. And as always, Regulus knew you too well. And he knew he was right too, he was just too embarrassed to mention the act.

“Regulus-!” You began, desperate to defend yourself, but he snapped abruptly.

“You wanted to, didn’t you?” He looked at you, eyes wide. You opened your mouth to speak, but once again he cut you off. “With Avery of all people?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything! That wasn’t my intention, I’m just curious.” That much was true. You wouldn’t let Avery anywhere near you if it came down to it, but you thought about it, what he’d be like when he took his clothes off, what he’d feel like, what he’d sound like. It was vile and perverted, but you couldn’t help it. Not when the idea had been put into your head.

“Well you need to stay curious! Don’t you realise how stupid you’d be to go through with that with someone like him?” Regulus stormed over to his side of the twin bed since you were sat on one side. He avoided your gaze, but it wasn’t out of nerves.

“Someone like him?” You asked.

“Someone who sleeps around as much as he does! Someone who wouldn’t treat you right!” Regulus said, his words filling you with irritation. What would he know about that?

“And you’d know all about that would you?” You scoffed, knowing that he could deny the fact that he’d never been in close proximity with a girl except for you.

His face burned red now, and he looked at you with a mixture of anger and something close to sham. Why should he be ashamed when he was pure, something that he’d been reminding you to stay being?

“I know far more than he does about treating you well.” He sat back against the headboard, a bitter sneer on his mouth.

“And how would you know that? You’ve never even touched a girl who isn’t me! What could you possibly know about sex that he doesn’t?” You snorted, amused at his little frown. As much of a dick that Regulus could be, he was still your best friend and he was still adorable to you.

He seethed where he sat, jolting forward in anger to growl in your face. “I may not have whored myself around like he has, but I’ve known you, I’ve touched you, I’ve seen nearly all of you. I know every part of your body, that’s something that he’ll never know like I do.”

You shook your head, a smile on your face. “Well, there’s one part he would know better than you if it came down to it.” You reminded him, enjoying the moment of silence that befell you. You knew you’d hit a sensitive spot, but you didn’t care.

Regulus fell back against the headboard, not saying another word and you knew that you’d won. He may have been angry, but it was the price he’d pay for being cocky.

You knew he wouldn’t stay angry at you for long, so you curled up, resting your head on his lap, expecting for him to break his facade. Except this time, he didn’t bring his hand to run over your scalp or untangle your hair, he kept his arms crossed, though he made no move to disturb you, it still felt as though he was rejecting you. You let it be, figuring he’d get over it. Except he didn’t.

“I don’t understand your need to sleep with somebody.” He said finally.

You sighed, you knew well before then that he didn’t understand your thoughts about the matter. “You can’t tell me that you’re not curious.” You smiled slightly at him once you’d turned onto your back to look up at him from where you rested on his thighs.

He glanced down at you but looked away quickly. He shrugged with the shake of his head. “I’m not.”

You heard him perfectly, but something about his tone surely indicated that he was lying. You laughed, bringing a hand up to his face and running a finger over the smooth skin of his cheek.

“Oh, Reggie, you know you can’t lie to me.” You grinned ear from ear when he looked down at you with a stern expression.

He shook his head again. “There’s a difference between being curious and trying to find out.” He told you.

“So you admit that you’re curious! See, you’re no better than me.” You quipped and he rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to keep your curiosity a secret, Reggie, I won’t judge.”

He took in a deep breath and a strange unsureness crossed over his face. It was unusual to see Regulus unsure of anything, he always seemed to know everything about everything. Which was why you were worried you’d crossed a line. At least you were until he began to speak again.

“I- It’s just curiosity, it’ll pass.” He said softly, looking down at you and running gentle fingers over the crown of your head.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but don’t you want to know what it feels like?” You pester him with an answer as the back of your hand goes to nudge at his chest, faintly feeling his rapid heartbeat.

He purses his lips and nods so faintly that if you weren’t paying full attention, you’d miss it.

“So why don’t you try?” You ask simply.

His eyes shoot down to you, oddly calm as his chest rose and fell heavily.

“You know I can’t do that, and neither can you. There are other ways to go about things.” Your attention peaked at that.

You frowned. “How do you go about it?” Regulus flushed and opened his mouth to protest before you cut him off. “Please.”

He fell silent as he looked over the room as though he was searching for an answer to give you. He was so quiet for so long that you were worried he’d never speak again, until he shifted lightly under your head and you watched as he swallowed and how his adam’s apple bobbed. You often forgot how much Regulus had grown and how he isn’t the little boy you used to play Gobstones with in his back garden. Now, he was a beautiful man, standing tall and proud like he was supposed to, but you knew him as your Reggie, he was still yours.

“I can tell you, but you have to promise to stop pursuing these things.” He whispered.

You sat up, facing him now. “I promise.”

He observed you for a second before nodding. “Do you remember when your mother took us for a walk when we were young? Just you and me.”

You frowned, there were lots of times that she’d take you two out whilst your father was teaching your brother duelling tricks. Regulus continued despite your evident confusion.

“She told us why we weren’t the same, because when we used to take baths together we knew that we didn’t look the way the other did.” He explained simply, as though he was talking to a child.

“Regulus, I know you have a dick and I don’t, I don’t need to be reminded.” You said, scrunching your face up in embarrassment at the idea of Regulus having to give you a sex talk.

“I know, I know! What I’m saying is that she taught us how they were different and how they can feel.” He said softly, reaching down to play with your fingers. Despite how uncomfortable the conversation was, he didn’t shy away from you or your touch.

You still weren’t catching on. “Yes?”

“We can… Feel good without having to have sex. Or at least that’s what I took from it.” He looked down shyly.

“How?” You asked incredulously. Despite your mother and your friends having told you about sex, you were nearly entirely clueless, which is how you were supposed to stay according to Pureblood Society. And now it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

Regulus stuttered at your question. “Uh- Well, you can… Touch there.” He said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed as he fiddled with your hand.

You looked at him questioningly. “Is that what you do?”

He looked at you, wide eyes and eventually he tilted his head to the side. “I have before. It’s meant to feel like the real thing, but I don’t know.”

“How do I do it?” Your question was abrupt and rather shocking judging by his face, but you tried to ignore the awkwardness that came between you two.

He began to smile, presumably to diffuse the awkwardness that overcame him. “You, uh, have something that feels nice to touch.” He told you, breathing starting to get rapid.

“Where?” You lean in to him like he was about to whisper a dark secret to you.

“I’m not completely sure.” He admitted, looking at you fully now as you were so close to him.

“Show me how.”

He fell silent, staring at you, unmoving.

“What?!” He hissed.

You frowned. “What?” You asked innocently, not seeing any issue with the request.

“I can’t do that!” He drew away slightly, but still holding your hand firmly.

“Why not?” You whined.

He sighed. “It wouldn’t be right, I can’t touch you like that.” He swallowed.

“Yes you can. You touch me all the time! You’re doing it right now.” You remind him.

“That’s different!”

“How? It’s just touching, I’m not asking you to have sex with me, Reggie.” You told him honestly, you knew that he was against the idea of sleeping around.

He watched you for a second. “If our parents found out-“

“They wouldn’t, nobody has to find out.”

You watch his eyes slowly trace over you. You hadn’t been back to your dorm to get changed, so you remained in your uniform as you both hung out in his room. He took in a long breath before he met your eyes again, then, something was different.

He shifted his leg slightly, so that there was a wider space between them. He patted lightly.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, dropping down into the space. You were used to sitting like this with him because of how you both read together, so this felt no different except for the anticipation running through your body. You rested your back against his chest and his chin found the crook of your neck.

You shifted to get comfortable before he spoke again. “Take these off.” He instructed as he ran a nimble hand over your tight-clad legs.

You slipped a hand beneath the band of the tights and slipped them down over your calf’s before he took them from you and dropped them on the wooden floor. He placed a hesitant hand on your thigh.

“Just say the word and we can stop, Dove.” He told you and pressed a kiss on your clothed shoulder. You hummed a quick ‘okay’ in response and his soft hand traveled up slowly to grip at the inside of your thigh. A sudden burst of warmth engulfed you beneath your underwear at the sudden attention on your leg.

He then pressed a wet kiss on your neck and the warmth intensified slightly. Without warning, his cool touch slipped beneath the elastic band of your underwear and began to pull them off. You allowed him to unhook them from over your feet and place them in a small bundle beside him. Your lower half was completely exposed, but not for him to see, he made sure of that to preserve some kind of modesty on your behalf.

He brought his slim fingers to his lips, wetting them with his spit before he brought them down onto you without warning. You let out a shaky breath as his fingers spread moisture over your sensitive folds. It was a feeling completely new to you, but it was welcomed as his fingers focused attention on you, circling and rubbing over an area you weren’t sure of.

You sighed suddenly as he pressed down harder and your feet pushed you back into his chest. His mouth opened slightly, almost shocked that he could spur this reaction out of you. His hot breath fanned onto your neck as he worked further into your pussy.

His finger slid through the steadily gathering wetness around your hole and you felt a strange tinge run through your groin. He ran the slippery wetness over you, bringing it all back up the top of your fluttering pussy. You wet your lips as you watched his perfect hands roll over the flesh gently, and you wondered how he was so good at what he was doing.

“How did you learn to do this?” Your voice surprised even you as it came out desperate and gravelly. He sighed into your neck at the sound before he replied.

“My brother used to tell me how.” It was true, Sirius would come home and regale Regulus with stories of whichever girl he was shagging that week, so it was no surprise to you that he’d picked up some knowledge over the years.

His finger began to circle harder, causing you to let out a mewl, a sound that Regulus liked. You could tell by the way he nuzzled further into your neck with a soft sound of his own.

“Oh my Merlin.” He sighed and you wove your fingers through his dark tresses, pulling him closer into you. You wondered if he liked this as much as you did, after all, he’d never even touched a girl before.

Your mouth hung open, legs spreading further open, allowing him to touch more of you as you opened up for him. Your sounds grew more desperate at the you warmth spread more intensely around you.

“Reggie.” You whined, you didn’t know what to ask him to do. Whether you wanted him to go faster or press harder, you didn’t know. You just needed him to do anything he could.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to whine just the same into your hair as his hand seemed to work on its own. He circled both faster and harder, it was like he read your mind.

His spare arm held you tighter, keeping you taut to him as the warmth spread.

Your breathing quickened and your heartbeat heightened and your stomach began to ache? But that couldn’t be right, it felt too good to be a stomach ache. You called to him again, he had to know.

“Reggie.” It somehow sounded more desperate now. Your hand grappled onto his hair as you grew warmer and warmer. “It feels- It feels strange.” You told him as best as you could.

He nodded into you, fingers still working the same as they were, like he knew how to make the ache go away. He shushed you gently. “I know, I know.”

You cried out, legs beginning to close on their own accord despite how much you wanted to keep them open. You shook, you couldn’t help it, not as the warmth exploded and the coil of aching disappeared into a sweet tang in your mouth and a fog over your brain.

Your jaw hung ajar, like you would scream at any moment, but nothing came out, it felt too good to scream.

With his fingers slowing, you could finally feel sense as your legs dropped apart, tingling from the force of pleasure that captured your body. Regulus placed another array of kisses over you, whispering things that you couldn’t hear as your heartbeat slowed down at last.

“You’re amazing.” He said, now wrapping both hands around your waist as you came to your senses.

You couldn’t reply, you could only make a tiny breathy sound to counter him. You felt him smile against your skin.

“So good.” He breathed against you amongst the rest of his sweet nothings. You lay against him, wet and burning at the same time as he cooed at you. You were sure you could fall asleep against his chest as the minutes went by and you grew sleepier than before. Until it washed over you.

“Maybe Avery doesn’t know that part as well as you do.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Merry and Bright - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with the marshmallows to my hot chocolate @munson-blurbs 💝

Summary: It's Eliza's first Christmas, and even though she may not have a clue what's going on, the rest of the Munson family have fun introducing her to their traditions.

Note: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, and have a safe and cheerful whatever it is you celebrate!

Words: 4.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eliza’s usual 6am feeding has you and Eddie awake before the boys on Christmas morning for the first time ever. Their 11-week-old sister has them beat for the earliest riser this holiday. 

Both of you sleepy-eyed as usual, you and Eddie slip into your daughter’s nursery and close the door behind you so her cries don’t wake her brothers. As soon as she sees you, she calms down because she knows the routine by now. You show up when she cries? Eliza gets food. 

You walk over and peer into her crib, Eddie stepping up behind you and slipping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Eliza’s tears dry as she stares up at you and her father, her eyes wide like his. 

“Merry Christmas, Eliza,” Eddie says. 

“Happy first Christmas, sweetheart,” you echo. 

She clearly has no idea what you’re saying, but the way she’s looking at you makes you think that she’s thinking: Why are you just standing there smiling at me? Did you not hear the crying? Do you not know what time it is? Where is my food, lady?

You pick her up, clad in her green pajamas dotted with snowflakes and Santa Claus on them. The very same pajamas you, Eddie, Ryan, and Luke are all wearing. When you came up with the idea of matching family pajamas, you weren’t entirely serious until the boys backed you up. Whether they were truly into it or were just going along because they knew their dad would hate it, you have no idea. But Eddie grumbled and agreed, and once it’s just the two of you, declared that you are the only person in the whole world that he would do this for. 

Eddie goes to the window and pulls back the pink curtains with the white polka dots while you settle into the rocking chair with your baby. 

“Wow,” Eddie says as he looks outside. “It must’ve snowed the whole night. Everything is white.”

“Hear that, Eliza?” you coo as she begins to drink. “Your very first Christmas is a white Christmas. I think your brothers are going to have some fun outside later. Maybe we’ll go out and join them.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at you. “Does she have enough clothes to layer up and go outside in this?”

“Enough clothes?” you ask with a chuckle. “Between the baby shower, Max and Nancy giving us some of their old baby clothes, and what we and the boys bought? I think she has enough layers to look like the Michelin Man.”

“Oh, but look at those rolls,” Eddie says in that baby-talk that’s pretty rare for him. He grins and kneels down next to the two of you in the rocker. “She already looks like the Michelin Man.”

There’s no denying Eliza’s rolls around her wrists and knees and ankles are absolutely the most adorable thing ever. And there is most definitely a long list of adorable things about Eliza. 

Once Eliza is done eating, you burp her—and she gives you one her father is quite proud of—and change her diaper, then you head out into the hallway and it’s time to wake the boys. 

Eddie walks into Luke’s room and heavily plops down on the mattress, making the ten-year-old bounce. He’s usually a pain to wake up in the morning, but Christmas is an exception. 

Luke rouses with a sleepy laugh and rubs at his eyes. “Present time?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Eddie casually replies, shrugging his shoulders as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “You think Santa came this year? I haven’t checked the tree yet.”

“And why wouldn’t he come?” you ask from the doorway, holding Eliza. Luke glances over at you and grins; you return his gesture in a silent I’ve got your back. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is dead set on provoking him. “Oh, come on,” he scoffs, “Luke had to have made the naughty list.”

Luke playfully lunges at his dad, who catches him and swings him over his own body to let his son land on the floor. 

“Nice try,” Eddie says. “But you’ll never beat me.”

When you let out a snort of laughter from where you’re standing, Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. 

You innocently raise your shoulders and walk across the hall to Ryan’s room. He’s a bit easier to wake up than his younger brother, though he’s started to fit the teenage stereotype of sleeping in late.  

“Oh my God, it snowed! A lot!” you hear Luke shout from his room, which makes you chuckle. “It’s like Antarctica!”

You can practically hear Eddie playfully rolling his eyes. “Yeah, bud. We’ll see a penguin waddle by in a sec.”

Ryan is already awake from all the chaos. He’s slightly grumpy from his unconventional wake-up call, but he smiles as soon as he stumbles into the hallway and scoops Eliza from your arms. 

“Merry Christmas, baby sis!” he coos. You notice that his pajamas barely reach his ankles even though you’d only bought them a few weeks ago. “You ready to see what Santa brought this year?”

As anticipated, Eliza says nothing, but you unanimously agree that she’s excited for presents. 

The five of you head to the family room to see multiple gift piles under the meticulously decorated tree. 

Luke points at the biggest pile near the front, blue eyes wide. “Who’s that for?”

“Eliza,” you tell him as you ruffle his curls. “Mostly from you and Ryan, I’d wager.” 

The boys had wanted to spoil their new sister with heaps of presents; you had to continually remind them that she’ll quickly grow out of any clothes and won’t be playing with toys for a few more months. Eddie had to keep reminding them that they were technically spending his money on the baby. He’d found it nearly impossible to say no to them, his heart swelling with pride that he’d raised such thoughtful—if not rambunctious—young men. 

Luke and Ryan get down on the floor, while you and Eddie sit down on the couch with the baby. 

“So, this is how we do it, Eliza,” Luke tells his sister, as if she will grasp any of what he’s saying. “Ryan picks up a present, reads who it’s to and from, then he gives it to me, and I give it to whoever’s it is.” It’s a tradition they’d started before Luke learned how to read, but it’s stuck throughout the years. 

Eliza lets out a few puffs of air that Luke takes as confirmation that she understands.  

“She gets me,” he says simply.

“Or,” Eddie teases, “she can’t tell which one of you is Ryan and which one of you is Luke in these ridiculous matching pajamas.” 

The four of you take turns opening Eliza’s presents for her. Each time a new one is opened you try to get her attention to show it to her, but she rarely cares. Eddie’s curls start to be more of interest to her than anything anyone else is doing. 

Whenever Luke or Ryan open them for her, they get really excited and hype their sister up about whatever it is that she got.

“Wow, Eliza! Look at this dress!” Luke says as he picks it up and shows her. “It has Princess Ariel on it! I bet you’re going to love the princesses.”

“Ooh, Eliza! Look at these!” Ryan shakes the oversized keyring with the pastel-colored plastic keys hanging from it. “You can drive Dad’s car with these.”

“I’d let her drive it before I let either of you two menaces behind the wheel.”

Eventually, Eliza’s pile is depleted, and the boys open their own presents. Ironically, they were more enthused for Eliza’s, though their new Game Boys are an absolute hit. There was eventually a gift that Eliza seemed to be enthralled with though. The only thing that really caught her attention was the shininess of a new watch that Eddie got from Luke. She wanted to put it directly in her mouth, but Eddie stopped her as Luke warned that he wasn’t sure if it was water proof or not. 

Once presents are done, Eddie cleans up the variety of wrapping paper while you dress Eliza in her Christmas candy cane outfit. This outfit Eddie picked out. It seemed only fair since you practically forced him into the pajamas. 

It’s nap time for Eliza, so you settle her down while the boys go through their new gifts. The clothes they received only got a once over while the toys and video games were more heavily scrutinized. 

After Luke makes his rounds through his toys, he notices how much snow has built up on the ground.

“Daaaaad!”

“Whaaaat?” Eddie mimics as he walks in the room.

Luke walks over and gives his dad an over the top smile—a telltale sign that he wants something.

“Wanna go play in the snoooow?”

Eddie pretends to consider the question even though he’s been waiting for one of the boys to ask all day. He’s still a kid at heart and has been dying to get out there and mess around. 

“I guess I could go for kicking your asses in a snowball fight.”

“Luke and I can take you, old man!” Ryan says.

“Two against one? Huh. Babe? Wanna come be on my team?”

“Sorry, hot stuff,” you say as you stroll in from the kitchen. “Then who would be here to get little Miss Eliza up from her nap and get her all bundled up for the snow?”

Eddie suddenly looks a bit more serious. “She’s going to have to have a lot of layers.”

“Really? Because I was going to bring her out in just her diaper.” You can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s protectiveness and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry. She’ll have so many layers she’ll look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.”

The three men get all layered up and you get comfortable in a cozy chair near the window with a mug of hot chocolate to watch their shenanigans unfold. The boys go to one side of the yard and start making snowballs while Eddie goes to the other side. Your husband makes a little snow barrier that he can crouch behind before he starts making his snowball supply. 

“Teach these kids to call me old,” he mumbles to himself. 

Eddie quickly throws a snowball that hits the back of Luke’s head before he ducks back behind his wall. Eddie tries to control his laughter, but it keeps coming out in hot puffs of breath that he can see float away from his mouth.

“What the?!” Luke shouts, looking all around. “How’d he do that?”

Eddie chuckles to himself as he creates more ammunition. These amateurs. 

You look on in amusement as the three of them commence in all-out war. Eddie clearly gets the better of them, which you can tell he’s secretly proud of. Or not-so-secretly as he sticks his tongue out at them and taunts them. You’d swear you were the one in this relationship who is older by a decade, not him. 

After a while of running around, your sons and husband fall into a pile in the middle of the yard, obviously tired from so much exertion. You giggle as you watch them try and catch their breaths; Luke literally reaching up with his gloved hands to swipe at the condensation his huffing and puffing is causing. 

Luke is the first one up and starts tugging on his dad’s coat sleeve to pull him up too. Ryan is the next one up, then finally Eddie. It takes you a couple of minutes to figure out what they’re doing at first. It looks like they’re just moving piles of snow around with no rhyme or reason. 

Just as you’ve put together that they’re trying to build an igloo, you hear Eliza’s cries coming from her room. You get up from your warm cocoon on the chair and wander into Eliza’s nursery where she’s whining for attention.

“What’s all the fuss about?” you ask as you scoop her up. “It’s Christmas. Didn’t anyone tell you there’s no crying on Christmas?”

Eliza’s only response is a tiny sneeze that makes you giggle.

“God bless you. Now, let’s see how many layers of clothes we can put on you before you’re as good as bubble wrapped.”

When you open the back door, both you and your daughter bundled up tightly against the cold, the igloo looks like it had some architectural issues. Eddie pushes himself off the ground and comes over to the two of you. 

“Look at my girls. So cute in all your layers.” He presses a kiss to your nose, which gives you a shiver.  

“Your lips are freezing!” you exclaim, scrunching your face. 

“What do you expect?” Eddie asks with a laugh. “Igloo construction is very serious work that can only be done in these dire weather conditions.”

A few snowflakes fall onto Eliza’s pale pink coat, and she blinks at them in confusion before they melt away. 

“How is the construction crew doing?” you ask, nodding to the boys and their building, snow stuck to their gloves like Velcro. 

“Some structural problems,” Eddie shrugs. “Definitely inhabitable, but I don’t have the heart to break it to them.” He brushes his gloves onto his jacket and holds his arms out towards Eliza. “Come here, you.”

He takes her, snuggling her to his chest, and walks over to where the boys are working tirelessly. Crouching down, he lets Eliza’s legs hang down so her booted up little feet are on the snowy ground.  

“Hey, ‘Liza,” Luke chirps. “We’re making a house out of snow.”

“It’s not going too well,” Ryan adds under his breath. 

His brother scowls. “She doesn’t know that!” he hisses. 

Eliza’s eyes track the snowflakes falling down around her. 

“You like the snow, huh?” Eddie asks her, kissing the tiniest sliver of exposed forehead beneath her fuzzy hood. 

A chunk of the attempted igloo comes off in Ryan’s hands and he lets out a defeated sigh. “You wanna try some snow?” he asks Eliza just as you walk over to join them. He breaks off the snow into a small chunk and holds it up near Eliza’s lips. She only stares at it for a second before Eddie helps her lean in and she opens her mouth, just as she does when she’s trying to eat. 

The moment the coldness touches her lips, Eliza turns her head and curls her hands towards her face, making the rest of you laugh.

“Cold, huh?” Ryan chuckles, tossing aside the snow that Eliza hasn’t consumed. 

“All right,” Eddie says as he stands up, shifting his daughter in his arms. “I don’t know about you boys, but my butt is pretty numb. What do you say we head inside?”

Both boys whine, even though you can tell by their chattering teeth that they’re getting a bit cold themselves. 

“How’s hot chocolate sound?” you add.

That gets both boys up and headed towards the back door. Eddie walks ahead of you with Eliza, and you shuffle towards him so you can whisper in his ear. 

“If you can’t feel your ass, maybe I could feel it for you?” Your lips curl into a smirk. 

Eddie turns to face you. “Why, Mrs. Munson, how very naughty of you.” His kiss lingers in a way that tells you to expect a special gift the moment you two are truly alone. 

It takes a few minutes for everyone to peel off their wet clothes. Eddie and Ryan work on throwing the snow-soaked pants and socks into the dryer while you recruit Luke to help a freshly warmed Eliza into her swing in the living room so you can make hot chocolate. 

Luke buckles the straps over Eliza’s red and white outfit and turns the swing on the lowest setting. It gently sways her back and forth from left to right, which is usually her favorite thing in the world, but her tiny cries warn that she is not amused. 

“Hey, what’s the whining about?” Luke asks, frowning at his fussy sister. 

Eliza squeals and throws her little arms up as much as she’s able to as though purposely acting in defiance. 

Luke immediately springs into action. “No, no!” He scrambles for an idea. “Here, watch me, Eliza!”

He starts to do an overexaggerated jig in front of her and sings I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. I don't want a doll, no dinky Tinkertoy. I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy!”

Eliza stops her crying and just stares at her older brother as he continues his impromptu performance. 

“I can see me now on Christmas morning, creeping down the stairs. Oh, what joy and what surprise. When I open up my eyes to see my hippo hero standing there!”

Watching the mini concert from the kitchen, you notice that Eliza is mesmerized by her brother; the look on her face reads, “what the hell are you doing?”, but you’re not going to question whatever it is that’s quieted her down—even if it means being subjected to one of the most irritating holiday songs in existence. 

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses. I only like hippopotamuseses. And hippopotamuses like me too!”

Successfully distracted, the baby makes spit bubbles and flaps her arms. Luke feels that he’s done his job, and he gives a small bow. 

Luke finishes imagining the applause his baby sister so obviously wants to give him when Eddie comes into the living room carrying two mugs full of steaming hot chocolate.

“Hey, Timberlake. Here’s your drink.”

You and Ryan are right behind him as you carefully balance your own drinks, giggling at each other as you check on one another’s progress from the corner of your eyes. It’s almost a game to see if one of you will spill a few drops before the other.

Luke plops down in the chair you had been sitting in while watching the boys outside and Ryan settles in on the loveseat. You take advantage of your husband sitting alone on the couch to cuddle up to his side. Eddie settles one arm over your shoulders and brings his Metallica mug to his lips with his other hand. Taking care to hold your “Meowy Christmas” mug dotted in adorable kittens in both of your hands, you rest your head on his shoulder. Your eyes admire the cup that Luke gave you last year for Christmas before they drift over to your daughter comfortably rocking in her swing. 

Her large eyes move from family member to family member, as if wondering what you’re all doing. You imagine her holding her own little mug-shaped bottle to join in with the rest of you and you let out a soft giggle at the thought.

“What, baby?” Eddie asks softly.

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head. “Just look at our little girl. Watching all of us.”

Eddie smiles when he looks over and his daughter’s gaze locks on his. He feels as if one more ounce of happiness was pumped into his heart it would explode. The room is still and quiet, but Eliza continues to look on as the four of you warm up by drinking the confectionary delight. 

By the time the four of you have emptied your mugs, Eliza is fast asleep in her swing. Eddie presses a kiss to your temple, and you take his empty cup as he rises to his feet. He walks over, slowly stops the rocking, and scoops Eliza up. She lets out a little sigh as Eddie resituates her in his arms; her classic sign of contentment when she knows she’s safe in her daddy’s care. He carries the sleeping infant into her room and lays her down in her crib. 

“Sweet dreams, sweet pea.”

An hour later, the buzzer rings. 

Wayne’s on the other side of the door, two pizza boxes in hand. Since Eliza is still so little and requires almost all of your energy, there isn’t a fancy meal this year, but no one seems to mind. 

The Munson patriarch sets the food on the table, opening the boxes to reveal pepperoni & green peppers atop each pie. “Christmas colors,” he announces proudly. 

Eddie pops a Christmas album into the CD player as you all gather around the table and eat. By some miracle, Luke and Ryan manage to take their slices without fighting over the bigger one, and you thank your lucky stars. 

No sooner do you sit down and lift your own slice to your lips, Eliza’s cry bleats through the baby monitor. You instinctively start to stand, but Wayne puts a gentle hand out to stop you. 

“I got it,” he assures you, walking into the room where Eliza lays in her crib. 

“You’re the cutest candy cane I’ve ever seen!” you hear him exclaim as he lifts her to carry her back out to the kitchen.

He takes his seat next to Luke, who holds his slice in the baby’s direction, a glob of sauce plopping onto the floor. 

“Eliza, you want some pizza?” He pretends to bring it to her mouth before he pulls back and cackles. “Aahh, just kidding!”

The tiny baby manages to stay awake for the entirety of dinner, but by the end of dessert, she’s starting to get cranky again. 

When it’s time to clear the table, Eddie stands up and stretches his arms high over his head. And so what if your gaze drifted to the pale expanse of his stomach that it showed? 

“Come on, men,” Eddie says. “Let’s get this place looking ship-shaped.”

“You sure you weren’t the one in the military?” Wayne asks with a husky laugh. He hands you the baby who is only getting fussier by the second.

“I think it’s time for some jammies,” you say as you hold her against your chest. Her whines and whimpers in return sound like a disagreement, so you can only imagine what her backtalk will be like when she can speak. 

“Not fair,” Luke says with a huff as you move to leave the dining room. You turn around and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What’s not fair?” you ask.

“You don’t have to clean,” he says as he picks up the bowl of mashed potatoes that is now so empty it looks as if it’s been licked clean. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was, honestly. 

“Do you want to try and get Miss Crankypants into her pajamas? Then to bed?” you ask.

“No,” Luke admits with a groan and brings the empty dishes into the kitchen.

“That’s what I thought,” you say to Eliza as you carry her down the hall to her room. 

It’s time for the annual tradition of watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas, but Eliza still hasn’t gone to sleep. You’re not sure how long you’ve been trying to soothe her to sleep, but it feels like it’s been hours. You tell the guys to start watching it without you as you start to walk throughout the house with your fussy daughter in your arms. The rocking motion of walking tends to have a calming effect on her. Hasn’t worked so far, but it’s worth another shot.

“Come on, sweetie,” you beg her. “You had a big day. You must be so tired.”

She continues her protests, so you hold her closer to your chest, her green elf pajamas soft in your hands. On your fourth lap of the house, you pass by the living room again but there’s music coming from the television this time.

Eliza stops her fussing at the sound. The scene ends and Eliza starts to act up again, so you take another lap around the house. Once more back at the living room, there’s music and again she calms down. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself.

Testing your theory, you sit at the edge of the couch and keep your firm hold on Eliza. The music continues as Eliza calms all the way down. This time, she’s calmed enough that you can sit back on the couch and enjoy the show with your family. Every time a scene with music comes on, Eliza gets happier and even gives you a smile that you’re pretty sure had nothing to do with gas.

“You like the music, huh?” you ask your daughter softly. 

“Making her daddy proud,” Eddie says, throwing a wink your way. 

Not much later, Eliza falls asleep, and it allows you to watch the rest of the program with your family. When it’s time for bed, the boys each get up and press a soft kiss to their sister’s forehead. Once they’ve gone to brush their teeth, you bring Eliza into her room, Eddie right behind you. You gently lay her down and Eddie snakes his arms around your waist from behind. Both of you look down at your daughter, her little pink lips parted as her chest moves up and down with her steady breathing. The soft downy hairs on her head are starting to get a curl to them and you smile at the thought of her having hair like your husband.

Eddie presses a kiss to your cheek and rests his chin on your shoulder so he can look down at the sleeping girl as well.

“We made a cute baby,” Eddie says softly.

“The cutest,” you agree. 

[xzaddyzanakinx]

| So, So, Right | pt. 2

Stepbro! Anakin x innocent reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: eventual smut, inappropriate relationships, make out sesh, reader has oral fixation

Info: Modern AU, Anakin is whipped, Anakin literally worships the ground you walk on, reader is accidentally a brat, Anakin is conflicted, NOT PROOFREAD

You were impatiently waiting for Anakin at the front door at 5:00 pm sharp, your makeup retouched and your hair up in an elegantly smooth ponytail. A small scrap of white satin tied in a bow covered your ponytail holder, you’d left your clothes on from earlier just in case Anakin came home yucky, you didn’t want to get your nice clothes dirty.

“What are you doing?” Your mom came up behind you, a mason jar of ice water clinking in her hands.

“I’m waiting for Ani. He’s gonna take me to the movies!” You turned around quickly to flash a big smile at her.

“What are you gonna see?” She slipped her arm in yours and pulled you to the couch, “sit down, standing over there isn’t gonna make him show up any faster.” She laughed.

“I dunno, whatever he wants I guess.” You shrugged, picking at the hem of your shirt.

“You know, I’m proud of you.” Your mom said softly. “I was really worried that you two wouldn’t get along.”

“What? Why?” You scoffed.

“Well you’ve been an only child your whole life and so has he. Sometimes it’s hard to adjust to a new family structure.” She patted your knee.

“Well I don’t think it’s been hard, I love him, he’s my favorite!” You grinned.

“You’re too sweet for your own good.” Your mom laughed, smiling widely as she heard Anakin’s truck pulling into the drive way.

Your feet hit the ground immediately, pushing open the glass storm door and waiting for him on the porch. His white shirt was discolored and put his jeans had stayed spotless, you assumed he probably took them off to wear his work clothes. He slammed the truck door shut, bobbing his head to the beat of whatever song he’d been listening to moments earlier.

He jogged up the front steps and held his hand out to stop you from running up to him. He grinned at your pout and furrowed brows, giving a light chuckle at your reaction.

“Look at me, you don’t want this all over you do ya?” He gestured to his stained shirt and grease streaked arms.

“I don’t care!” You rolled your eyes, a slight smile creeping up your lips when he bent down with his hands behind his back to give you a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“C’mon. Gotta shower.” He opened the glass door and ushered you inside with a gentle pat to your ass.

“Ani!” Your mom greeted him with an awkward smile, a bit of confusion in her eyes.

Anakin’s breath caught in his throat, - did she see that? -

“Hey Satine.” Anakin swallowed his guilt laced worries and smoothed the situation over with his charming smile. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” He thumbed over his shoulder to the stairway, before jogging up to your shared bathroom.

You walked to the kitchen, grabbing a cup of grape juice for yourself and a can of Pepsi for Anakin. Your mom following closely, her anxious demeanor went unnoticed by you.

“Gotta go get changed.” You said as you slipped past her.

“Knock knock.” You said playfully as you entered your room, seeing the bathroom door wide open and the steam coming from the shower.

Receiving no answer you hummed to yourself while you sat down your drinks, turning to your neatly made bed and seeing a cute light pink summer dress, clean white cotton underwear, a pink bralette and some white sandals. You smiled to yourself, loving when Anakin chose your clothes for you.

You slipped out of your dirty clothes and into your clean ones, stepping into the dress just as Anakin was walking out of the bathroom with a towel hung low on his waist.

“Is that okay?” He questioned, making sure you’d be comfortable wearing the outfit he’d picked.

“You always pick the perfect thing.” You smiled, pulling your ponytail over your shoulder and spinning around so Anakin could zip your dress.

He ran his knuckles down your spine on their way to your zipper, sending cold chills through you. You giggled at the sensation and pulled your shoulders up to your ears when his plump lips made contact with the nape of your neck.

“Gorgeous.” He clicked his tongue, eyes roaming your figure.

He turned on his heel, going to his room to get clothes on. He dropped his towel about halfway through the bathroom, leaving him completely bare. He didn’t even turn around to acknowledge what he had done, you blushed as an unfamiliar feeling bloomed in your stomach. You shyly looked anywhere but his open door, that is until he came strolling in, focused on buckling his belt.

“How d’ya think I look?” He did a little twist in place to show off his nice casual clothes. Non-ripped black jeans, black vans and a black&red flannel with a Minor Threat shirt underneath.

Giving him two thumbs up and a big smile you bounded over to him, stopping right in front of him. He leaned down a kissed each side of your mouth, pulling back to smile softly as he stared at your lips.

“How come you never kiss me for real?” You asked, Anakin seemed a bit taken aback by this.

“Do you want me to?” He leaned in closer, noses brushing together.

“Yes.” You smiled, closing the distance between you.

Your lips meeting in a gentle embrace. His velvety smooth lips caressing yours in an intimately cute dance. You could feel him trying to stave off a smile and it sent a shiver down your spine that made you giggle.

“What’s so funny?” He pulled back grinning.

“Nothing!” You squeaked, feeling warmth forming at the apex of your thighs.

You felt a bit shy, so you just quietly held out your hand for him to take. Which he of course did, pulling you to the door and down the stairs at breakneck speed, catching his breath on the bottom step with a laugh.

“Need some cash?” Obi-Wan asked, not looking up from his book on the couch. “Satine said you’re going out?”

“Nah I’ve got it covered.” Anakin said, flicking his wrist in a wave at his dad.

“Be safe.” Obi-Wan peered over his book from under his glasses.

“Always are, aren’t we bunny?” Anakin teased, playing with the ‘ears’ on your satin bow.

You giggled and agreed, making your way to the front door and into Anakin’s truck in no time at all. Anakin beat you there to open the door for you, waiting until you had buckled your seatbelt before closing the door and climbing in his side. His warm hand resting on your knee, squeezing lightly as he backed out of the drive way.

“Took a bit longer than I thought,” he hummed, “Sonic okay? I don’t think we have time for a restaurant.” He tapped the clock on the radio.

“Yeah, ‘course.” You agreed as he pulled up to a stall to order your food. You were just happy to be here with him.

A vanilla milkshake and a whole load of tater tot’s later you were making your way through the ticket line at the movies, settling for something scary. Anakin always teased that you weren’t ‘big enough’ to handle horror movies, and you wanted to prove him wrong.

“I promise. I won’t get freaked out like last time!” You tugged on his shirt sleeve while he laughed.

“Sure. Sure. Just don’t come crying to me when you get scared.” He said semi-sternly.

“Fine.” You crossed your arms, feelings a bit squished thinking that he might’ve been serious.

“Baby, I’m only kidding. You know that.” He pulled you into his chest with a possessive tug at your hip.

“I know.” You answered quietly, collecting your tickets from the man at the counter.

“Let’s go find a good seat m’kay?” He pulled you along, his arm thrown across your shoulders.

He led you to the top row, the theater was sparse compared to what you expected. The movie had been out for at least two weeks but you didn’t expect it to be so empty. You clapped excitedly, loving that you practically had the whole place to yourselves.

Anakin lifted the armrest between your seats so you could lean over on him, lifting his arm up so you could comfortably wiggle into place. His arm around you lowered until he had a firm grip on your upper thigh, his thumb in the crease where your leg met your hip, his long fingers squeezing the soft flesh of your ass.

That warm feeling crept back up into your stomach, sending a shiver down your legs. Anakin noticed, smirking to himself before twisting to pepper your hair with kisses.

The movie started off slow, but as it went on the gruesome violence was starting to get to you. You tucked yourself up under his arm, hiding your face in his chest.

“Is it too much babydoll?” He whispered, his breath ghosting you ear.

You shook your head, not wanting to admit defeat. “No, just tell me when the killer is gone.”

A few seconds later Anakin gave you the okay signal and your head popped back up to see the bloody aftermath on screen. It was enough to make you nauseous, you closed your eyes and swallowed, refusing to give in to your silly childlike fear.

You squeaked and sunk back into his chest, feeling his chest rumble as he held back a chuckle.

“My poor girl.” He tutted, stroking your cheek softly. “Do you want to go?”

“No!” You pouted.

“There’s no shame in being scared babe. It’s called a horror movie for a reason.” He squeezed your cheeks to puff out your lips, making you giggle.

“I can do it. It’s almost done.” You nodded, sneaking your thumb into your mouth. Chewing the skin on the sides of your fingernail. As stupid as it was, it was comforting to you. At this point you didn’t care if Anakin thought it was weird, you just needed to calm yourself.

He watched from the corner of his eye, your lips wrapped around your digit made his cock twitch.

“Princess?” He whispered softly, his hand not occupied by your ass cheek came to tilt your face toward his.

Sullenly you removed your thumb and gave him a shame faced smile. Afraid he’d be judgmental, your eyes widened as he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. His gaze never left yours as he slipped the pad of his thumb past your lips and slid it gently across your tongue in massaging circles.

“That better baby doll?” He asked, his voice husky as he shifted in his seat.

Something about the way he asked you this, or maybe something about the way he looked at you had you feeling that warm tingly feeling in your stomach again. You hummed in agreement against his thumb, earning a little grunt from his throat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs as he tried to get comfortable again, his dick straining in his jeans.

You spent the rest of the movie just like this, Anakin’s thumb caressing your tongue and his other hand migrated under the hem of your dress, trailing lightly up and down your thigh.

As the credits rolled you unfurled from Anakin’s embrace, reluctantly standing up to stretch. Anakin laced your fingers with his yours and led you down the steps and too the main foyer of the theater.

“Hey!” Someone called your name and your head spun in search of the source.

A hand waving frantically caught your attention and you squinted to properly see their face. Joshua, a student from one of your Gen. Ed. classes made his way toward you.

“Who’s this?” Anakin asked, his hand tightening around yours.

“A boy from school!” You said, dragging him behind you.

“Josh! This is Anakin, Anakin, Josh.” The boys nodded toward each other, gauging the other reluctantly.

“How’s your summer?” Josh asked, choosing to ignore Anakin completely.

“Oh it’s good, Ani just started a new job, we’re out celebrating!” You looked up at Anakin proudly, resting your hand on his chest.

“Oh. Nice.” Josh grumbled, “he your boyfriend?”

Anakin opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted. “No silly, he’s my stepbrother. Remember? I told you my mom was getting remarried.”

Anakin’s arm slithered around your waist, pulling you back into him. Tilting your head back to kiss your lips with a devilish grin plastered on his face. You were too busy gazing up at Anakin to noticed the flash of disgust travel across Josh’s face.

“Alright, Josh,” Anakin mumbled, “gotta get my pretty girl home don’t I?”

“Mhm, okay Ani.” You smiled, waving in the general direction of josh, completely unaware that he had made a fast exit after Anakin’s display of affection.

“I didn’t like that guy.” Anakin sighed as he ushered you into the truck.

“Why? He’s always been nice.” You asked.

“He seems off. I think it’s best if you keep your distance princess.” Anakin smoothed your dress before buckling you in. “I just wanna keep you safe.”

“I know, I trust you.” You smiled.

“Good girl.” Anakin grinned, closing the door and making his way to his side.

The ride home was quiet as you watched the night sky twinkle with the stars, streetlights flickering and porch lights turning on. The pavement gave way to gravel as Anakin pulled into the drive way. Suddenly then air felt a bit thicker when he clicked the release on your seatbelt, you turned to him, his face just inches from yours.

“Let me try something okay princess?” He breathed, “c’mere.”

He pulled you into him, one hand on the nape of your neck and one hand pressing against your lower back.

Tentatively he dipped down, eyes flicking from yours to your lips before he dove in and pressed his mouth to yours. In comparison to the sweet kisses you’d shared earlier, this was rougher, more passionate. The aggressiveness of it had you gasping for air and Anakin’s tongue slowly pushed against yours, exploring your mouth slowly, making sure to memorize your taste. Reluctantly he pulled back, your lips chasing his until he gripped your neck firmly.

“You have no idea what that does to me.” He palmed himself, shifting his cock to fit more comfortably, turning your head away when you tried to watch what he was doing.

You whimpered into his mouth as he captured you in another devouring kiss, this time you moved your tongue in sync with his. Earning a moan that rumbled from his throat to your lips. He paused, as if considering something, before cupping your face in both hands and tilting your head back.

His lips left yours to place a sloppy open mouthed kiss to your throat. Taking note of the way you clenched your thighs tightly together and leaned into him, a pleased smirk on his face when he pulled back.

“Let’s get you inside before I… well let’s get you inside.” He chuckled to himself.

Your head too fuzzy to even question him about his odd statement.

“Hop up here baby doll.” Anakin tapped the bathroom sink. Bringing a washcloth to your face to remove your makeup for you.

Brushing your hair and braiding it down your back for you. He placed your toothbrush in your hand and brought your hand up to your mouth. Encouraging you to go ahead and start brushing your teeth while he went into his room.

“You can wear this tonight,” he laid one of his sleep shirts next to you on the counter.

“Spit.” He held a cup to your lips for you to spit your toothpaste into, rinsing it out and filling it with a bit of water for you to rinse the residue out with.

“All done.” He smiled, lifting you up by your hips and standing you in front of him, unzipping your dress slowly, placing his shirt in your hands.

“Go ahead, I’ll turn around.” He smiled, turning on his heels and dramatically covering his eyes.

You let the dress fall to the floor and kicked it aside, removing the bralette and pulling his shirt over your head. Leaving you in just his shirt and your underwear. You tapped his shoulder and he turned his head to nip at your fingers just to hear you squeal.

“Climb up in bed baby doll.” He ushered you into your room, peeling back the covers for you to crawl under.

He dropped his jeans to the floor, and slipped his shirt over his head. His toned stomach stretching as he lifted his arms over his head. He crawled in after you, pulling a book off your nightstand to start reading.

“Just one chapter tonight okay?” He yawned, petting your cheek as you laid on his bare chest.

“Okay.” You nodded, fiddling with a loose string on his boxers.

Anakin tried his best to ignore your fingers brushing against the sensitive skin on his waist. He was quickly becoming flustered, your hand so close to his crotch while you were completely unaware of what you were doing to him. Your touches getting heavier as you felt sleep creeping in, the back of your hand grazing across his half hard length. He jerked unexpectedly and caused you to stir.

“Are you okay?” Your head shot up worriedly.

“Yeah ‘course. Just a little jumpy.” He smiled, a light blush across his nose.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked, this time purposely dragging your fingers over the same spot to see if he reacted again.

Anakin did in fact react to your touch, a muffled groan slipped out and he tried to cover it up with a cough as he shut the book. He gently moved your hand up his abdomen, looking down at you with obvious conflict in his eyes. You didn’t understand, you just recognized that he was uncomfortable as he grabbed at his crotch and repositioned himself with a grunt.

“No you didn’t hurt me.” He smiled, “just- just a little sensitive there.”

“M’sorry Ani.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up from his chest, playing with the hairs between his bellybutton and the waistband of his boxers.

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t know baby doll.” He leaned down and cupped your face in his large hands. Rubbing his nose against yours before giving you a peck on each cheek.

“Goodnight princess.” Anakin stood, pressing his lips to his thumb and swiping it across your bottom lip.

“Night Ani.” You whispered as Anakin turned out your light and left to his room.

Anakin laid awake, his cock throbbing and his mind spinning. Finally he sighed, deciding he needed some relief. Slowly he palmed himself through his boxers, groaning from the sensitivity of being hard for so long. He closed his eyes, pulling his member free from the tightened fabric, stroking himself languidly as he pictured your lips around his dick like they’d been wrapped around his thumb earlier.

Just as his legs stiffened and the hot coil in his stomach snapped he heard the pitter patter of your footsteps on the cold bathroom tile. His cum coated his palm, he panicked shoving his softening cock back into his boxers. Thinking quickly he slipped his sticky hand beneath the sheets and wiped his palm against the side of the mattress.

“Anakin?” You sniffled, shuffling to his side.

“What is it princess?” Anakin’s face was blood red, his voice shaky.

“Can’t sleep.” You lifted the blankets and forced your way into his bed, pushing him away from the edge so you could take his spot.

“Bad dreams?” He asked quietly, lifting his arm for you to tuck yourself against his bare chest.

“Uh huh.” You nodded, “remember at the movie?”

“What about it baby doll?” He whispered against the shell of your ear, breathing in the scent of your hair.

“Can I?” You looked up at him, batting your eyelashes.

Tentatively you picked up his free hand, bringing it to your lips. He didn’t protest, so you assumed it was okay, his calloused thumb settled on your tongue. Your nose scrunched up, noticing a weird taste on his skin, tangy and salty. You pulled his hand from your mouth and looked up at him quizzically.

“Why’s it taste like that?” You asked, opening his palm and licking a stripe up the rough skin. Collecting the residue on your tongue while Anakin tried his best to hold back a groan as he felt himself getting hard again.

“That’s enough.” He said sternly, pulling his hand back from your eager lips.

“But- what is it? Tastes good.” You pouted.

“Oh god.” He whimpered, shoving his face into his pillow.

“Ani?” You whined, trying to push him to roll over, so you could see his face.

“Just a second baby.” He sounded like he was having trouble breathing, and it worried you.

“No, lemme see.” You demanded, using all your strength to shift his weight so that he was laying on his side.

He still refused to look at you, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth in a vice grip. So you hiked up one leg and tossed it over his hip, using it as leverage while you place your hands on his chest and pushed. You fell on his lower abdomen, the mattress springing beneath you caused you to bounce slightly as you landed on him, your ass settling on his crotch.

His hands quickly came to your hips, gripping you tightly, trying to lift you off of him.

“Babydoll. No.” He warned, but you crossed your arms and shook your head. Further making your point by scooting back, feeling a warmth pulsing beneath you.

A tiny whimper left your lips when you unintentionally rolled your core against him, a streak of lightning rushed through your body that made your eyebrows furrow and Anakin’s hands left your hips to cover his face.

“Fuck. Baby? Baby!” His hands shot out to grab your wrists that were planted firmly on his bare chest. “Remember when I said I’m real sensitive down there?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded, pushing your cunt down on his now rock hard cock.

“God. Please princess I need you to stop.” He groaned, his voice gravely.

His grip on your wrists tightened, squeezing until his fingers dug into your flesh. You tried to shake loose to no avail.

“Let go!” You whined. “Why do I have to stop? Feels good.”

“What?” He squeaked, eyes wide.

“Feels good Ani.” You looked down at him with sad puppy eyes as you rocked against him.

He propped himself up on his elbows, in disbelief at what you’d just said. One hand coming to your cheek in a gentle caress.

“Say that again.” His voice thick with want.

“Feels good Ani. Just let me.” You answered immediately.

“Show me where it feels good, tell me what it feels like.” He tapped your hip to get you to lift off of him.

“Here.” You whimpered as you pressed two fingers against the center of your panties, feeling a wet spot there. “It tingles. It hurts.”

“Do you want me to help? I can make it better.” His hand left your cheek and slithered around the back of your neck, waiting for your answer.

“Please?” You nodded feverishly, the air being knocked out of you when Anakin flipped you onto your back.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics

@tsugumiholic

@kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch

@cherrylooney

@star611

@tahliac11

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@jellydodger

@arzua10

@bby-imasociopath

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Let me know if you wanna be added/removed!

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐨 - 𝐄𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

Word Count: 2,500

Contains: She/her pronouns, digesting weed, sex, fingering, cursing, crying, p-in-v, unprotected sex, dunno if I miss anything

Proof read and Edited

A/N: also these are some of the experience I have when I was high so please enjoy lmao

Denki glanced at you with a curious expression as you both stood at the entrance of his dorm. "Y/n, are you really sure about giving this a shot?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. Your nervousness was evident as you anxiously bit your lip. "I've never seen you do something like this before, so I just want to make sure," he teased with a smirk

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and replied softly, "Yes, I'm sure." The uncertainty in your voice was palpable.

"Alright then," Denki said, using his head to gesture towards the inside of his dorm. He closed the door behind you as you stepped in. You found yourself sitting on his bed while he rummaged through his drawer. He turned back to face you and said, "Instead of smoking, I'll give you edibles. Since you've never tried it before, I don't want you to cough or anything. Also if we smoke Mr. Aizawa will find out cause of the smell” He chuckled and pulled out a pink candy bag.

You eyed the bag with curiosity and asked, "Are edibles better than smoking?" Denki made his way towards you and replied, "It really depends on the person. Sero prefers smoking, but I enjoy both methods.”

You nodded, attentively listening to Denki's explanation. He took out a gummy and handed it to you, saying, "Try this one. It's the mildest I have, only 10mg." The gummy was pink and shaped like a peach. You held it in your hand, examining it closely. Denki sat down next to you and popped one in his mouth.

After a moment of hesitation, you followed suit and put the gummy in your mouth. You chewed it and swallowed, cringing slightly at the aftertaste. "Yeah, the weed flavor kind of overpowers everything, sorry about that," Denki chuckled.

Curiosity got the better of Denki as he asked, "Does Sero know that you came to me?" You hesitated for a moment before replying, "Yeah, he does." It was a lie, though. Sero had promised to try it with you, but he always seemed to brush off the idea whenever you brought it up. You just wanted to give it a try, so you turned to Denki instead.

You and Denki were chatting in his room for an hour before Mina and Eijiro unexpectedly walked in to find you both laughing. "What's so funny?" Mina inquired, closing the door and removing her shoes. "Y/n wanted to try weed," Denki shared, stifling his laughter.

"Is this her first time?" Eijiro questioned, settling on the floor in front of you. Denki confirmed, and you blushed slightly from the earlier laughter. "I don't feel anything," you shrugged. Denki chuckled, shaking his head. "No, it's already hitting her. I'm not feeling it yet," he remarked as you gazed at the floor. Mina couldn't help but giggle at how you transitioned from talking to staring off. "Oh, I can see that."

"We brought snacks, perfect timing, right?" Eijiro mentioned, taking out some chips from his bag and tossing them around. You turned to Denki, who had white cheddar popcorn. "I want some," you reached out. He grinned, opening the bag and offering you some popcorn. "Do you want some?" he asked, and you nodded. He chuckled, handing you the bag, and you started munching, giggling softly.

One moment you were laughing and giggling, and the next, you were in tears. "Why would you say that?" you questioned Denki, while Mina hugged you as you cried. "I didn't say anything wrong," Denki defended himself, unsure of why you were crying. "I just mentioned that Gojo isn't that hot," he explained, causing you to cry even harder into Mina's embrace. Mina scolded Denki to be quiet before comforting you. "Don't cry, Y/n, Gojo is very attractive," she reassured, trying to cheer you up.

You lifted your head and glanced at Mina. "Right?" you sniffled, wiping away your tears with your hoodie sleeve. "Just look at him," you said, pulling out your phone and showing everyone your Gojo wallpaper. "But don't tell Sero he's my lockscreen," you added, putting a finger to your lips. "I change it when I'm with him." You let out a soft giggle. "Oh, don't worry, babes. He won't find out."

"Ugh, Mina, you're the best. I don't deserve you as a friend," you said, grabbing her face and giving her a gentle peck on the lips, causing her to blush. "Thank you?" she replied nervously.

"Oh, Sero's on his way with Bakubro," Eijiro announced as his phone beeped. You snapped your head towards him and shook it. "No, Sero can't find out I'm high," you said. "Huh? But you said he knew you came to me," Denki chimed in. You shook your head. "I'm terrible! I lied," you pouted. "He kept dismissing me whenever I mentioned it. He said I couldn't handle it, and I wanted to prove him wrong," you explained.

"He's going to kill us, Y/n! Mostly me," Denki groaned softly as you teared up, the effects of the weed making you even more emotional. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," you sniffled as tears streamed down your face. "No, no, don't cry, Y/n. He's almost here," Denki tried to comfort you, attempting to wipe away your tears, but they kept flowing as you cried harder. "Damn it."

"You're only making it worse, Denki," Eijiro scolded as he watched Denki's futile attempts to stop your tears. But everything fell silent when the door opened and Sero and Bakugo walked in. You turned your head away, making sure Sero couldn't see your face. "Why the hell is everyone so quiet?" Bakugo demanded as he took a seat nearby. Sero looked around, noticing your turned-away face and the nervous expression on Denki's face.

You let out a soft sniffle, and immediately Sero rushed over to you. "Hey, what's wrong, mi cielo?" he asked gently, cupping your face and noticing your puffy eyes. You tried to stay quiet, trembling lips and all. He looked into your eyes and saw how red they were, not just from crying. "Is she fucking high?" he asked, his jaw clenching. Everyone fell silent.

Bakugo scoffed. "Probably Denki gave her something. Mostly you and him smoke out of all of us," he said with a smirk, clearly hoping to provoke Sero into yelling at Denki. "Shut up, man!" Denki snapped at Bakugo, before feeling someone's intense gaze on him. "Denki," Sero warned. Denki was about to speak, but you cut him off. "I asked him to. I wanted to try it out," you sniffled again, and Sero sighed as he looked at you. "I'm sorry, Hanta," you said softly. "Don't apologize, Y/n," he reassured you, releasing your face.

"Let's just go, okay?" Sero gently took your hand and helped you up, leading you towards the door. "It's not her fault, man," Denki spoke up. "We'll talk tomorrow," Sero said, guiding you out. "Bye bye," you pouted, waving to your friends.

Sero led you to his room and closed the door behind you. You looked at him, wondering if he was mad. "Are you mad?" you asked hesitantly. He shook his head and looked at you. "No, mi cielo, I'm not," he said softly, taking off his shoes and lying down on his bed. "Come here," he patted the space next to him. Rubbing your eyes, you climbed onto the bed and snuggled up to his side. "Are you sure? You're acting different," you sniffled, resting your head on his chest while he ran his fingers through your hair. "I'm just upset in general, not at you, okay?" he reassured you, but his voice hinted at something more than just general upset.

You glanced up at him, questioning, "Was it because I went to Denki and not you?" observing his reaction. "Yeah," he murmured, causing your flushed face to pale. "Hanta-" Sitting up, tears welling in your eyes, you found yourself overwhelmed with emotion once more. "I'm so sorry," you apologized, tears streaming down your face. Sero couldn't help but chuckle at your tears. "Oh Y/n, please don't cry," he comforted, drawing you close and planting gentle kisses on your tear-stained face. "The only reason I brushed off your high talk was because I knew you'd react like this. You're such a lightweight, mi cielo. Just like the last time you got drunk, two cups and you were tipsy," he chuckled, as you listened, wiping your tears.

"Just come to me next time, and definitely don't go to Denki, okay?" he chuckled. "Okay," you sniffled, tears dampening his shirt. "I'm sorry," you mumbled once more. "Ya no mas," he said, cupping your face and silencing you with a kiss. After a few more minutes of cuddling, you found yourself pressing soft kisses to his neck, moving up for better access. Sero let out a soft hum, closing his eyes as his hand trailed down to the small of your back.

Feeling you slowly climb on top of him, your hips straddling his, your lips still on his neck, he placed his hands on your hips before asking, "What are you up to?"

"Making it up to you," you murmured, tracing your lips along his jaw. "Plus, I'm kinda horny," you giggled, barely touching his lips with a playful peck.

He looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Really, huh?"he asked, a playful smirk curling his lips. "I can help with that," he chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss. His hand reached up, gently cupping your face, pulling you closer, if that was even possible.

He flipped you over with ease, your body landing softly on his bed. He settled between your legs, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling gently as his free hand effortlessly slid your shorts down, leaving your lower half exposed. His hand found its way to your aching pussy his fingers pressing softly against your clit before pulling away from the kiss.

"We barely started, and you're soaking wet," he chuckled, his fingers circling your clit, earning a soft whine from you. "I'm telling you, its the weed," you giggled, your legs opening wider, craving to be filled. "Guess we should take some more often, huh?" he smiled down at you, reconnecting his lips with yours.

He continued to lavish attention on your aching pussy, his fingers deftly exploring your pleasure points with expertise, sliding two of his long fingers into your soaking cunt. He began to pump them in and out at a steady rhythm, creating lewd sounds of wetness that filled the room. In response, you gripped his forearm tightly, your back arching off the bed as you moaned and cursed, trying to reach for his lips even as your overwhelmed senses forced you to break the kiss. Your head fell into the pillow beneath you, and seeing this as a sign of your impending climax, he curled his fingers upwards, easily finding and stimulating the spot that could swiftly bring you to ecstasy. "Hanta" You squeaked out softly from the new sensation, a low chuckle left his lips feeling your reaction.

"That's a new sound, mi cielo",he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your jawline and sprinkling soft kisses along your ear. The rhythm of his fingers continues, finding your sweet spot over and over, causing you to moan once again as your hips rock, seeking more with each passing moment. You are so close to reaching your climax with his fingers.

"Do you want more?" he asks, already familiar with the intricacies of your body and your needs.

He withdraws from your ear and gazes down at you. You eagerly. "Yes" Your brows are furrowed, your lips slightly parted, allowing soft whimpers to escape. His eyes take in the sight, and he swears that your expression only amplifies his affection for you. He is the one who reduces you to a moaning, whimpering mess, and he is the one who brings tears to your eyes from the sheer pleasure. He smiles before pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

"Okay,"he replies, his voice husky with desire.

He withdraws his fingers from your cunt, and they glisten with your juices. A small whine escapes your lips at the loss of contact. He undoes his pants, pulling them down enough for his hardened cock to spring free. With a firm grip on his shaft, he positions himself and pushes inside your wet pussy, feeling the tip slide in through the slickness before pressing deeper and deeper. You tighten around him, eliciting a soft grunt from him as he fully seats himself inside you.

The intimacy of the moment was palpable, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as you felt him enter you. A wave of warmth flooded your body, a sensation that was both exhilarating and comforting. You reached up, pulling him closer for another kiss, your lips meeting in a passionate embrace. " love you," you whispered against his lips, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. He responded with an equally tender kiss, deepening the connection between you. 

His movements were slow and deliberate at first, savoring the shared pleasure. His hand rested gently on your waist, his elbow propped against the headboard, creating a barrier of intimacy around you. "I love you most," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. 

As his movements quickened, your breathing grew ragged, your body responding to his rhythm. A deep, primal moan escaped your lips, echoing the passion that filled the room. You dug your fingers into his hair, the intensity of the moment pushing you towards a peak. 

The air grew thick with anticipation, the sound of skin meeting skin creating a symphony of pleasure. His hand moved to your leg, gently opening it, allowing him deeper access. His rhythm intensified a primal rhythm that echoed through your core, leaving both of you breathless. 

"Hanta" you moaned out, Your body arching off the bed, muscles clenching as you reached your climax. The feeling was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure that washed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. You moaned into his mouth, the sound raspy and desperate, mirroring the intensity of your emotions. 

Sero, mirroring your intensity, reached his peak moments later, a guttural moan leaving his lips. "Fuck, Y/n," he cried out, pulling out as he released his cum on your stomach.

The room fell silent, the air filled with the lingering scent of sex. Both of you were spent, panting softly, your foreheads pressed together as you caught your breath. He stole a kiss, a tender gesture that conveyed the depth of his affection. 

Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed a tissue, gently wiping the cum from your stomach. "You doing okay, mi cielo?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned. 

You snuggled closer, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "More than okay," you whispered.

tags: @slayfics Lmk if you wanna be added 🐸

[harrieatthemet]

Newborn

It's a miracle he hasn't chewed off all 10 fingernails yet.

this is long but whatever!

There's an abundance of nerves so dense it may as well have it's own seat in the Range Rover; plenty enough to go around with seconds for anyone interested. With the stereo at a whopping maximum volume of 2, and unbearably loud fidgeting in the driver's seat, you're well versed enough to know something is just eating away at him.

"The only thing louder than your nail biting," you tease from the backseat, "is the sound of your heart beating in your chest."

You watch his eyes briefly flicker their attention to the mirror, greener than ever as they widen a bit to catch a steady glimpse of your reflection from the backseat. And all he lets out is a quick sigh before he tightens the grip of the wheel (10 and 2, the entire time), eyes out of your peripheral vision as quickly as they came in. He only waits to nervously shift his weight in his seat for the umpteenth time until he gets to another red light.

"S'it bothering you," his tone is so flustered and apologetic, you almost feel bad for joking, "m'sorry just, y'know, nervous."

For the first time since the hospital departure, he turns in his seat to fully face the second row of the car. He's envious of you; so calm and collected, radiant with joy even after a grueling delivery. And he sucks in a calming breath when he trails his glance to the tiny baby snuggled sweetly into the car seat beside you, swimming in her baggy pink flower pajamas and endless mountain of hospital-gifted blankets.

He's done this ride before. He remembers it so fondly as, easily, unarguably, singlehandedly the best drive of his entire life. And it feels like it was only yesterday when he was bringing Angel Baby home for the first time. It's exactly why he's so fucking nervous.

"Har, we're good," and as you patiently insist, you're adjusting the frilly white blanket on the newborn beside you, "but you're driving 9 miles per hour. I literally just saw that woman on the scooter pass us for the third time."

"Hey she's bloody fast on that thing, you saw her!"

"Pretty sure she's missing a wheel," you snicker, "so what's actually bothering you?"

He doesn't want to say it. Like, he really doesn't want to say it. Not just because you both have already discussed it over a dozen times in the past week alone, but because he doesn't care to tarnish what should be a wholesome moment.

So instead he says nothing. Not for a long time, he doesn't let the silence linger but for a minute he says nothing; he barely breathes. When your hand reaches out though, and finds it's way to his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze, he releases that breath before letting the words soon follow.

"What if she hates 'er," and the way he's blurting it out tells you he's been sitting on this for hours, "or worse, what if she hates me and-and, I dunno, (Y/N) m'nervous. Y'remember wha' she said!"

A very shallow sigh of disapproval innately makes it's way passed your lips. It isn't because you're annoyed with him. The guilt is natural and, by nature, he only ever wants angel baby to be happy. But it's stemming from the fact that you're only physically capable of providing so much assurance. Not to mention he practically begged for another baby.

"Harry she's two," you remind him, "she told your mother she didn't want legs so she wouldn't have to go for a walk."

On the other hand, though, the imminent addition to the family was not a hit for everyone in the household. Angel baby did not take kindly to the impending addition. And you know exactly the incident he's referring to. Sure, she's definitely well immersed into her terrible two's stage, and you'd like to chalk it up to that. But she's never been keen on sharing Harry with anyone, even you sometimes. So the idea of now having to share him with a sister presents itself as an incredibly challenging hurdle.

"She'll be fine," and as you say it as soothingly as possible, you can see he begins to ease up "she's got a built in best friend now."

Those exact words are playing on a loop the rest of the trek home. Each stoplight that brings him closer to the front gate of the house, he's mentally psyching himself up; the best thing to say when he walks in, how to ease her into the role of being a big sister, the right way to bring you in with the new baby. He's so consumed in concocting the perfect delivery that he doesn't even realize he's already pulling past the open gates.

"This is your house," and already he's gone full blown with the baby talk, "y'live here with me 'n mummy 'nd a sister who... might not like you very much fo' a bit."

Though he masqueraded it with a sweet, gooey, charming little baby voice, your squinting eyes are loaded with displeasure so he understands it was not well received.

He takes a moment before opening the door; adjusts the hospital bags in his arms, takes in a breath before allowing it to roll out, lays a gentle kiss to your temple. Then he decides to stretch out his arm to press his thumb on the door handle.

It's a bittersweet moment. He's itching to see angel baby after two long days with out her. And he knows there's family, both yours and his, waiting eagerly to get their eyes on their newest 8 pound family member. But his heart sings when he hears the pattering of a familiar set of bare feet down coming from down the hallway. Immediately, he drops the bags in the foyer to make his way out from the front entrance and down towards the living room.

"Go see m'love," he hears Anne coo sweetly, so he rounds the corner, "who could tha' be?"

For the moment being, despite the fact it's fleeting, he tables the introduction to the newborn once he lays eyes on angel baby. Well aware of the fact you're just in the next room over, a brand new bundle of joy toted in your arms, he feels a surmountable sense of joy now that angel baby's in eye shot; hair unbrushed and a mess from what one would assume was a successful nap, head to toe in a watermelon printed pajama set, eyes wide with sheer joy and arms outstretched to intercept him. To which, he eagerly accepts as he crouches down to let her crash into his chest before sweeping her up.

"There's m'girl," he hums, hand tucking her hair from her face before showering her with kisses, "how's m'angel, hm? Still sleepy from y'sleepover this weekend? Missed me as much as I missed you?"

He can almost feel his heart melt to mush in his chest as he cranes his neck back, listening in awe as angel baby spares no detail in her weekend with both sets of grandparents and Gemma. Most of it is borderline incoherent, though her elaborate expressions and dramatized recounts of events has him entranced.

"Where's mommy?"

"Oh yes" Anne's near double over in excitement, inviting herself into the conversation as she rubs small circle on angel baby's back, "where's (Y/N)? M'about ready t'explode, m'so excited!"

There it is again, that nervous feeling bubbling up in his stomach again. He's excited too; wants to show off the adorable little baby that completed his growing family, watch his mother and sister fawn over her. But he doesn't want to blow it on his first go. Most importantly, mere forethought of angel baby feeling like second place is enough to make him wanna start crying.

So he's going to try to ease angel baby into her new role as a sister while she's still fresh out of a nap and giddy with excitement. And while he still has the balls to actually go through with it.

"Mummy's here poppet," his tone is so sweet and fragile it'd break from the weight of a feather, "n' I think she's got something really, really special for you."

An animated expression paints itself across her face; eyes wide and doe-like as they twinkle in giddiness, her smile tripling in size. It's only a matter of seconds before she's writhing in Harry's arm, desperate to break herself from his grip to place both feet back on the floor.

There's no reason he should feel this guilty and this nervous. He's hot on angel baby's heels as she turns her skips into a light jog, traipsing down the hallway towards the front entrance sitting room as fast as her short legs will allow.

Anne's awing is low in tone, hands flying to her chest as she delights in the sight she's taking in. And as she goes to get a better look, making idle chatter with your parents and gushing to Gemma, Harry's eyes are darting back and forth as though he's waiting for angel baby to go right into orbit.

Momentarily, he anticipates an alternative outcome. Angel baby runs right up to you with arms wide open. He does that thing that gets him every single time - where she melts into the kisses you deliver all over her face. She hasn't killed the newborn yet, or thrown herself to the floor in existential despair. That's gotta be good start.

"Hi bubba, I missed you so, so much" you place a kiss to her forehead and she smiles contently, completely ignoring the baby in your arm, "but I have someone who wants to meet you!"

She squeals with joy, jumping up and down, "A puppy!"

"No baby," you laugh, and Harry swears he's about to spin off the fucking planet, "even better, a baby!"

"A baby dolly!"

She's either choosing to disregard the fact that the baby perched in front of her is 100% a real human being and not made of plastic, or she's genuinely oblivious. Regardless, Harry's panic is quickly becoming your panic. Because now you're both teetering on anxious, though Anne is swift to pick up on it and comes to aid.

"No poppet, not a dolly," Anne mewls, crouching down beside angel baby in front of your lap, "s'your baby sister. Mumma and Daddy brought y'a real sister."

And now it's fully set in - sheer panic. He's quick to jump into action though.

In quick strides from across the other side of the room, he very gently inserts himself beside you on the couch. You aren't catching on to what's to come and he chalks it up to you still being a little tired. Why wouldn't you be? He doesn't want this to go south, so he shifts himself on the couch, knees spread a bit so angel baby can lean on his leg and look over at the . If anyone could be the buffer here, he thinks he's the best bet.

Harry coos, "Say hi t'your baby sister!"

"No"

You side eye your husband beside you, who is staring at angel baby as though he's trying to to mentally coerce her into actually wanting to like the infant. He doesn't know where to take it from here. Angel baby is so viscerally displeased and uninterested at not just the concept of a sister, but the literal physical sister sitting inches away from her face.

"Dunno if that I love my big sister onesie seem t'be working." Gemma cracks in attempt to lighten the mood.

"No?" Harry repeats, though soft, but with the undertone of frantic as he glares at his older sister, "What do y'mean, button? She's really nice, 'nd

"My daddy!"

"Oh I told you," Harry's voice is a hushed squeak as the internal panic collides with irreconciable guilt "(Y/N) I told you!"

He can't imagine things getting worse than this. Until, of course, it does. Because as soon as the infant yawns and squirms a bit, Harry reaches over to your lap on instinct to adjust the hospital cap still clad to her head. And that was enough to get angel baby to strike. She leans right over alongside Harry with her fingers spread and palm flat, going to give the baby a shove before dominantly announcing another 'my daddy.'

A slew of gasps and stern no's come flooding out by all your familial spectators, even including yourself as you angle your body away from your 2 year old with a vengeance. Harry's stomach has completely flipped upside down, especially when angel baby bursts into tears and collapses to the floor.

The temper tantrum has ensued; she's a puddle at Harry's feet, back flat against the multicolored sherpa carpet as she rips out wails that could shatter every glass flower vase throughout the first floor. And naturally, it sets off some cries of distress from the new baby. In a second Harry might join them both.

"Jesus Christ," you exhale quietly, "this is fucked."

Your mom, noble as ever, does her best to step in and peel your daughter off the floor to bring an end to the (literal) swan song. Even now you have to admire the theatrics and flare for drama. She's truly emulating her father.

Her father, who is in an isolated frenzy in his attempt to asses every possible way to rectify this nightmare. Harry's not afraid to go low and opt for the last possible resort.

"Button," he exclaims, like he's just conjured up the best idea of his life, "she got y'a gift! A super big, really fun, totally awesome gift!"

The wailing comes to a slowed stop before an altogether halt. With eyes still watery and cheeks stained with tears, she peels herself up from the floor in what feels like slow motion until she's level with Harry. And she looks up at him with those eyes and that look - the one that you know will have Harry in the palm of her little hand in a matter of seconds.

"A gift?" she says it through a sniffle, "Like.. a barbie?"

She sniffles a few times more in an attempt to collect herself and, God, Harry can't help but fold, "Four barbies!"

And he doesn't care that your face shoots him one of those 'we should discuss this first' looks because she's finally reeling in the crying. And she's finally starting to take to the idea of another baby to share the spotlight with because she goes to lean on your knee now - right next to the baby as a show of solidarity. That's a win to him, even if he had to get there with shameless bribery.

"Harry," you whisper sternly, "remember.. about the gifts... and not spoiling her."

It's like talking to a wall, because he doubles down, "And a new dream house! If y'really sweet t'her, maybe baby sister will buy you tha' little pink limo for 'em too."

"Harry!"

"What?" He shrugs, but quickly evades your glare, "th'limo l'look great with th'house! 'Nd they can't walk everywhere!"

[mrsparrasblog]

Makarov x Price daughter pt.4

This chapter is just to explain what Price did in the whole year since his daughter is gone. Its different then the other ones I still hope you like it. I'll try to set myself a goal to publish the next chapter tomorrow.

Previous Part. next part

Four months he was away from his home, from his wife Tina, and you. God, he missed you and couldn’t wait to see you again. He planned the whole month how he would apologize to you for saying you were a disappointment. Of course, you weren't a disappointment; he just didn't know how to show it to you. You weren't his little girl anymore, so grown and independent. Tina needed him more than you, or at least he thought so. Tina was a spitfire, always getting in danger, disrespecting teachers, while you were a perfectly behaved little girl. Never once in his life occurred the thought that you could do anything wrong. So he neglected you, and he knew that was a mistake now.

During this time off, he would give you all the attention you needed and finally be the dad you deserved. If only you'd accept his apology. He finally arrived in Cardiff, his clothes still dirty from the long flight, his beard overgrown, and he looked a bit like a Neanderthal, but this time he couldn't wait. He rang the bell, Tina and his wife already running into his arms.

"Where is she?" he asked curiously, eager to find out where you were. You mostly took the day off when he came back from deployment. Maybe you couldn’t or did overtime again because a birth took longer than planned.

"Dunno," his wife said bluntly, not mentioning the fact that you hadn’t been home for three months. She saw you making out with an older guy again the day you went "missing". In her mind, you were a spoiled brat who didn't appreciate everything she gave you. She wasn’t your mother and still tolerated you. Shouldn’t you be grateful for that?

After 10 hours at home, your dad grew anxious. He always had a great gut feeling, and something felt off, so he needed to investigate this situation, making sure you were okay. You were his little girl, after all. Telling his wife a white lie, he went to the hospital where you worked.

The delivery station looked weird to him. Everyone was smiling brightly, as if there wasn’t any pain or war in the world. The midwives walked around in pink scrubs, and everywhere were damn cupcakes. It was the first time he visited you at work, and he felt guilty about how he reacted the day you told him you wanted to become a midwife. He should have been proud of you.

After looking around and not finding you, he asked one of the midwives, explaining that he was your dad and had returned from deployment. He got more confused when the midwife told him to sit down and your supervisor came out, taking him into her office.

"Look, your daughter was our best midwife apprentice, but she hasn’t been at work for the last three months without any notice," she explained.

"What do you mean three months? She loves her work," he said.

"We know that. If she ever gets out of her phase, she can come back to work. But for now, could you please gather her stuff from the locker?"

"Phase? What phase?"

"Her stepmom told us she had psychological issues, Mr. Price."

He never heard of it. Why didn’t his wife tell him before? He would have tried to be there for you. The midwife guided him to your locker, opening it for him so he could take your stuff out. His lips curved into a smile when he saw the pictures in the locker: one of your best friend and you at graduation (he missed it), a picture of you on your first day at work with pink scrubs, and a picture of him barely 20, holding you in his arms. You were so precious, such a little thing looking up to him. Dozens of pink scrubs, a calendar marked with vacation NYC and Taylor Swift concert. This didn’t look like a locker from someone who lost it.

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

"Where is my daughter? Don’t bullshit me."

"I don’t know."

"Her boss said you told her she is mental."

"Well, she certainly is. She sleeps around with men your age."

"Do you know where the fuck she is or not? When was she last here?"

"Three months ago."

"Fuck it! My daughter is missing, and you only told me about it now?"

"She isn’t missing, John. She probably married some old fart and ran off."

"Shut the fuck up." He never screamed at his wife. His captain demeanor was always something he left at home, but you were missing, and no one told him. What if something happened? After three months, the traces were hard to find. "Fucking hell."

He walked away to the only place he could think you were. But when your best friend called him a deadbeat dad for only searching for his daughter after three months, he knew something must have happened to you.

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

"Kate, please, anything will help."

"John, there is no trace of her. I'm sorry."

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

"We searched through every man she interacted with, Cap. She isn’t anywhere."

"She is there somewhere outside, Ghost."

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

"How many more innocent people will you kill, John? She is gone."

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

"We should hold a wake for her."

"She is still alive, Kate."

"John, it’s been a year. You know the statistics."

"I won’t stop until I see her corpse."

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

"Makarov will marry, holding a big public celebration and everything, invited us somehow."

"Why should I care if that bastard marries, Nick?"

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

"We found your daughter, Captain."

"Where, Kyle?" He asked desperately. He never lost hope after searching for you for a whole year. He wasn’t the man he was before. He was rougher, he didn’t care about anything anymore. He divorced his wife, killed just to have you back.

"You won’t like it." Please don’t be dead. His eyes started to tear.

"Where?" He needed to take his little girl home, bury you properly, a thing he never thought he needed to do, bury his own daughter, but the world was cruel for people like him.

"Alive"Kyle placed some articles of a Russian gossip journal on his desk.

"'Princess of Russia'," John read aloud. "Vladimir Makarov's longtime love was seen shopping for her wedding dress suspiciously holding her belly. Already pregnant?"

"We can't wait for the wedding of the century," Kyle continued, pointing at the article. "From worker to billionaire spouse, she is living the Cinderella dream."

John's heart sank. He knew what this meant. His daughter, his little girl, was about to become a pawn in Makarov's twisted game. And he would do anything to stop it.

Tag list: @multifand0midi07 , @whos-fran , @cassiecasluciluce , @the-faceless-bride

[blackdollette]

starting to write for mgg as well now!

"you wanna make the switch?" | spencer reid

in my feelings. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: from a geeky genius to a drunk-eyed, sweaty mess...

fill out the taglist form!

female!reader x sub!spencer

word count: 606

contents: blowjob, teasing, implied overstimulation, praise, drabble, not proofread!

it was almost funny how quickly you could flip spencer’s switch.

you knew all the right buttons to press. the way your tongue slid up his rock-hard shaft, swirling itself around his tip before making its way down again. the bedroom echoed with the sharp hisses and deep groans from spencer, a contrast to all his wisecracking bullshit. your boyfriend bit his lip, suppressing all the moans and whimpers that threatened to break free. the torture had been going on for hours, the hypnotizing motions of your mouth putting him into a deep trance.

he tossed his head back as he exahled a shaky breath, his hand glued to the back of your head in a failed attempt to slow down your pace. you took his cock into you throat, inhaling through your nose to create suction as his chestnut-brown doe eyes gazed right back down at you. “c’mon, angel… i-ive been good, would it hurt to just let me…” he was cut off by a deep groan emerging from his throat as you took him all the way in once again, your uvula fluttering against his pulsating tip.

you would’ve smirked if your lips weren’t occupied. you pulled your mouth off of him, spitting on his tip and giving him a few lazy strokes. his body quaked from the stimulation. “i-i… b-baby, i dunno i-if i…” a smile tugged at your lips as you watched how he struggled to enunciate his words. you put on a fake pout, tilting you head to the side as you squeezed his cock even tighter, causing him to bite his lip to suppress all the lewd noises that threatened to break free. “what was that, spence? i didn’t catch that.” you batted your eyelashes all innocent-like, watching him crumble apart filling you with a sick thrill.

“i-i can’t take anymore..!” he was gripping the bedsheets until his shaky hands went white. seeing him struggle made burning heat pool in your core as you slowly touched yourself through your panties. “aw, why not, baby? you’ve been doing so good for me all night…” you sat up from in between his legs, crawling onto his lap and bringing your lips to his ear, your warm breath hitting him right in the canal. “i know you can cum a few more times for me, right?” the base of your hand slapped against his balls, your thumb ghosting the tip each time your hand came back up.

beads of sweat glistened on spencer’s forehead, cheeks flushed with a soft shade of pink. you could tell it was taking every cell in his body to keep himself together. your spoke once more, your voice laced with a touch more authority. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” he swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek as he nodded, wanting nothing else but to please you in this moment.

you spread your legs onto either side of him, tracing his tip along your clothed slit as he looked up at you, lip quivering as if they were begging for a taste of your soft lips. you pouted again as his hips began to buck into your fist. “you’re such a pretty boy, y’know that..?” his teary eyes lit up ever so slightly at the praise in your voice. 

his tip bubbled with thick precum as his chest rose and fell with each breath. he held back the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes as he took a deep, shaky breath, resting his chin in your cleavage. you nodded in approval, a smile lighting up your face as you kissed him tenderly on the forehead. 

“that’s my boy…”

author's note: i am not ditching the rory community! just wanted to see how writing for an ew character would go :)) please leave comments and let me know what yall think! (lmk if this was shitty)