#i cried all night long thinking about how this moment would be
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
guarded hearts - pt.8
fratboy!chris x fem!reader
″ you meet chris while working on a class project, your personalities are very different but chris is determined to get you out of your shell.
″ resolving angst, fluff
----------------------------------------------------------------
The silence after Chris leaves your apartment is deafening. The door clicking shut feels final, like a chapter of your life closing. You donât move from the bed for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood just moments ago. His voice, his pleading eyesâtheyâre burned into your memory, and no matter how much you want to push them away, you canât.
You should feel relieved. You stood my ground. You told him to leave. But the second he walked out that door, the loneliness crept back in, stronger and heavier than before.
The nights that follow are endless. You toss and turn, the empty space next to you a cruel reminder of how many nights he stayed, holding you close, whispering things that made you believe you were safe with him. Now, the silence is unbearable, stretching across the room and settling in your chest like a weight you canât shake.
You cry more than you want to admit. To yourself, to anyone. Your roommates try to distract you, dragging you out for coffee or insisting on movie nights, but nothing fills the void. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope itâs himâeven though you were the one who told him to leave.
-
Chrisâs Point of View
Leaving her room was the hardest thing Iâve ever done. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep begging her to let me fix this, to hold her until she believed I wouldnât leave again. But the pain in her voice, the way her body was stiff even as she criedâit told me everything I needed to know. I had broken her.
The walk back to my apartment feels endless. My chest is tight, my hands trembling as I unlock the door and step into the darkness. I donât bother turning on the lights; the darkness feels appropriate. I collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling, her words replaying in my head like a broken record.
âYou broke me, Chris.â
I shouldâve known this would happen. I thought I was doing the right thing by pulling back, by trying to protect her from me. But instead, I became the exact thing I was afraid ofâa source of pain in her life.
The days blur together. I barely leave my apartment, ignoring texts from my friends, dodging questions about why I havenât been at parties. The only thing I can think about is herâwhat sheâs doing, if sheâs okay, if sheâs as miserable as I am.
-
It takes you days to muster the courage to even think about seeing him again. The hurt is still fresh, raw, but beneath it, thereâs something elseâan ache that wonât go away, a pull you canât ignore.
You tell yourself youâre stupid, that youâre setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But no matter how much you try to convince yourself to let him go, you canât.
When you finally decide to go to his apartment, your hands are shaking the entire walk there. Your mind is racing, every step filled with doubt and second-guessing. What if he slams the door in my face? What if heâs done with me? What if Iâm making a mistake?
Before you can chicken out, you knock. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, and your heart pounds as you wait.
The door opens, and there he isâChris, looking just as wrecked as you feel. His hair is messy, his eyes tired, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he canât believe youâre standing here.
âY/N,â he says softly, his voice hoarse.
âIâcan I come in?â you ask, your voice trembling.
He nods immediately, stepping aside to let you in.
The apartment is dim, cluttered in a way that screams heâs been neglecting everything. Empty takeout containers sit on the counter, and a blanket is haphazardly thrown on the couch. The sight of it tugs at something inside you, a reminder that youâre not the only one whoâs been falling apart.
You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to start. The air between you two is heavy, filled with everything left unsaid.
âWhat are you doing here?â he asks again, his voice softer this time.
You let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor. âI donât know,â you admit. âIâve been trying to figure that out since I knocked on your door.â
Chris doesnât say anything, and the silence stretches. Itâs unbearable, like it might crush you if you donât fill it.
âI thought I could move on,â you say, your voice trembling. âI thought if I stayed away long enough, it wouldnât hurt so much. But it hasnât stopped hurting, Chris. It just keeps getting worse.â
You glance up at him, and the look on his faceâhopeful, broken, desperateâmakes your chest tighten.
âY/NâŠâ
âNo, let me finish,â you interrupt, holding up a hand. âI donât know if this is a mistake. I donât know if Iâm setting myself up to get hurt again. But being without youâitâs killing me.â
His expression crumples, and he steps closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isnât sure if heâs allowed. âDo you have any idea how much Iâve missed you?â he asks, his voice breaking. âEvery second of every day, Y/N. Iâve missed you so much it feels like I canât breathe.â
You swallow hard, tears stinging your eyes. âThen why did you leave? Why did you make me feel like I wasnât good enough? Like I wasnât worth staying for?â
Chris flinches like youâve slapped him, his face twisting in pain. âI was scared,â he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. âI was so scared of messing things up, of hurting you, that I did the one thing I promised myself Iâd never do. I hurt you anyway.â
âYeah, you did,â you say, your voice cracking. âYou hurt me more than anyone else ever has, Chris. Because I trusted you. I let you in, and you left.â
âI know,â he says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. âI know, and I hate myself for it. But Iâm here now, Y/N. Iâm here, and Iâm not going anywhere. If youâll let me, Iâll spend the rest of my life proving that you can trust me again.â
You stare at him, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. âHow am I supposed to believe that, Chris? How am I supposed to believe you wonât leave again the second things get hard?â
âYou donât have to believe me right now,â he says, stepping closer. âBut let me show you. Let me prove it. Because I canât lose you again, Y/N. I canât.â
The tears spill over before you can stop them, and you wipe at your face angrily, hating how exposed you feel. âYou broke me, Chris,â you whisper. âI donât know if I can put myself back together for you.â
Chrisâs voice breaks as he replies, âYou donât have to put yourself back together alone. Let me help you. Please, Y/N.â
You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Every instinct screams at you to protect yourself, to run before you get hurt again. But thereâs a small, fragile part of you that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you can find your way back to each other.
âIâm scared,â you admit, your voice trembling. âIâm scared of getting hurt again. Iâm scared of putting my trust in you and having it break me all over again. But being without you⊠it hurts more than the fear. It hurts more than anything.â
Chris moves closer, his hands reaching for yours but stopping just short, like heâs afraid youâll pull away. âY/N,â he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. âIâll never hurt you again. I swear. I know I messed up, and I know I donât deserve this, but if you let me tryâif you let me prove myselfâIâll spend every day showing you that you can trust me.â
His words wash over you, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest eases just a little.
âYou have to mean it, Chris,â you say, your voice firm despite the tears in your eyes. âI canât go through this again. I canât handle it if you change your mind or decide Iâm not worth it.â
âYou are worth it,â he says immediately, his voice breaking. âYouâve always been worth it. I was just too stupid to see that I was pushing away the best thing in my life. But I see it now, Y/N. And Iâm not going to mess this up again.â
You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hint that he doesnât mean what heâs saying. But all you see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered.
âOkay,â you whisper finally, your voice barely audible.
âOkay?â he asks, his eyes wide.
âOkay,â you repeat, nodding. âBut this is your last chance, Chris. If you break my heart again, thatâs it.â
He doesnât hesitate. âI wonât,â he promises, his voice steady. âI wonât.â
When he pulls you into his arms, you let yourself believe him. Just this once, you let yourself hope.
-
Rebuilding with Chris feels like learning to walk againâhesitant, unsteady, but full of determination. Every step forward is deliberate, built on a foundation of late-night conversations and whispered reassurances.
Heâs patient with you, more than you ever expected. Thereâs no rush, no pressure, just quiet understanding. The first time you hold hands again, itâs during a walk through the park. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.
You spend nights talking until dawn, the words spilling out like theyâve been trapped for too long. Chris tells you stories from his childhood, his biggest fears, his dreams. You open up about your past, the parts of you youâve always been afraid to share. He listens without judgment, his eyes soft and full of something youâre still learning to trust.
One night, the two of you make pancakes in your kitchen. Theyâre a disasterâburnt on one side and raw on the otherâbut Chris laughs so hard he almost drops the pan. âI think weâve discovered a new low for culinary arts,â he says, grinning as he flips the pancake onto the counter instead of the plate.
You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. It feels goodâlight, unburdened.
âMaybe we should stick to cereal,â you reply, leaning against the counter.
He smirks, sliding an arm around your waist. âOr we could just keep burning pancakes together. Could be our thing.â
The intimacy of the moment makes your heart ache in the best way.
-
A few weeks later, Chris invites you to a party at his frat. This time, you feel different walking into the crowded house. His hand rests on the small of your back, steady and sure, guiding you through the chaos.
The music is loud, and the room is packed, but Chris stays close, always keeping you within armâs reach. At one point, he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. âYou doing okay?â
You nod, smiling up at him. âYeah, Iâm good.â
You both make your way to the kitchen, where his friends are gathered around the makeshift bar. Chris greets them with his usual charm, his confidence infectious. But when he introduces you, thereâs something different in his tone.
âThis is Y/N,â he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. He looks at you like youâre the only person in the room. âMy girlfriend.â
The word sends a rush of warmth through you, and you canât help but smile. His friends greet you warmly, their jokes lighthearted and teasing. But itâs Chrisâs hand in yours, his thumb brushing against your skin, that keeps me grounded.
Later, you both find a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Chris pulls you onto a worn couch, his arm draped over your shoulders. You sit there for a while, talking and laughing like itâs just the two of you.
âDid you ever think weâd get here?â you ask, your voice soft.
Chris tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours. âI hoped. Even when I thought Iâd messed everything up, I hoped. I didnât want to lose you, Y/N.â
You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. âYou almost did.â
He nods, his expression serious. âI know. And Iâm going to spend the rest of my life making sure I never come close to that again.â
For the first time, you believe him completely.
As the night winds down, Chris leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of it settles deep in your chest, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking.
And as you leave the party together, his hand in yours, you know weâre not just rebuilding. Youâre creating something entirely new. Something strong. Something real. Something worth guarding.
----------------------------------------------------------------
This is the last chapter! Ah I love the two of them so much and a little happy endingÂ
â margot
@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94Â @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan
#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fandom#sturniolo fluff#matthew sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
family picture
#me#my dog bono#and my cat violet#bono has been in my life for almost 12 years he is my best friend firstborn soulmate love of my life. he very much saved my life when i was#a depressed teenager and he still keeps me steady as a bipolar adult#recently he's started having serious health issues#a heart problem that has developed into a lung problem causing sincope#for the last few weeks he's been fainting has been lethargic and he seems sad#im afraid always afraid his time is coming soon#i remember the first night when o got him#i cried all night long thinking about how this moment would be#but it seemed so far away#he was a 4 m/o puppy#he had years to live#i was going to be at least 24 when he died#basically a whole life time away#but next month I'm turning 26 and he is just getting sicker and sicker#i honestly dont know what i will do when he passes#i wish so much that we had more time together but no amount of time would ever be enough#violet is still a baby#barely 3 y/o#a scardy cat and shy girl that likes scratches on her chin and ears#she has two dimples on her cheek and her nose is two colors#we don't know each other as well but i can feel everyday out bond strengthen#I love them both so much and don't know who I'd be without them#anyways#just something off my chest#personal#don't mind me im just feeling lonely even though thanks to them im never alone
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.
what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.
life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.
we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.
recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.
business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.
it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.
but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.
this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.
bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.
but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.
#spilled ink#warm up#writeblr#i have a good job please shut the fuck up before telling me to get a better job#girl i have vision and dental.#if u blame the victim that's wild. do u know about economic systems
9K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! âĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄâĄ
this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.
simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules
-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.
-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.
-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.
-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.
-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.
-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.
-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.
-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.
-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.
-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.
-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"
-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.
-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.
-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.
-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.
-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.
-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"
-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.
-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"
-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."
-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.
-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?
-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.
-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?
-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.
-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.
-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.
-"(y/n)," he said.
-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.
-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.
-"you alright?"
-"yes. why?"
-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."
-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.
-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"
-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.
-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."
-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."
-"no."
-"no?"
-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."
-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?
-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."
-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.
-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.
-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.
-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"
-"what?"
-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"
-"you're not fucked up."
-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."
-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.
-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."
-"you give me plenty."
-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."
-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.
-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"
-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.
-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.
-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.
-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.
-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.
#call of duty imagine#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#cod imagine#cod mw x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#cod angst#call of duty angst#simon riley angst#ghost angst#cod hurt/comfort#simon riley hurt/comfort#cod fluff#call of duty fluff#rarawrites
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Casual
Pairing: bff!Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 12.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, protected sex (birth control), virginity loss, friends with benefits, Eddie talks you through it, constant consent, humor during sex, Eddie calls you "mama" but no mommy kink, fondling, slight hair pulling, oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, a million different positions, slight edging?, L-bombs but not romantically, swearing... A/N: So I wrote this as a best friends with benefits thing and not a best friends to lovers, but the line gets blurry sometimes with besties. I really fucking loved this one because they're like...they literally never stop being besties, they're so fucking dumb, I love them. So yeah, this is platonic in the least platonic way possible, and I love that for them. Thank you so much and enjoy! A/N #2: While I was writing the first author's note, my typing kept popping my ears. *cries in adhd like a little bitch*
Eddie finds you in his bedroom doorway moments after hearing the front door close. He half expected Wayne to be coming back home early from work, but that didnât make sense because he only left an hour ago and he probably would have called ahead.
But, no. You stand there with damp hair from a fresh shower and dressed down in some shirt you stole from his drawer and pajama pants. He raises a brow. He hadnât been expecting you, but he isnât surprised in the slightest. He doesnât even bother to move from his spot, leaning back on his bed with an arm behind his head and a book in his hand.
âHey, there,â he mumbles.
You stare at him for a while, saying absolutely nothing. You donât seem particularly pleased. He stares back. Neither of you move.
âIâm upset,â you finally say, still staring, still standing.
If Eddieâs remembering correctly, youâre supposed to be out on a date. So hearing that youâre upset isnât necessarily pleasing to him. Judging by the time, you should have had a very entertaining night. But apparently not.
Heâs the first to move as he lets his book fall down to his lap. âWhy?â
You think for a moment and then drop your stuff at his door, walking inside as you use your foot to close the door. Thereâs a long pause between speaking, as you use it to walk around his room and look at all of his stuff. âItâs sort of embarrassing.â You pick up a random pepper shaker on his desk, swirling it around and then turning on your heel to look at him.
Heâs got his head tilted to his shoulder with a look on his face that reads âseriously?â. He sits up, lifting a brow. âIâve seen and learned a lot about you since we became friends, so I doubt thereâs anything you could do or say to embarrass yourself in front of me.â
You roll your eyes, licking your lips as you set the pepper shaker down again. âOkay, wellâŠâ you trail out, trying to decide how you want to tell him. âYou know how I had that date?â
He puts his book away, crossing his legs and leaning back on his elbows. âThe drive in?â
âThe drive in.â
âWhat about it?â
âWellâŠâ you sigh. âOkay, soâŠâ You lick your bottom lip, trying to form the words. Youâre never shy in front of him, so there must be something wrong. You chew on your lip, thinking to yourself with a heavy sigh. You plop down onto the bed next to him. âGod, so, we got there and the movie was fine and whateverââ you roll your eyes, ââand we watched most of it but at some point, we started, like, kissing, and whatever, right?â
Eddie shrugs, laying back to stare at the ceiling as you continue to recount your night. âYeah.â
âAnd it got a littleâŠâ
He raises a hand to prompt you, âHot and heavy?â
âYeah.â You look down at your lap where you fiddle with your fingers. âSo we drove away somewhere moreâŠmore private?â
He looks at you, sitting back up enough to fully see your face as he smirks lightly. He gives you this devilish look that makes you want to hit him. âDid you...?â
You nod a little. âYeah.â
Swallowing thickly, you watch his face shift as he takes in your demeanor. His head slumps to one side, his smirk falling off his face. âOhâŠâ he mumbles. âHow do you feel?â
You stare at him. He can see you mulling over your response as you struggle to find the right words. Despite yourself, you feel a knot tying itself in your throat. You force it down and away, pretending itâs not there and hoping itâll help. And it doesâŠfor now, at least.
âIâm upset.â
He cringes a little, lifting an arm to give you a place to lean into him. âThat bad?â
You bury your face in his shoulder and pout. âYeah.â You pull away suddenly. âI mean, I know everyoneâs first time sucks ass and whatever, but, likeâŠâ You drop your head in your hands, wiping at your face as you find yourself glad for washing your makeup off earlier. âEddie, I didnât evenâŠâ
He almost seems offended. He doesnât care about announcing it because youâre alone and also itâs outrageous. âYou didnât cum?â
âNo!â you exclaim. âIâŠfaked it.â Youâre almost disgusted with yourself for it. It sort of just happened in the moment. He was clumsy in trying to get you there, but it wasnât working. You just wanted to end it off and move on, so you justâŠmade the sounds and the faces. He seemed pleased enough. âI feel kinda bad. I mean, he was sweet and all, and he, like⊠He tried, butâŠâ
His question is crude with as little hesitation as humanly possible. Again, he doesnât care about being awkward or guarded because youâre his best friend, and youâve talked about worse, and thereâs no filter with you. âHow big was he?â
âEddie, what?â Usually you wouldnât mind his brashness, but youâre still trying to get over the events of a couple hours ago.
âHonest question,â he shrugs. âI just wanna know. Was he likeâŠâ he lifts his hand, squinting his eyes and hunching over and pinching his fingers together, âlittle?â
You shrug. His bluntness is rubbing off on you. You feel a little less awkward and you hunch a little less. âHe was fineâŠjust a little tooâŠshort? To reach?â
He makes a face, like heâs shocked and disgusted. He looks you up and down almost like itâs your dick. âThatâs rough,â he says. âHow many times did he cum?â
âWhy do you assume he came?â you raise a brow.
He rolls his eyes with a scoff. âPlease, guys always cum.â
You roll your own eyes and push yourself off the bed. Youâre roaming his room again as you mess with all of his stuff. You open his drawer and ruffle through his unfolded clothes, you pick up empty beer cans and turn up your nose at the smell, you strum the strings of his acoustic. You do all of this instead of looking at him when you answer. âTwice.â
âOh.â You fake disgust when he looks at you, smirking and bobbing his brows at you. âYou mustâve been really fuckinâ nice.â He makes this weird growling sound, and the âewâ that comes out of you is guttural. He snorts happily, and then his humor is gone as he deadpans, âOr heâs a lightweight. Did he cum inside?â
Youâre sick of him.
You shake your head. âI made him wrap it.â
âArenât you on the pill?â
âYeah.â He hums.
He watches you lean back against his desk, looking at this weird mask he had just sitting among the chaos. You move it around in your hands and force down the heat in your throat at the recounting going on in your head. Swallowing it down is a hard task that ultimately fails as he watches you begin to choke on the unshed tears.
He sighs, his chest warm with a bitter emotion as he watches your waterline threaten to spill over. âOh, câmere.â He stands from the bed, opening his arms wide to pull you into a bone crushing hug. Itâs warm and it hurts and it feels so nice. He smells like he always does, green apple shampoo stolen from your house and cheap cologne and cigarettes. Itâs a nice smell.
âI guess I likeâŠI donât know, I expected a little more. It wasâŠreally disappointing.â A couple of tears manage to get past you, and it pisses you off but youâre already over it. âI wantedâŠto get rid of it, and now itâs gone but it doesnât feel like anythingâs changed, but it also feels like everythingâs changed, but not in a good way.â
He rubs your back, listening to you as you need him to listen. âIâm sorry,â he mutters when you stop. He sets his chin atop your head after a kiss to your forehead. Part of him wants to square up with the dude you went out with, but he sets that urge to the side in order to comfort you. âThat fuckinâ sucks, and you deserve so much more.â
After a moment, you pull away from him, wiping at your face with a huff. âItâs stupid.â
âSânot stupid.â
You donât argue, you just throw yourself onto his bed, laying flat on your back with your arms and legs spread so wide that you take up nearly all the space left. Eddie watches you lay there with your eyes closed and your breath slowed. He thinks youâre really pretty, especially right now with you wearing his shirt. He almost hates himself for thinking to askâ
âLook, it might beâŠcreepy and weird to ask andâJesus, if Iâm being creepy, I want you to fuckinâ punch me s hard as you canâbut, shit, maybe I should shut up.â
His rambling is cut off by you, still lounging on his bed. You havenât moved, your eyes are still closed. You donât seem fazed at all by his awkwardness. âWhat are you about to ask me, Ed?â
He sighs, sitting next to you with his foot shoved underneath him. He sets his hand on your thigh. You still donât move, used to his touchy-communication. âWhat happened tonight fuckinâ sucksââ
âYou say âsucksâ a lot.â
âItâs a nice word.â
You peek at him through one opened eyes. âYouâre weird.â
âNeverthelessââ You laugh. He watches your belly tense as you do it, rolling over to sit up and witness his fumbling with opened eyes. âAs I was saying, before I was so rudely interruptedâŠâ
You laugh again, and heâs happy he could do that for you, especially after your rough night. Youâre happy you could ease his worries, because he was being awkward, and Eddie isnât usually awkward with you, and you know he likes your stupid jokes.
He takes a breath and starts again. âWhat happened sucks, andâonly if you want toâI would be willingâif youâre comfortableâtoâŠfix it for you.â
You raise a confused brow, less confused and more vaguely unbelieving. âFix itâŠfor me?â you echo.
He shrugs. âI donât like when you cry, and I want to make you feel better. Iâm not a total expert on sex, but I think I know my way around it pretty well.â He puts his hands together like heâs going to pray and points them toward you. âIf you wantâŠI can help.â
You raise a brow and stifle the smirk threatening to grace your lips, ready to tease him in order to push down the flush of heat rushing through you. âYou wanna fuck me.â
He raises his hands. âI want to fuck you if you want me to fuck you. To help. But Iâd love to fuck you⊠if you wantâŠme to fuck you.â Thereâs a pause. âMaybe.â
You look away, scratching your head in thought. âSince when have you wanted to fuck me?â
He smacks a hand down onto your thigh just to do it. âBabe, itâs always been on the table. All you had to do was ask.â Whore.
You roll your eyes for the millionth time. âYouâre such a guy.â
He shrugs like he doesnât care at all. âLike I said, guys always cum.â
You raise a brow at him, shoving his hand off your knee to stand again. You jab an accusatory finger into his chest. âIs that to insinuate that youâve cum thinking about me?â
âIâ Okay, I did notâ Listen here, you little shit.â
You laugh out loud, still pointing at him to make fun. âIâm kidding!â He fake laughs, and you return the favor by tilting your head and questioning him further. âBut have you?â
To avoid it being awkward, he just shrugs nonchalantly and answers the question. âA couple times.â It works, even though you flush at the answer.
âWhat? That is so weird!â
âThat is not weird.â He hopes you ignore the way his cheeks turn pink, powering through it with more brashness and more jokes. âIt is completely normal to think of your best friend when youâre cranking one out.â
You shake your head definitely. âNo, itâs not.â
He challenges you. âHave you ever cum thinking about me?â
Without turning your head, you glance away from him. âI donât think that makes it normal.â
âSo you have, is what Iâm hearing.â You turn to him quickly, raising a finger as you try to speak over his ad libbing. He thinks heâs really funny, and itâs gonna make you scream.
âListenââ
âListening.â
You huff, glancing away and then looking back at him. Well, not really him, but the ends of his hair over his shoulders. âMaybe once or twiceâŠâ you shrug, âMaybe even thrice, but thatâs notââ
âYou little freak!â He points his finger at you, his whole face wide with amusement.
âHeyâ Be nice to me. Or Iâll cry. You donât like it when I cry.â You pout to give him a preview. Youâre sure you could summon more tears if you really need toâŠ
âYouâre evil,â he shakes his head, looking up at you with a huge grin.
You bob your brows. âYes, I am.â
He surprises you. In the next moment, his arms are wrapped around your midsection, and your feet lift off the ground. He takes you in his hold and turns you until youâre being slammed into the bed. You laugh as you bounce, squirming around to push him off of you as he pins you under his weight. Both of you are giddy with the amusement, laughing at each other and playing along with the otherâs fun.
When you open your eyes and the laughter dies down, you realize that heâs actually pinning you to the bed. It sobers you up almost immediately, and you realize that heâs really close. He could kiss you right now if he really wanted to. You notice the exact moment he realizes it, too.
You gulp and take a breath for courage. Your voice is smallâawkwardâbut itâs okay because heâs your best friend. âYou canâŠâ you mumble. âYou can help, if you want to help.â
His eyes glance at your lips, and then he raises both his brows as he looks back at you. âYou want me to?â
You nod, trying not to hold your breath to avoid dulling the charged air between you. âYes, I want you to.â
He tilts his head and the tips of his hair tickles your cheek. âIs it because I have you pinned?â
âIt helps.â
Eddie backs off of you, sitting back on his bed to allow you to sit back up. You do, crossing your legs underneath you. He thinks for a moment, watching you as he does. Thereâs a long pause where the both of you contemplate something, unsure if the other has the same thing in mind.
âBefore we do anything,â he breaks the silence carefully and articulately, and you can see the moment that all his seriosity has set in, âI need explicit permission. And you gotta let me know how youâre feeling. I donât wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable.â
You listen intently, nodding along as he lays down the rules. âOkay,â you say.
He tilts his head toward you, looking up at you through his bangs. His brown eyes are so pretty. Youâve always thought so. Theyâre so warm and loving, just like him. Itâs the reason you became his friend in the first place: because heâs warm and loving. âS0?â he prompts, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You take in a deep breath and smile, lifting a hand and slowly setting it on his own. âI want you to have sex with me, Eddie.â
He visibly shudders, and you think heâs a sucker. Technically, he is, but whatever. âJesus,â he mutters, running his free hand through his hair. Then he smacks yours away, and your chuckle turns into a snort. He always knows how to make you comfortable. âOkay.â
You turn your body to face him, clearing your throat. âSo⊠How do weâŠ?â
âOkay, soâŠâ He makes a âshooâ motion with his hands, so you get confused and raise a brow. You slowly and hesitantly lean back onto your elbows, staring at him with all the silent questions you can muster. He rolls his eyes. âNo, get up. Sit over there, whore.â
You roll your eyes at him in return, moving to sit at the head of his bed with your legs crossed in front of you. Playfully, he rolls his eyes yet again and shakes his head at you like heâs disappointed. Eddie turns to lounge across the foot of the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. âFirst, I want you to walk me through everything he did.â
âOkay,â you mumble, thinking back to what happened in that car. âWell, he kissed me. We made out for a bit, and then he pulled me into his lap.â You only glance at him as you speak, but heâs so nice about it that you donât feel so weird talking to him about being poorly fucked. âAnd he took off my shirt. He was, like, moving my hips and stuff.â
âOkay.â He listens so closely. His full attention is on you and only you, and it feels nice.
âThen he, uh, he played with my nipples. You motion vaguely to your chest.
âDid he use his mouth?â he questions gently.
âMhm.â
He shakes his head then. Heâs still gentle but his tone leaves no room for argument. âYou gotta say yes or no, sweetheart, or Iâm not touchinâ you.â
Thatâs fair enough. âYes.â
âAnd it felt good?â
âYes.â It almost sounds like a question, but he understands what you mean.
âOkay,â he gestures toward you. âWhat else did he do?â
You think for a moment. Itâs already becoming a little fuzzy as your mind becomes distracted by the thought of Eddie, your sweet, idiot Eddie, doing these things to you and making it feel good.
This is the same boy youâve seen fall out of his van because he tripped on the step and totally ate shit hitting the ground. This is the same boy youâve seen stuffing his face with marshmallows because he was dared to by Mike and Dustin, and he was trying to prove that he could do more than they originally dared for him.
This is also the same boy youâve seen absolutely shred his guitar with some fingering skills youâve been envious of. And the same boy whoâs seen you cry a million times and wiped away all the tears with plenty of jokes and compliments and threats of violence as were humanly possible. If thereâs anyone who can make you feel good, itâs him.
You shake the thoughts away in order to get them straight. âHe laid me down on the seat,â you remember, âand took off his pants and stuff.â You donât really need the âand stuffâ but it does make it a little easierâŠfor some reason.
He furrows his brow in question, tilting his head like heâs grossed out all of a sudden. âOkay?â
âAnd then heâŠâ you stare at his Dio poster across the room, âput it inside.â
He lifts his lip in disgust. Heâs done that a lot tonight in response to this guy. âThatâs it?â he asks with more distaste than you thought possible.
âWhat do you mean?â you furrow your own brow this time.
âBaby,â he says effortlessly, like heâs said it a million times before (because he has), âthere wasnât even foreplay.â He sits up, âNo wonder you didnât get off, girls need foreplay. Guys donât need shit. We just think about tits, and weâre hard.â He shrugs, âIâm thinking about tits right now. Hard as a rock.â
The face you make transcends the rolling of the eyes or the upturn of a lip as you scoff. âEddieââ
âYou gotta be built up,â he continues, brushing past his comment like he never said it to begin with. You consider his words, taking them as the truth because he knows way more about sex than you would. Heâs no prodigy, maybe, but youâre barely out of your virginity, so heâs got more advantage than you. âDid you blow him?â
You glance up, a bitter tone in your words as you mutter the first part, âBetween positions⊠yeah.â
You donât think âdisgustâ fits anymore. Heâs just annoyed and entirely displeased. âYou blew him, and he didnât blow you?â
âI thought the term was âeat me outâ.â
He shrugs a shoulder absently. âSymmetry.â
You airquote your response. âOkay, âsymmetryâ.â
âYou didnât answer my question.â
âYes,â you reply finally, still tasting traces of your toothpaste in your mouth. âI blew him, but he didnât blow me.â
Eddie makes a guttural sound to try to properly express the amount of offense he takes to this. âYou know what, fuck this guy.â He leans forward, placing both his hands on your knees and holding them there as he stares at you with those big, brown eyes of his. âDonât worry, sweetheart, I got you now.â
Itâs easy to take humor from that to avoid dealing with the arousal it sends through you. âYouâre real confident.â
Heâs not pulling back on anything, he has no reason to. He somehow becomes more intense as he effortlessly response, âBecause Iâm gonna fuckinâ eat you out like my life depends on it.â
âIââ Thereâs no way you can respond to that. âOh. Uhm.â Your mind is immediately a jumbled mess of fantasies and incoherent words and more fantasies. Thereâs a heat between your thighs and an anticipation in your belly that makes it difficult to think.
âRelax,â he catches your sudden daze. He pats your thigh like itâs just something that he does and not a preface to him pulling them apart and having a feast. âYouâll be fine.â
âOkay.â
He gets up, stretching his arms high over his head to pop his back. You canât help the way your eyes fall to the slip of his belly, spying a tattoo hidden away there underneath his shirt. âIâm gonna go take a shower.â He eyes you. âYou donât need any infections.â
You turn your lip up because you think heâs disgusting. âThatâs gross, Eddie.â
He points at you. âBut considerate.â
You get up specifically to push him away from you. âGo shower, you dirty whore.â
He winks at you. âYes, mama.â You donât know how to respond to that. âGet comfy, Iâll be out in a bit.â
You swallow thickly, trying not to dissolve into some pathetic puddle because he called you âMamaâ. Youâve never been into that before, and all of a sudden, you canât get the sound of it out of your head. Heâs already long gone, leaving you alone in his room as you sit on his bed to wait for him.
Youâre a total goner, youâre sure.
~
Youâre going through more of his stuff by the time he comes out of the shower. You glance over your shoulder at him after the door closes, and youâre almost surprised by what you find.
Itâs not like you havenât seen Eddie shirtless before. The sight isnât unusual to you, but given the context and the way his sweatpants hang low on his waist, giving the perfect view of his gentle V-line, his soft tummy. Itâs a mouthwatering sight, and itâs taking everything to look away.
His hair is still dripping. The dampness is giving his curls a gentle shine in the lamp light in the room. He rubs his towel haphazardly through his hair as he speaks. âI know Iâm gonna take them off anyway, butââ
He stops short when he finally looks up to see you. Youâre rummaging through his drawers like the little thief that you are, your hand stopped somewhere in the second drawer in favor of watching him. But thatâs not what makes him pause. Itâs the fact that youâre in one of his shirts, one that goes down past the curve of your ass and stops short before even reaching your mid-thigh. Your legs are bareâyouâve discarded all your other clothes somewhere in the room and left yourself in some underwear and his shirt.
He always knew you were sexy. As your closest friend, itâs his duty to know how sexy you are, but this is another level and he doesnât understand why.
Instead of pointing out the fact that his sweatpants are growing a sudden bulge, he gestures to the shirt. âAre you gonna steal that?â
âYes.â
âOkay.â He scratches the back of his neck, tossing his towel onto a chair stuffed in the corner of his room. Itâs stacked high with clean laundry that he never got around to. He pays no mind to it when the towel and a couple of clothes fall to the floor immediately after.
Eddie takes a breath before he looks back at you. âCâmere,â he mumbles, raising a finger to make a come hither motion. You listen to him, walking over to stand in his space. Your hands rest at his sides because you always rest your hands at his sides, and, naturally, he holds you back.
âRemember,â he begins in a quiet voice (or as quiet as Eddie can be), âyou gotta use your words. I gotta know if Iâm hurting you, or Iâm doing too much or too little.â His thumbs stroke your elbows. âYou know your body better than anyone, but Iâm gonna do my best to know it even more than that.â
You chuckle playfully. âOkay.â
âAnd you definitely, definitely have to let me know when Iâm doing something right.â
âSo youâll keep doing it?â you guess.
He shakes his head and says in a flat voice, âNo, to stroke my ego.â
You roll your eyes, and your humor is interrupted by his hand lifting to touch your cheek. You lean into it because his hands are warm. âYou still wanna do this?â Heâs completely serious, and a little nervous now as he looks at you.
You nod, raising one hand to wrap around the back of his neck. âI trust you, Eddie.â
He nods, mostly to himself. âGood. Thatâs good.â His tongue darts out to lick his lips. âThatâs great,â he raises his brows. Then he sighs, glancing away from your intense gaze. âLetâs hope I donât fall in love with you or something, or youâll be getting your back blown out every night and twice on Sundays. Jesus H. Christ.â
You roll your eyes and shake your head at his ridiculousness, almost forgetting that heâs probably completely serious and you are about to fuck as you play into your banter. âYouâre soââ
You donât get to finish your sentence. Youâre cut off by Eddieâs lips engulfing your own, warm and soft and really nice against your own. You let out a long breath, pulling him closer by the back of his neck as he takes a step forward into your space.
To be completely honest, youâve kissed Eddie before. Youâve kissed him on a dare, you kissed him to trick people into thinking youâre dating. Hellâhe was your first kiss because you and some friends were screwing around and then you happened to be picked to be locked in a closet for seven minutes because you were at a stupid party playing stupid games.
So the sensation isnât completely new, but the making out part is. Eddie is a really good kisser.
When he pulls away, you arenât really expecting it. He seems pleased by your daze as he bobs his brows. âSo what?â
Instead of answering him, as youâve forgotten what you were going to say, you kissed him again. Itâs really nice, kissing someone. Itâs nice to be this close, to breathe each otherâs air, to taste each otherâs lips. His tongue grazes your top lip, and you lean into it, because you trust him and itâs nice.
Eddie keeps you pulled close against his body as he starts stepping forward, keeping you from tripping as he does. The back of your knees hits the bed, and you hold on too tightly as you feel yourself falling backwards. You laugh when you fall back onto the bed with his weight on top of you. He laughs with you, âYouâre okay, mama.â
He silences you with his mouth again, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his. He likes it just as much as you. Between that and his little pet name, your mind is swimming and your heart is racing. When he pulls away, itâs only to press his lips to the skin of your neck, suckling and nipping gently at the flesh as he does. You close your eyes, your fingers happily tangled in his hair as you keep him close.
âMama,â you mutter under your breath, seeing just how much you like it as he nips at your neck. âI like that.â
You can feel him smiling against your skin. âYeah? Want me to keep using it?â
You nod, âYeah.â A hum echoes in your chest as he wraps his hands around your sides, lifting you a bit just to put you farther up the bed. He crawls on top of you, one of his knees settled between your legs as his hand caresses your side.
Your breath becomes thin when his hand smooths underneath his shirt, feeling the softness of your skin with a quiet breath. His palm stops at your belly as he slips the very tips of his fingers to rest underneath your breasts, feeling just how warm you are.
âGood?â he mutters, taking your earlobe so gently between his teeth and letting it go.
You nod, your eyes heavy like theyâre glued down with sap. âMhmm,â you breathe.
âYes or no, mama?â he reminds you, gently kissing your lips.
âYes.â
He smiles, rewarding you with another kiss as he whispers against your lips. âGood girl.â
You donât have time to think about that right now. Itâs too nice, too fuzzy. It sends a warm flush straight to the pit of your stomach and makes your breath hitch. Eddie knows and adds it to the list of things you like for tonight.
The slightest whimper slips from your lips when you feel his warm fingers reach up to brush your breast, gently groping you as he plays with your peaking nipples. He hikes your shirt all the way up until your bare chest is revealed to him, and he takes them in with an appreciative breath before leaning down to take one between his lips.
Itâs much different than the guy before him. Eddieâs deliberate, licking and sucking and so, so gently nipping the bud. It sends a strange sensation through you, lighting every nerve ending and making it impossible to think straight as you keep your fingers tangled in his hair. You keep him close. It feels too good to do anything else.
You speak between breaths, your heavy eyelids and sticky lips working against your attempts to speak. âYouâve seriously cum to the thought of me?â you wonder, whimpering when his other hand comes up to pinch your other nipple between the pads of his fingers.
âYeah,â he mutters, sucking harshly and making you gasp.
âWhy?â you ask, making an attempt at playfulness between the haze of his ministrations. âAm I that irresistible?â
With only seriousness, Eddie looks up at you, letting his fingers take over in teasing you. âYeah.â
Your grin falters, almost not expecting his answerâor at least the amount of honesty in it. âWait, really? Youâre not just buttering me up?â
He makes a face, a confused one that flatters you more than anything else. âNo? Youâre fucking sexy as shit.â He tilts his head, âYou think Iâm lying when I tell you that?â Eddieâs hand smooths down your side, gripping your hip as he goes.
You shake your head, bringing your knee up and sighing gently when his hand slides over the round of your ass. âYou donât have any weird feelings for me, do you?â
He pinches you, and you squirm away from him giddily. âMama, Iâm in love with you, but not like that.â He gently makes your side. âNow stop talking to me. Itâs hard to kiss you if Iâm talking.â
You chuckle. âYes, si-â
Your words are interrupted by a tiny moan when his fingers graze the mound of your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. Your back arches just slightly, the ticklish feeling making quick work of scouring your body.
âDoes that feel good?â he wonders quietly.
You nod and bite down hard on your lip. The anticipation of it is eating you up. âYes.â
âGood,â he lilts, continuing to brush his middle finger up and down the length of your panties until heâs pulling them to the side just enough to see you. Eddie licks his lips, leaning in to kiss your belly. Youâre weak against him, trying not to cant your hips up into him and deter his work.
His finger caresses your folds through the bit of slick that had begun to gather there. âYou feel the difference?â he asks between kisses.
âYes.â Your voice is a squeak, and he seems quite proud of himself for making it that way.
âIâm gonna take these off, okay?â he says. âThen Iâm going to put my mouth on you. Youâll let me know if Iâm doing too much, right?â
You nod. âYes, Eddie.â
He smiles, âThanks, mama.â He feels the way you react to that, the slightest flutter of your folds. He sits up just to allow him the access to slip your underwear down your legs. The little, flimsy material comes right off. He drops it to the ground and comes to kneel in front of the bed. You hold your breath when his hands close around your waist, pulling you down to the edge to bring you that much closer to his face.
Instinctively, you close your thighs. Itâs hard to will them to open and stay that way with the way his warm breath fans over your skin, his hands touch your body, his eyes stay glued to your own, constantly asking for consent.
You think heâs going to say something smart, smirk at you and chuckle at your shyness. But he does. Instead, he just gives you a calming look and asks, âYou still okay, mama? You wanna stop?â
You let out a gentle breath, shaking your head. âNo, Iâm okay.â You chew on your bottom lip. âJust not used to this.â
âThatâs okay,â he reassures. His kindness is honestly making your arousal worse. You feel like youâre going to start shaking if he pulls away from you. âCan I open your legs?â
You nod. âPlease.â
He nods back, kissing your knee and smoothing his hands down your thighs, one on each side. The hand on the inside of your thigh dips so slowly between yours, seating deep between them until heâs slowly pulling them apart. The sound your thighs make when he opens them is lewd, itâs the quiet schlick sound that comes from the arousal that seeped out of you. You start to feel embarrassed, but then he sighs like heâs so relieved to see it.
âTell me why youâre so fucking pretty,â he shakes his head. Your thighs are itching to close as you watch him lean in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, just to kiss you. You bite your lip, nervous and so ready.
But then he stands. âGive me a second,â he says, walking away from you as his hands slide off your thighs. You sit up higher on your elbows, watching in confusion and slight annoyance as he leaves you on the bed.
âEddie,â you call while he walks to his dresser.
âHang on,â he smiles. âJesus.â He does that thing where his tongue sticks out over his bottom lip as he sorts through the junk on his desk. âNot leavinâ. Just lookinâ for something,â he mutters.
You fall back on the bed, willing your heart to calm. He makes a sound of success, turning back on his heel to get back to you. You look at him and watch as he cards his fingers through his hair. He pulls it back into a ponytail, wrapping a hair tie around it to make a messy bun.
You flush at the sight because not even a moment later, heâs on his knees again right between yours. âYou canât be serious,â you say.
âOh, Iâm dead serious,â he replies, looking at you excitedly. His hands land on your thighs again, keeping them spread apart as he pulls you again to the very edge of the bed. âIâd say hold on tight, but thereâs nothing to hold onto so⊠Enjoy!â
He dives between your thighs, and the heat of his mouth latches onto your pussy. Your mouth slips open and a deep moan rumbles out of you. Your thighs close around his head as you feel his tongue licking at you, lapping at your folds as he delves between them.
âEddie,â you call, one of your hands reaching down to touch the top of his head, trying to find some purchase at his hair. His tongue swirls around your clit, and youâre a total goner when his lips close around it and suck. You mewl at the unfamiliar feeling, enjoying every bit of it with an immense amount of pleasure.
Youâd expected him to go slow, hesitant little licks against your folds as he worries about overwhelming you. But this is not that. Itâs hot and heavy with deep strokes of his tongue and the tiniest nips of his teeth. Thereâs no way to keep yourself calm. Your hips are tilting up into his mouth, meaning he has to hold you down with his arms wrapped around your thighs.
Eddie seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He moans into you, heavy breaths fanning over your skin as he eats you out âlike his life depends on itâ. Your open-mouthed moans encourage him, especially when you say his name in this high-pitched gasp and slam your eyes shut. Your ankles hook behind him, pulling him in closer.
Eddieâs making the most obscene soundsâsounds worse than what youâre making. He slurps and laps at you like a dog drinking water. Youâd call him a whore again if you could think of humor at the moment, but the only thing you want to tell him is to keep going and never stop.
When he pulls his mouth off of you, you whine. He smiles, knowing heâs doing a good job as he shushes you gently. âItâs okay, Iâm not stopping,â he says. In the next moment, you feel his hand cup your pussy. âIâm gonna put my fingers inside of you. Is that okay?â
You nod. âPlease, Eddie.â
His fingers tease your entrance, though you donât think he means to. He looks at you as he prods a finger at the seam of your cunt, slowly pushing it in until they part around him. A short âahâ sound is what he hears as he presses his finger inside of you, moving slowly until heâs got it all the way in. âGood?â he checks, the slightest thrusts moving in and out of you as he does.
Your nods are becoming insistent. âYes, Eddie.â
âYou want more, mama?â
âYes, please.â He loves how polite you are. Youâre usually so meanâthough, he loves that about you, too. It just means you love him.
He sets a steady rhythm, one thatâs still slow as he focuses in on your face, the way it shifts and squints at every little push of his thick finger. It feels really nice, the way he takes his time with you, making sure you feel everything he gives you.
âMâgonna add another. You ready?â
âYeah.â He rewards you with a second finger, pushing it inside along the first and stretching you out for him some more. He thrusts them in and out, a slow and steady motion slowly building as he massages those inner parts of you. He curls them, and they press against a spongy point inside of you that has you rolling your eyes. âThat feels good, Eddie. Donât stop.â
He smiles at your initiative, giving you what you want with as much enthusiasm as you give in wanting it. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lick at your pussy. Youâre wetting his fingers so nicely, making it so easy to slip them in and out of you.
His lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks on it while you whine, while his fingers curl inside of you with every intent of coaxing an orgasm out of you. Little ramblings fall from your tongue as you grind against his. He's greedy in the way he licks around his fingers, over your clit, tasting your arousal as it seeps out of you.
A knot is tightening in your belly. Your hips reach for him with each little nuance of his skilled fingers as you seek out the release he's promising you.
His name comes out as a moan on your tongue. If either of you hadn't been so preoccupied, he would have made fun of you for it. Instead, you're spread out on his bed with his fingers inside of you, a moment away from cumming on his mouth.
Your hips try to lift up into him as you get closer and closer. He holds you down with one arm, his lips and tongue and prodding fingers working in tandem to taste you.
Your ankles hook behind his head as your back arches off the bed. âEddie,â you whisper. He feels the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his tongue becoming more insistent in the way it flicks and laps at your clit.
He makes these sounds of encouragement, humming and mhm-ing into you as he goes. Your release is like a burst in your belly, it starts there and swarms into your legs, your chest, the base of your being. Eddieâs tongue keeps licking and lapping at you as your back arches off the bed and your legs tighten around his head. You moan his name as white noise erupts in your ears, the distant murmuring of his words muffled as you try to cope with the pleasure that has begun to set every nerve ending on a wild fritz.
Eddie seems more enthused than anything else by your orgasm. Both his arms wrap around your thighs and hold you down. He actually stands, bending at the way to get closer as he longs to taste all the slick and arousal that leaks out of you. As he sucks on your clit and hums at the way that you taste, you grip his hair and pull him in closer.
But thereâs a point where you think you might die if he touches you any more. Thereâs a gasp in your chest that rips its way out as you push him away from your fluttering pussy as kindly as possible. He leans in again, just for a moment, before he registers your body pulling away from him, notices the way your thighs unclench and your fingers loosen from his hair and your moans and gasps of his name turn into weak whimpers and grunts.
âFuck,â you huff as you lay back on his bed. You turn onto your belly, crawling up his bed and collapsing into his pillows that spell like him. He watches, licking his lips and wiping his face with a smile.
âI was right,â you mumble, feeling your body coming down like you're floating back to the ground.
âAbout what?â You feel the bed dip next to you where Eddie sits down. Then you feel him lay back, his head laid out on your thighs.
âYou're a whore.â
He rolls his eyes, smacking your leg with the back of his hand. âYou liked it.â
âDoesn't mean you're not a whore,â you say. âJust means you're a good one.â
He sits up, moving over you so he's caging you in. His hair has come mostly undone by now, and it's more of a mess due to your insistence on how wonderful he is. His guitar pick hangs down in your face. Your eyes cross and uncross trying to watch it dangle.
âWell, if I'm a whore,â he bends down, his soft lips pressing into your neck as your lashes flutter, âthen I'm gonna charge you. It's three dollars a minute.â
You chuckle. âWell, guess what?â He hums. âI'm poor, so no.â
He breathes in through his teeth, shaking his head. âThen I guess you'll have to work it off.â
You try not to be too timid as you press your fingertips to his chest, guiding him back so he's sitting up. You move onto your knees, pulling your arms around his shoulders and relishing his hands on your waist.
âThat shouldn't be too hard,â you mutter. You are timid when you lean into him, testing the air between you to make sure it's okay that you kiss him.
When you still haven't made any contact, he nudges your nose with his. âCâmon,â he goads, his lips sticky when he speaks with all the familiar affection between you.
Your lip quirks a bit at his humor. You kiss him, biting his top lip just to confuse him. He laughs and you consider your goal achieved. You run a hand down the center of his bare chest, pausing at the base of his belly to tease the light happy trail disappearing into his sweatpants.
You slip your hand just underneath the waistband of his pants, tickling his skin as your fingers brush the base of his length hiding poorly behind the fabric. He flinches slightly from your touch, chuckling lightly as his hand comes to cup your elbow.
âDid I hurt you?â you ask suddenly, slightly startled by his reaction.
He shakes his head. âNo, mama. You just surprised me.â
âOkay,â you murmur, your timid fingers slowly attempting to try again. But he just shakes his head.
âThis isnât for me. This is for you,â he says, pulling back enough to see you.
âYeah, but,â you lick your bottom lip, âI wanna make sure youâre enjoying yourself, too.â
He licks his own lips as if to remind you that they were just wrapped around your sensitive cunt. âTrust me, I am thoroughly enjoying myself, mama.â
Your finger hooks around the waistband of his sweatpants, a slight pout arising from your face. âCan you take âem off, at least?â
His hands are already pulling them down his legs as he teases you. âSo needy.â
You roll your eyes. âShut the fuck up.â Your response falls short. As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, his cock springs from its loose confines and reveals itself.
You flush at the sight of him. Youâre not a cock-hungry whore or anythingâbut if you were one, you think his dick would be a perfect subject for it. Itâs not like he has this perfect cock that was hand-crafted by the gods or anything. But you think itâs safe to say that calling Eddie a freak is a valid name.
Heâs long, freakishly so. Heâs got a nice girth to him, you think, but you donât know if heâs going all the way inâbut, of course, you could be exaggerating. Youâve seen two cocks in your entire life, and Eddieâs is one of them and, admittedly, the better of the two. He will definitely reach.
âWhat the fuck, Eddie?â you look up at him.
âWhat?â His face falls slightly, his eyes widening just a bit as he wonders if your comment was good or bad. âWhatâs wrong?â
âHow the hell do you fit that thing in your pants?â You shake your head. âLike, what the fuck is wrong with you?â
He just shrugs, but heâs a little relieved that youâre just being his asshole and not just some asshole. âI think youâre being a little dramatic.â
âHow is it supposed to fit inside of me? What is that, like a foot long?â
He rolls his eyes. âIâm flatteredâreally, I amâbut it, most definitely, is not a foot.â He looks down at the erection between his legs. The tip is flushed, and it kind of looks like it hurts. âSeven and a half.â
âWhat the fuck?â you whisper under your breath. You reach down, brushing your fingers over the tip. He gasps through his teeth, and you watch the way it kicks up in response. âSorry,â you tell him, ignoring the amusement in your chest. It reminds you of a spring, the comedic kind that goes âboing!â.
âSâokay,â he murmurs. He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb over the rise of it as he asks gently and genuinely, âYou still wanna go?â
You nod, âYeah. That monster isnât gonna scare me away.â
He rolls his eyes. âItâs not that big.â
You shrug. âYou know, I heard Harringtonâs like that big, nine inches.â You make a circle with your hand, moving it up and down like youâre jerking it off. âYou think itâs true?â You bob your brows up and down.
He shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he snickers at you. âI doubt it. He could be one or the other, but both seem a little excessive. Have you seen how tight his pants are?â
âYeah⊠you might be right.â
âWe gonna talk about dicks, or are we gonna fuck?â
You sigh, shrugging like itâs nothing as you look back at him. âIÂ guess, weâll fuck.â
He smiles, pulling you closer to him. âWell, then, câmon, mama.â
You actually giggle, surprising him as you bring a leg to wrap around his waist, pulling the other up to follow suit. He kisses you, his hands supporting your thighs as his dick nuzzles between the both of you, kept warm and wet by the way your folds sit against him as it pushes into his lower belly.
Eddie reaches between your bodies, taking his weeping cock in his hand and stroking himself a couple times with little wavers of breath. You watch some precum spill from his tip, sliding down the bottom.
âYou want me to use a condom?â he asks.
You swallow thickly, thinking quickly before shaking your head. âPill.â
He shrugs. âDoesnât mean I shouldnât.â
Youâre touched by his consideration but you donât really want to put into words how much you actually want to feel him inside of you. You shake your head again, kissing him quickly to soften the slight awkwardness in your chest. âI donât want you to use a condom, Eddie.â You almost whisper it, but he understands.
âOkay, mama,â he whispers back. He kisses you, lifting you up from his lap just enough to tuck the head of his cock at your soaked folds. âYou ready?â You nod. âDonât hold your breath. Breathing makes it feel better.â You nod again.
âReady.â
You try not to hold his breath as he slowly lowers you down onto his lap, splitting you on his cock as you take him inch by inch. At one point, youâre sure he canât go any further as you feel him seated somewhere deep inside you. And heâs right, it feels really nice.
Your breath is so light and airy when you sigh against his lips, holding him tight as you bury your face in his shoulder. âFuck,â you huff, hearing his own breaths pass heavily in your ear.
âFuck,â he echoes. âJesus, youâre squeezinâ me, mama.â
You donât know how you feel about the way this makes you feel, the way it makes you act. Your voice gets sort of whiny, breathy, this little thing in his ear that makes his cock twitch slightly inside of you. âCanât help it,â you sigh. âSo fuckinâ deep.â
He nods, his hands steady and firm at your backside and your arms tight around his neck. âI wonât move until you tell me to.â
You just nod, knowing heâs not going to move until you give him an explicit âyesâ. Itâs a lot to adjust to. He sits really deep inside of you, and heâs pressing against a spot that makes you delirious with just the pressure the head of his cock puts on it. But when you canât take the suspense anymore and youâre too excited to see how it would feel, you nod again.
âIâm ready.â
âYou sure?â
âYeah.â
âOkay,â he says. âIâll go slow.â
You nod.
Holding your waist, Eddie begins to thrust his hips up into you. He does as he says and moves slowly, guiding your body in his lap so you grind down on him. A whine falls from your lips at the feeling, and you almost immediately seek out that pleasure with the eager roll of your hips into him.
âNot too fast, not too fast,â he hisses, lightly patting your hip.
You nod into his shoulder, feeling his hands roaming. His arm wraps around your waist, his other arm comes up to hook over your shoulder. He keeps thrusting, moving so slowly and filling you so deep. Following his commands, you roll your hips slowly into him, meeting each of his own movements in a building rhythm.
There's an ebb and flow in the way that you move together. Tiny whimpers fall from your lips, and his heavy breaths join them.
Somewhere along the way, it's not enough. Your insistent hips grind into him in search of more. He feels it in the way you breathe, the way you move, the way you hold him just a little tighter.
âEddie,â you huff. âCâmon, I need more. Please.â
The way you say it is a little more whiny, a little needier than you intended. It feeds his ego, and he can't help but to lose some of his reassuring kindness. He starts making fun of you because he likes making fun of you, and he thinks that you'll probably eat that shit up.
âMore?â His grip on you tightens just a bit. His thrusts become a little jerky, searching the same intensity you are. âYou need more, mama?â
âEddie,â you groan.
He pulls your face from his shoulder in order to look at you better. âYou sound so whiny, baby. Like a little bitch.â
You roll your eyes because he's Eddie, and he calls you a little bitch anyway. Grinding in his lap, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. A strangled grunt comes out, and you smirk devilishly. âSo do you.â
âHar, har,â he says.
âIf this is all you can do, just tell me. It's okay if you're a one-pump-chump.â
You like vexing him. He likes when you vex him. But he also likes proving you wrong because he may be doing you a favor, but he can't let you go about thinking he can't fuck.
âFuck you,â he scoffs. Then he's pushing you onto your back and wrapping your legs back around his waist, slipping out in the process. He towers over you like some wolf, bushy hair accommodating as his necklace swoops down to brush your skin.
âIf you want me to stop, tell me to stop,â he says. âYes?â
âYes.â
âGood.â
He guides himself back into you, embedding himself within you until you're full. One of his hands grips your hip while the other takes a hold of the headboard. It's this metal thing that squeaks whenever you move. So when he's thrusting into you with a vigor that has grown in the past couple of moments, it's accompanied by the constant whine of the metal. It's sort of funny.
His hips roll into you, waves of pleasure coming with each one. His hand cradles your neck, and you lean into him as he latches onto the sensitive skin of your throat, teeth scraping and tongue licking up the taste of your skin.
One of your legs comes up to wrap around his waist, and you moan as you pull him in deeper. His pace builds into this steady, needy kind of rhythm. The harder he thrusts, the more you clench, and the harder it is for him to stifle his grunts.
But you like the sounds he makes. Sometimes they're these deep groans that rumble in his chest like thunder. Sometimes they're these weak moans that you're pretty sure is him trying not to whimper. And you like the moans so much that you card your fingers through his hair and tug on a chunk of it as his head pulls back. His muscles flex, and his lips part. You watch his eyes flutter, this shocked whimper comes out of him.
âYou did that on purpose,â his word and your moan mix together with the thrust of his hips.
âAhâŠhaha,â you gasp, nodding a little. âYes, IâOh, yes, I did.â
âWhat, are you a top or something?â he wonders, raising a brow.
You shrug, your mind a little blurry with the feeling of his cock shoved inside of you. âDunno.â
He's interested enough to find out.
Once again, you're being moved around. You whimper when he pulls out of you just to sit you up again. Eddie moves to the head of the bed and pulls you back into his lap. âLet's find out.â
You take him in your hand, lining him up with your waiting lips. As you slowly sink back down onto him, your eyes flutter shut as you feel the way he fills you. And it only gets better from there as you slowly take him farther inside until heâs buried so deep that you can feel him pressing somewhere inside of you that you canât quite pinpoint.
Youâre fully seated on him now, eyes squeezed shut as you adjust to the feeling. Your hands come to rest on his chest, the fingers of your right hand brushing over the demon head on his pec. When you roll your hips and feel the way it presses inside of you, youâre immediately done for.
Your rhythm isnât steady for a while. You move purely out of an urge to quell this need in the pit of your stomach. As you fuck yourself on his cock, Eddieâs hands hold your waist tightly just to have something to hold onto. You move quickly and without remorse, your head thrown back in pleasure as your hips lift up just to smack down on his lap once again.
For a while, you just grind on him, focusing on that deep spot that shoots electricity through your thighs. This pitiful sound flutters out of you, like a shudder running down your spine as your hands move to cup the back of his neck in your palms. His name falls from your lips with a plea, itâs a weak sound that would bring him to his knees if he wasnât already on his back.
âFuck, mama,â he huffs. âKeep going, just like that.â
His hands caress your skin, roaming your body underneath his shirt still draped over you. He hikes it up farther and farther until he feels your warm breasts. âCan I take this off?â he asks. You just nod, muttering an âmhmâ as you keep bouncing with closed eyes. He pulls the shirt over your head, revealing your bouncing breasts to him as he takes a hold of them with greedy hands. He palms them, kneading them like he would dough. You just keep moaning as he builds you up.
You donât mean to, but in an attempt to respond, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a repetitive âyes, yes, yesâ that echoes in the room alongside his own loud, open-mouthed breaths. âShit, baby. Doinâ so good fâme.â
That makes you whimper, moving almost ruthlessly just to satisfy the rising need in your belly. âFuck, I need cum, baby,â you whisper, repeating that again and again with each little roll. Eddie wastes no time in bringing his large hand to rest at the juncture of your thigh and your hip, his thumb swirling insistent circles into your clit. You gasp at the feeling, which is way more electric than you thought itâd be.
It becomes a little difficult to think. Visions of Eddie and his hands and your bodies, and the sounds of your slick and skin, and the smell of sex and body wash and cigarettes cloud your mind. Youâre on the verge of tipping over the edge, you can feel your fingertips tingling with the wild sensations of your pleasure, so, so close to you nowâ
Eddie pulls you up from his lap, unsheathing your cunt from him. Your moans and your breaths are interrupted, and this weak cry tumbles from your tongue. He grunts, laying his head back and making this âhmphâ sound.
You blindly reach for his cock, trying to guide him back inside of you before heâs lightly smacking your hand away. âWait, mama, wait.â
âEddie,â you whine, thoroughly unhappy with the way the growing waves in your belly had begun to retreat. âPlease.â You could honestly cry. It had felt so goodâyou had felt so good, and heâd taken it all away in a matter of a second.
âWhat the fuck, dumbass?â you huff, looking at him with eyes unfocused with frustration and face flushed with lust.
âYouâre so mean,â he says, almost as put off by the failed release as you.
âI was so close.â
âI know.â He sits up a little more, moving you off his lap. Your arousal is coating both of you, your thighs are sticky with it, his lap and his cock is glistening in the dim golden light. âThatâs called edging.â
âI know what the fuck edging is. Why are we doing it?â
He laughs at your frustration, and you want to hit him. âRelax, weâre not done yet.â
âWell, hurry up,â you whine, already trying to throw your leg back over his legs. He just swats you away again.
âTurn around.â You would argue, but youâre too horny. So, instead, you turn around so your back is facing him. His hand spreads out along your back, and you nearly squeal when he pushes you down so your face is pushing into his covers. He pulls you up so your ass is in the air, grabbing one of your cheeks and squeezing.
âYou still good?â Heâs checking up, trying to be nice even though he was just the cruelest he couldâve been.
âYes, please.â He likes you like this, honestly. Itâs fun to see you so needy. Itâs just something he can hold over your head.
He lightly smacks your ass, not enough to hurt but enough for your hips to jerk at the unexpected sensation. Immediately, he smoothes the skin with the palm of his hand and hums. He nudges your legs apart, spreading you open for him just enough as he pumps his cock in his hand.
âJust testing out some positions,â he says simply before heâs guiding himself back inside of you. Itâs a welcome feeling, one youâre beginning to become accustomed to. Once heâs fully inside, he bottoms out with a heavy sigh. âItâs good to see which ones you like.â
âI like when Iâm being fuââ
Youâre cut off when his hips thrust into you, an almost cruel snap that makes this filthy smacking sound. You moan, literally feeling yourself melting into the bed as one of his hands comes to fist the sheets by your head. The other holds your waist tight, keeping you steady as he begins to fuck into you.
You really like this position. Being on top of him was so, so nice, but being underneath him is a feeling that makes your brain numb. You wrap your hand around his wrist as your other curls in the bedsheets, mewling feebly with every snap of his hips.
Itâs dizzying, having him take you like this. Thereâs a light sheen of sweat coating your skin, encouraged by the warm air straying in through the slightly opened window. His breath is heavy, and you can hear him grunting every time his hips meet your ass. âDo you like this one?â he huffs, moving his hand to wrap lightly around your neck. He pulls you up from the covers so you can speak, your bodies bumping back and forth in the dance youâve created.
Youâre being kept steady only by your hand on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly. âYes, Eddie,â you moan. You like saying his name, especially when you feel so good. Itâs like a wave through your skin. It falls off your tongue with ease. âThat feels good.â
Heâs happy youâre happy. He keeps it up, losing his breath the longer he goes as your loud ones mix together in the heavy air of his bedroom.
Youâre so glad Wayne isnât home because thereâs no way you wouldâve been able to keep quiet. You respect that man too much to put him through this. The loud squealing of the bed certainly doesnât help.
You turn your head to his arm, pressing your nose to his wrist to smell him. He smells like he always does, cigarettes and cheap cologne, like leather and maybe a bit of metal. But under that, you can still smell it. Green apple.
You kiss his wrist, and something snaps in him. For the hundredth time, Eddie pulls out of you and moves you back onto your back. Once again, youâre looking up at him as he locks you in. Thereâs a wild look in his eyes that makes you breathless, and when heâs pushing into you again, you moan.
âRight there,â you mutter incoherently when he fucks into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as you keep your legs spread wide. âYes, fuck, right there.â
Eddie focuses on that spot, punching the head of his cock into it over and over again and watching the way your eyes roll, your head falling back into the sheets and your hands tightening around his arms. He loves the way your lips part, your soft lips split open by the feeling of him. He bends down and kisses the exposed expanse of your throat, sucking on the skin and nibbling hickeys into your skin.
When he pulls away from your neck with a light smack, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down so your bodies are pressed flat together, skin to skin. He ruts into you, pressing his forehead against yours as you both breathe the otherâs air. Itâs all heat and lust and something else, something hot and heavy.
âI needa cum, Eddie,â you mumble, âFor real this time.â You manage to get it out with a minimal amount of stuttering. Youâre surprised you were even able to put the sass in it that you managed. Heâs made such a mess of you.
His thumb finds your clit once more, and heâs circling the bud with a fervent kind of eagerness. âKeep breathing for me, mama. Breathe in deep.â You do as he says, so much so that you get a little dizzy as the air comes and goes. You buck your hips up into his thumb, your whimper getting higher and higher with each swirl.
You feel a knot curling in your belly, followed by a startling heat. âEddie,â it comes out almost as a question. Youâre addicted to the way his name feels in your mouth. You repeat it over and over, squirming and breathing and tightening your hold on him. He keeps fucking into you, focusing on that spot that makes you see stars as he just thrusts faster until his hips are moving in short, hard spurts.
When the dam breaks, it's with a slack-jawed gasp and a tight embrace. Your whole body tenses, like a coil tightening. It gets hot and hotter and hottest until a band snaps and you're trembling. You moan his name like a cry for help, holding his face between your hands and marveling at the softness of his skin. A brilliant shudder makes its way through your body, the quivering of your limbs making it impossible not to whimper and whine at each little shake.
Eddie helps you through all of it, keeping his in and out pace until it becomes unsteady with the fluttering of your pussy around his cock. Your mouth latch onto one another, more heat and lust and longing to fill the space between you as you recover with a dizzying head and buzzing veins. Loud and sloppy smacks accompany the ones coming from your hips, still meeting with the last sparks of your orgasm and the drive for his own.
His steady thrusts are unsteady now, just tiny little pumps of his cock inside of you as his breaths build into gasps just as small. Youâre already coming down from your high, and your whines are sounding a little different now as you tilt your head to the side and hold onto his arm, the punch of his cock bordering on an overstimulated feeling after trying to recover from the large crash of your orgasm.
âEddie,â you whimper, one hand still splayed across his cheek.
He pulls out of you suddenly, peeling his hand off of you to grab his cock. He tugs harshly at it, bucking his hips into his hand until heâs spilling out over your belly in warm spurts, these shuddered moans coming with it. âOh, fuck, mama,â he whimpers in that sticky tone, burying his face in the crook of your neck as the last ropes of cum coat your skin.
There are a few moments where thereâs complete silenceâsave for the sound of a car here and there, or a dog barking in the distance, or some people laughing even farther away, or your heavy breaths huffing between you two. Your fingertips caress the skin of his cheeks, drawing patterns into his face as he simply enjoys it with closed eyes and settling breaths.
When Eddie sits up, he takes your hand to pull you up with him. You both sit on his bed, looking down at your bodies now sticky with his cum, though his isnât the only fluid sticking to your skin. Your thighs make a wet sound whenever you move.
You run a hand down your face, sighing heavily. âJesus Christ,â you mutter, popping your toes. Eddie watches you stretch your arms over your head, enjoying the way your tits look when you do.
âSo I did good?â
You look back at him to see the way he watches you, his brows bouncing with a sly grin on his face. You roll your eyes, not looking at him as you chuckle. âYes, Eddie, you did good.â
He smiles wide.
Eddie stands from the bed, and you watch the way he sort of limps from his room. You canât help your grin at the sight. At least that means you did good, too.
Eddie returns with a wet cloth in his hands, which he uses to clean you up first, wiping away all of your slick and his cum and even some of the saliva from your neck left behind by his sloppy kisses. He takes care in the way he does it, paying such close attention to you to ensure youâre just as clean and comfortable as he wants you to be.
When heâs done with you, he wraps his hand gently around your throat and pulls you in for another kiss. You lean into it. His kiss is like air in your lungs, and you sigh gently. Then he disappears again and comes back clean (and still deliciously nakedâyou enjoy the sight of his chain link tattoo curling around his upper thigh). He rustles through his drawers, pulling out another shirt, this one clean and not somewhere on the floor.
âYouâre staying over, right?â he asks, as casual as ever as if he hadnât just cum all over your stomach.
And, just as casually, you nod and turn onto your stomach to stretch again. âMhm.â He tosses the shirt at you. It lands on your head, and you donât move to put it on just yet. He picks up his sweatpants from the floor and puts them back on.
Eddie nudges you to the side so he can pull the covers back, and thatâs when you sit up to put on his shirt. You stand, padding across his tiny room to turn off the lamp on his dresser, shrouding the room in relative darkness. When you climb back into the bed, you latch yourself onto his back and hold him to your chest. Heâs really warm, and it feels nice to be this close.
Sometimes you wonder if you and Eddie are supposed to date. Thereâs nothing casual about your friendship, and there never really has been (especially not now). But you think that having Eddie as your best friend, perhaps just under unconventional circumstances, is the best thing there is. If you ever decide to get together, thatâll be a moment for a time in the (relative) distance.
For now, you just rest your ear against his back and listen to his heartbeat. âEddie,â you mumble, bringing your leg up to rest over his body like he isnât bigger than you.
âYeah?â
âThanks.â
Thereâs a huff that you think is him chuckling. He pulls a hand up and pats yours a couple light times. âAnytime, mama.â Thereâs some silence. âI love you.â
You smile. You love your best friend Eddie.
âI love you, too. Gânight.â He hums back at you.
Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr Eddie the Banished taglist: @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom Tag yourself here...
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#reader insert#female reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
HE DOESNâT WANT ME WHEN HEâS SOBER PART 2 (LANDO ENDING)
read: part one | logan ending
summary: landoâs your best friend but seems to like you when heâs drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when heâs drunk.
pairing: lando norris x gn!reader
wc: 1.8k
Lando wouldnât admit it to anyone but that night was the worst sleep heâd ever had. He left as soon as he found out youâd left with Lily and Alex, and made his way to your house just to find out you werenât there. He messaged Alex to get no response and contemplated waiting outside your door until you came back, whether it be days or months, heâd wait for you. But, after almost falling asleep numerous times and getting laughed at by a group of teenagers, he made his way back to his apartment, knowing youâd be looked after.
He was awake almost all night, messaging and calling you and regretting everything in its entirety. He didnât fully know if you had even seen him kiss the person that resembled you, he only felt it deep down, but even if you hadnât, he shouldnât have done it, and he could never apologise enough. He thought of how to explain his thoughts but nothing would suffice; nothing would ever be able to explain how he felt.
At some point in the early hours, he finally drifted off, but awoke not much later to an aggressive banging on his door and a voice screaming at him to hurry up. He wished the voice was you but it wasnât and he hated it. He rushed to his door, barely having time to pull on some grey joggers before opening it to an angry Alex, very close to breaking the door down.
âAre you stupid?â Alex questioned, fuming, pushing his way into Landoâs house, âI know that youâre in love with her so what are you doing?â
Lando looked like a deer in headlights. He couldnât explain his actions, he didnât even want to think about them. All he remembered feeling was grief at watching you walk away, so when he found someone that looked eerily similar, he took the chance to kiss them and create the image in his mind of kissing you. It didnât last long. He realised too quickly that they didnât smell like you and the way they kissed wasnât the same. He hated it, he didnât want to kiss anyone but you.
âI know, I didnât mean to-â
âWhat, you just tripped into her mouth then?â Alex questioned, pushing a finger against Landoâs chest.
âNo- no. I donât know why I did, I really love them I promise. We almost kissed but then they walked away, I was hurt, I didnât think they wanted me,â Lando almost cried, his voice cracking.
âYou do this every time you go out. You kiss her every time you go out and she follows, you donât get to pull that card. You might be upset but I promise youâre not even feeling half of it,â Alex spat, not caring if he hurt Lando because he hurt you much more.
âHelp me apologise. I need to apologise, please Alex, please help,â Lando begged, wanting you to more than anything, âPlease Alex, Iâll do anything.â
Alex sighed. At that moment, he hated Lando for what he did, but heâd been wishing for you both to get together since he first saw you both together, making heart eyes at each other. He contemplated in his head whether to help or not. He always envisioned you together but always wanted what's best for you and right now he couldnât tell if that was Lando or not. But looking at the state of him, red, wet eyes, begging for his help, he wanted to believe Lando regretted everything and would do anything to prove he loved you.
âOkay, but Iâm not letting you be forgiven easily, I want you to prove it,â Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. A feeling of simultaneous relief and guilt eating him alive.
Lando promised Alex over and over again, and in between each syllable, promising himself also that he would give you the world in apologies, and whatever happened he deserved it, but even if there was the slimmest chance you could forgive him, Lando would take it and cherish it.
Alex messaged you and you told him it was fine to bring Lando over, as long as he didnât expect much, and so they turned up less than five minutes later. Alex left you both alone in the kitchen to sit with Lily in the living room after repeating countless times he was a shout away.
You almost broke down just seeing him but managed to keep it in. You didnât want him to explain, you didnât care to hear it at the moment, but as soon as Alex left he began spilling out apologies and trying to explain himself, which you quickly shut up.
âI want some space,â you sighed. You wanted Lando close but you wanted everything you felt for him gone first. You couldnât believe he ever felt the same, not after that.
âOf course, I understand,â his voice broke as he stepped back, trying to show you he would do anything you said.
âNot like that, Lando. I mean it, I donât think I can see you for a while.â
âOh-â he said, âWhen can I see you again?â
âIâm not sure, Iâm sorry-â
âDonât be, this is my fault,â he sighed, clearly upset and looking at the ground, âIâll go, Iâll see you soon.â
After he left, you broke down crying, debating your decision on if you handled it right. You already missed him, and still loved him, but you also didnât want to see him. Alex explained the whole morning, and his perspective, giving you hope you could fix it with Lando, especially after Alexâs approval, which you trusted more than anything.
The next few times you saw him were at hangouts with your shared friends. You knew heâd be there as none of your friends would invite him unless you were completely sure you didnât mind him there. He stayed away, but didnât make it awkward to the people around you, and always gave you a shy smile when you caught his eye.
He didnât try to text or call again, despite wanting to more than anything, and instead waited for you to make the first move whenever you were ready. You had missed him more than anything, in both an âI love himâ and âheâs my best friendâ way, and it was killing you from being away from him, especially after how well he listened to your instructions.
You were at a mutual friend's get-together, a small barbecue in a back garden when you decided it was time. You had been debating texting him but after seeing him, you decided you couldnât wait.
He was standing alone in a corner beside a flower patch and some grass, drink in hand, and surveying everyone that was there when you walked over. He didnât know how to greet you and so awkwardly moved his hands between going for a hug or a handshake. You laughed and hugged him, both of you holding on tightly, unhappy to let go.
âIâve missed you,â you whispered gently, looking down and playing with your fingers, slightly nervous to admit it to him after all this time.
âIâve missed you too,â he grins, adding on, âSo much,â with a quiet whisper.
âHowâve you been?â you asked, trying to make small talk before delving right in.
âOkay, Iâve not really done much. Races have been okay.â
âI saw,â you smiled, âYouâve done really well.â
âYou watched?â he questioned, a little surprised. You met his eyes and nodded, explaining how you could never miss one.
âDo you want to talk inside?â you asked, heart pounding as you said it. He nodded immediately, without hesitation, and followed you in through the double glass doors into the kitchen, but only after picking out a daisy from the grass next to him and offering it out to you, causing both of you to grin.
He closed the doors behind you both, blocking out as much other noise as possible, ready for you to begin. âI want to know how you feel about this and about me,â you started, voice shaky.
âIâm sorry, Iâm still so sorry. I love you and I want whatâs best for you and I canât even find an excuse, I was being stupid and thinking how youâd never want me. It was all nothing, youâre the only person thatâs ever meant anything, Iâm so sorry. I will do anything to fix this- anything.â
âLan,â you let out a breath, âYou still want me?â
âMore than anything,â he grinned and you stepped forward to reach him, locking your arms around his neck.
Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pull his face down until his lips are almost touching yours. He was smiling so much you thought it might be impossible to kiss him but you pulled him into you anyway, finally kissing him again.
âStop smiling,â you laughed, pulling away to say it before immediately kissing him again.
âWhat? Can I not be happy? Iâm getting my girl back,â he pulled away, grinning harder, then trying to drag you back in, which was almost successful until you pulled away at the last second.
âI can barely kiss you like this and Iâd really, really like to,â you giggled, tugging him back again to enjoy another impatient kiss.
Your hands were running all over his head, completely ruining his hair, but he didnât care. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close. When you finally parted he still kept you close, resting his forehead on yours.
âAre you sure you want this?â he questioned, his breath still heavy.
You kissed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes, âMore than anything, I promise,â you paused for a moment, âBut youâre going to have to grovel to repay all the lost time weâve had.â
âIâm going to prove to you that Iâm all in, that I want this more than I could possibly explain,â Lando promised, meaning every word. He was already planning out exactly what he wanted to do - he knew he had to work to become your official boyfriend, but he would do everything possible for you.
You just stared at him, showcasing the biggest smile youâve ever had, eyes full of love, knowing you werenât ever going to let each other go or even risk it again.
âGod I love you,â he grinned, ignoring the fact he still hadnât caught his breath and pulling you into another, more intimate, kiss.
taglist in reblogs
#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#lando norris angst#f1 x reader#lando norris smut#f1 fluff#f1 angst#lando norris blurb#lando norris f1#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris x y/n#lando norris#lando norris x you#formula one#f1#f1 smut#f1 imagine#formula 1#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#lando norris x gn!reader#formula one angst#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 angst#formula one x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
â đđđđ; đđ+ đđđđđđđ; đđđđđđđđ đđđđđđđ
ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER
SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simonâalive, but certainly not himself...
WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k
âââŠââ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)
đđšđ đŠđđŹđđđ«đ„đąđŹđ â© đŠđđąđ§ đŠđđŹđđđ«đ„đąđŹđ
It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.
The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soapâs hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. âWe have to get out of here!â he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simonâs dying breath.
The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didnât find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water.Â
With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go.Â
The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep.Â
âWeâre never gonna survive here if we donât get that medical supplies,â Soap explained.Â
âItâs too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,â Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves.Â
âSo, what then? Weâre gonna send more men off to die, tryinâ to get shit from the city?â
Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. âWe canât risk more men. Weâd be sendinâ them to their death, Soap. We donât have the ammo to spare.â
âWe donât know that. Weâre still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.â
âItâs tooââ
You cut the men off. âI can go.â Both their heads snapped in your direction. âIâm just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I havenât been as much help as you guys have been. I canât fight. I canâtââ
âNo. Weâre not riskinâ you,â Soap said sternly.Â
âSoap,â you breathed. âIâm the only one here that isnât crucial to the team. And donât argue with me. Itâs just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. Iâm far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.â
Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that.Â
âLet me be of use,â you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldnât survive here without Soap or Price.Â
âLass, are you sure?â Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didnât want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon.Â
âLet me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.â
He couldnât argue with you. He didnât have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting.Â
âFine. But Iâm not happy about this.â
You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building.Â
You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this.Â
âBe quick about it, lass. Weâll be right here when you get back,â Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder.Â
You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soapâs arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. âDonât you fuckinâ die on me,â he mumbled into your hair.Â
You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in.Â
The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing.Â
Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream.Â
He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall.Â
Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing.Â
Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasnât in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought.Â
He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind.Â
He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound.Â
He froze in place when he saw youâthough he didnât know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didnât hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.
You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but thatâs where you had last seen Simon. You didnât have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone.Â
Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you.Â
You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic.Â
Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering.Â
But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. âThese will have to do,â you said softly, shoving them into your backpack.Â
A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He rememberedâthough he wasnât sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell.Â
His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghostâs true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didnât want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him.Â
Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat.Â
Ghost still wasnât fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan.Â
You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body.Â
You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.
It was Simon.
Terror flooded your system. He didnât look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you.Â
âS-Simon?â You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare.Â
A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them .Â
You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fateâa small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.
He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came.Â
Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghostâs hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise.Â
You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in.Â
Ghostâs cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before.Â
You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction.Â
The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself.Â
Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.
Your cries ignited a flame in Ghostâs chestâthe feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hairâfelt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory.Â
He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support.Â
You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasnât real. This wouldnât last longer than this moment in time.Â
Ghostâs chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldnât get you close enough. That if he had his way, heâd let you make a home beneath his skin.Â
His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldnât quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time.Â
You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful.Â
When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life.Â
You couldnât hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didnât reach out and hold you like he once would. He didnât try to comfort you like he always did so well.Â
But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didnât attack you. He didnât try to kill you. He wasnât himself, but he wasnât fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.
You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. âIâm sorry,â you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you.Â
You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements.Â
You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all.Â
He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. Itâs true, he wasnât completely gone, but he was fading fast.Â
You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. âWhat happened?â he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.
Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasnât gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever?Â
You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him.Â
#ghost#simon riley#ghost smut#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod#simon riley smut#ghost cod#ghost fanfic#simon riley fanfic#ghost mw2#ghost call of duty#fluff#angst#ghost angst#cod mw2#smut#zombie!ghost#modern zombie#cod zombies
7K notes
·
View notes
Note
holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? iâm imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. theyâre vague about it, saying stuff like âthey arenât here anymoreâ so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg iâm obsessed with this concept.
Word/Insured Part 2
Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader
â GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!
â this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it
â 4,5k words
â gender-neutral reader
â possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst
â srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops
â if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!
â that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3
ⶠStan and Ford hadnât talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. Heâd begin the conversation with ideas heâs thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasnât sure heâd properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than theyâd ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same.Â
ⶠStan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didnât care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldnât let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brotherâs wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasnât shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.
ⶠVerbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you werenât around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? âDo you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadnât pushed [Name] inside the portal?â His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Fordâs brain. âNot this again,â Fordâs heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stanâs glaring eye contact. âStanley, I told you many times before. Iâm sorry! Iâm sorry for screwing up, Iâm sorry for being the reason why [Name] isnât here anymore.â Fordâs head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. âYou donât know how much this eats at me, Stanley.â He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stanâs fiery stare. âBut I beg of you, please. Donât hate me for it. I canât lose you again, not after losing [Name].â The look in Fordâs eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanleyâs anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. âFine,â He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford.Â
ⶠAlcohol and cigars were Stanâs life vest. Heâd rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasnât healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasnât, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasnât an angry drunk much to Fordâs surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather heâd rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasnât an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. âWhy couldnât I save them?â Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. âDonât move too much, Stanley. Youâll give yourself a headache.â Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. âIf I wasnât so slow, [Name] would still be here.â Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. âItâs not your fault, Stan.â Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. âItâs not yours either.â Stanâs hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Fordâs cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasnât his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. âThere, there, brother.â Stan patted Fordâs back as he sobbed into his hands. âItâs not my fault,â He repeated in loud sobs. âItâs not your fault.â Stan echoes.Â
ⶠFord handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stanâs drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasnât downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasnât dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadnât realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldnât know because heâs always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, heâs been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. âSleep tight, Stanford.â He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stanâs head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stanâs snores were music to his ears.Â
ⶠâS-Stanley!â Fordâs body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. âI-Iâve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!â He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. âYou need sleep, Stanford.â He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Fordâs trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldnât believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but thatâs more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasnât angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. âNo, thereâs so much to be done.â Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. âYou need to hear me out. We need to find the other twoââ Stan shushes him. âI wonât talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Donât you bother trying to back out from this.â He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. âB-But!â Stan doesnât hear his weak objections, heâs already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didnât take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved.Â
ⶠClinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was âhis treat,â Stan couldnât even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now heâs left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. âAnd for you breakfast, Stanley.â Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. âScrambled eggs and buttered toast,â Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. âI donât even know why I doubted you.â Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadnât seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? âStill being a baby about the crust?â He points to Fordâs crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stanâs mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. âChew your food before talking, Stanley! Weâre not kids anymore.â He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. âAlright, alright!â With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. âHappy now?â Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. âMaybe not,â Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. âDonât want to eat anymore,â Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. âMore for me!â As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldnât watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands.Â
ⶠâ[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.â This was Fordâs feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Fordâs ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford canât quite catch. âWell, yeah,â Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasnât upset at the mention of you. âThey left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we havenât seen each other since then.â Thereâs a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. âHow were thââ Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. âJust because weâre all chummy now doesnât mean you get to ask all about [Name].â The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. âIâm sorry.â Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. âNo, Iâm sorry.â Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. âLetâs not talk about them right now, okay? I donât think Iâm ready yet.â Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. âI didnât mean to blow up on ya like that.â Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. âItâs okay, Stanley. Why donât we talk about what you do for a living?â With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.
ⶠThe repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Fordâs and Stanâs relationship. They werenât going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. âWhaddya think, poindexter?â Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. âWhat is this?â Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. âA plan to fix the portal, isnât it obvious?â Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. âStanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.â Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. âAlright! So where are they?â Ford sucks in a breath. âIn the other journals.â Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. âAnd where are the other journals?â Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; âI hid them.â Stan looks at him weirdly. âCanât we just unhide them?â Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. âThatâs the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.â Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. âyou WHAT?!â Stanâs hands flew to the side of his head. âHow do you forget where you put them?!â Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stanâs record. âI was in a flurry of panic! I wasnât thinking straight.â Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. âWas it at least in Gravity Falls?â Stan had his fingers crossed. âYes, obviously.â A triumph âYes!â leaves Stan. âOkay, letâs get digging then!âÂ
ⶠStan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever heâd think heâs making progress, heâs right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. âStanley!â Ford came running to Stanâs side, panting heavily. He wasnât used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. âThis tree is metal,â Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. âWhat?â Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldnât make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his headâAn idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. âThereâs something here,â He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. âI can see that!â Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. âI remember now!â He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. âGreat job, Stanford!â He claps Fordâs back. âSo whereâs the other one, you remember?â Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesnât remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.
ⶠWith the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, heâd attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. âMan,â Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. âFor a brainiac like you, I wouldâve never imagined you being terrible at building this!â Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. âHow did you manage to build the portal in the first place?â Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. âStanley,â Ford snapped. âThe light!â Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. âSorry,â He sheepishly said. âBut seriously, how did you build this?â He looked at Ford curiously. âI had an assistant.â Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. âHad? What happened?â Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. âHe quit.â Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. âWhy?â Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. âHe, uh,â If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. âHe just thought what I was doing was unethical.â That wasnât a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. âGlad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!âÂ
ⶠBefore they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. âCan you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?â The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. âOf course, stranger!â And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. âHey, thatâs no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!â She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. âAh, no. Thatâs my nerdy twin brother.â Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. âThereâs two of them?â Someone in the crowd asked. âHe probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!â Someone else said. âThatâs probably what happened. Iâve heard strange stories about that old shack.â Toby Determined spoke up. âYeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!â Daryl added. âGosh, Iâd pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!â Pa said. Susan perked up at that. âOh, me too! Do you ever give tours?âÂ
ⶠA sly smirked pulled to Stanâs face. He had the perfect idea. âYes, I do give tours! TenâŠno-no fifteen bucks a person!â The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. âIs it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?â Susan questions. âHmm, Iâm not sure.â Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. âYou know what?â The crowd lightens up with hope. âFifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!â Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. âAnd what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?â Stan smiled proudly. âStanley, Stanley Pines.â
ⶠThe crowd bustles into the shack, oooâs and aaaâa left their mouths in awe of the place. âStep right up folks to a world of,â he pauses for a moment thinking. âA world of enchantment!â He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. âBehold! The um, nerdy science box.â Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. âAh, my eye!â She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. âUh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!â He offers an uneasy smile. âI paid sixty five dollars for this!?â With Susanâs comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didnât make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. âWhat is with all this ruckus?â Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. âIs that him?â Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. âOh my god, it is! Take my money!â Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. âStanley, what did you do!â
ⶠAfter answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. âWhat was that?â Stan turned over to Ford, buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. âI got us money! And look how much we got!â He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. âStanford, this the best thing thatâs ever happened to us so far.â Ford looks at him, unsure. âIâm not a fan of ripping people off,â Stanâs hands fall to his sides. âItâs their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.â Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. âFine, but I donât want you to mess with my stuff, got it?â Stan beamed brightly. âI promise!â He broke that later on.Â
ⶠGradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto peopleâs windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when heâd glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when heâd show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. âHow do you do it?â Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. âI just say whatever comes to mind.â Stan shrugs. âBut none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?â He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. âHey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.â The door rattles with a knock. âWanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.â Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stanâs whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasnât as good as Stanâs performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. âThat was some good acting there, Ford!â Ford smiled, waving him off. âYeah, yeah. Iâm only doing this cause we need the money.âÂ
Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3
Next ->
#gravity falls#gravity falls x reader#stanford pines x reader#stanford pines#stanley pines x reader#ford pines#stan pines x reader#stan pines#stanford pines x sibling!reader#stanley pines x sibling!reader#ford pines x reader#stan pines x sibling!reader#ford pines x sibling!reader#mable pines x reader#dipper pines x reader
704 notes
·
View notes
Text
the cup holds the tea
it hits you all at once and youâre out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. youâve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray youâstraight onto spencerâs shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that youâve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.
pairing:Â spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)
genre:Â fluff
content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...
word count:Â 3k
note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.
a line: Theyâve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascinationâbooks, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.
It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where theyâre supposed to be. - pat schneider
The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.
âAnd they ate every last drop of it!â
The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. Heâs always known you had this giftâhow you could spin a story, command a room. If he werenât so completely in love with you, he mightâve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.
Spencerâs lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your thirdâor fourth? Heâs lost count. He notices youâre not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that youâre tearing up at something Garciaâs showing youâa sloth video, from what he can tell, doesnât ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, itâs clearly doing its job.
Itâs one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isnât on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. Theyâve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencerâs side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harmâs way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.
Itâd only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didnât stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just canât help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation.Â
Spencer catches the way Derekâs eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows theyâre going to bring this up later, probably all week.
But he doesnât move his hand. He doesnât let go.
The booth is packed tight as youâre all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyoneâs smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.
âCâmon, pretty boy, live a little,â Derek teases, âJust one drink.â
Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. âIâm fine,â he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.
He canât keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. Youâre laughing, and Itâs unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.
He knows Spencerâs not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emilyâs coaxing, and youâre already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garciaâs cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.
Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how youâd take it. Youâd wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. Youâd held your own at Rossiâs birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyoneâeveryone except Rossi of course. And thatâs probably why heâd already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.
But that was then and nowâ Well, itâs different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title heâs all too happy to hold. And tonight, itâs a card heâs all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I donât need anyone to take care of me speech.Â
Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. âHere,â he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. âDrink this.â
He hopes youâre just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as itâs something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it worksâyou sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.
Almost there, he thinks.
You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencerâs heart sinks as your expression shifts.
âThis is water,â you say, suspiciously.
âYes, it is,â he admits.
Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. âIâm drinking vodka.â
âAnd now youâre drinking water.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I love you, and Iâd rather not carry you out of here tonight,â he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.
You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. âJust drink the water, sweetheart,â he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.
He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding.Â
The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derekâs overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But youâre quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again.Â
And then, suddenly, youâre not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. Youâre out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth.Â
Youâve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray youâstraight onto Spencerâs shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that youâve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.
Of all people it had to be Spencerâgerm-conscious, always-prepared Spencerâyour lovely boyfriend who at this moment youâre not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer.Â
You donât have to look up to see the teamâs reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derekâs mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, âOh, noâŠâ
Theyâre frozen. Because SpencerâSpencer, who uses hand sanitizer like itâs an extension of his arm, Spencer whoâs the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messyâhas just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know theyâre waiting for Spencerâs reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.
But it doesnât come.
Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. âHey,â he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. âSweetheart, you okay?â He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.
âSpenceââ you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. âIâm so sorry. Your shoesâoh my God, your shoesââ
Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. âItâs fine. Theyâre just shoes,â he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. âLetâs get you home, okay?âÂ
You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesnât let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at youâyour slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a littleâand decides against it.
Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You canât.
Emilyâs mouth falls open slightly as she watches, âDid Reid justâŠ?â she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. âDidnât think the kid had it in him,â Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. âI knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.â she says letting out a dreamy sigh.Â
They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. Youâre still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesnât falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. Thereâs not even a hint of disgust on his faceâif anything, heâs focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him.Â
âIâm so sorry, Spence,â you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. âI ruined your shoes. And your jacket. Andââ
âItâs fine. Youâre fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.â
You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. âNooo, donât throw them out because of me.â
His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. âWell, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?â
âIâll wash them,â you declare, your words slow and sleepy.
Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. âYouâll wash them?â
âMhmm,â you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.
âHow about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?â he says gently.
ââKay,â you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.
Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. Theyâre not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows heâs going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driverâs seat.
Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. âHeâs gone,â he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. âKidâs completely gone.â
Emily doesnât need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because theyâve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascinationâbooks, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?
This is something else entirely.
The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure youâre okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.
His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but thereâs no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether itâs from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, youâre too tired to decipher.
âYou donât have to,â you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.
âOf course I do,â he replies, his voice light but firm. âI want to.âÂ
He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.
âDrink,â he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.
You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly youâre drinking it nowâso much easier than earlierâbut he decides against it.
Youâve been through enough tonight, he thinks.
When he finally tucks you into bed, youâre too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your faceâpeaceful now, the traces of the eveningâs mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the nightâs adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoesâstill damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.
He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. Itâs ridiculous, he knows. Theyâre just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But theyâre also a reminder of tonightâa reminder of how heâd taken care of you, how youâd let him take care of you.Â
With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.
There's a pout tugging at your lips. âWhereâd you go?â you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.
âHad to throw out the shoes angel,â he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.
Your gasp is exaggerated like heâs just committed an unspeakable betrayal. âI thought I told you Iâd wash them!â you exclaim, your voice rising.Â
âAnd I thought I tucked you into bed,â Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. âWhy are you out of bed sweetheart?â
You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. âMissed you,â you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. âWanna cuddle.â
Spencerâs expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. âIâm dirty,â he reminds you gently, âOutside clothes, remember?â
âChange then,â you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though thatâs the simplest solution in the world.
âI need to shower first,â he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.
âI didnât shower either,â you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.
âBecause youâre drunk,â he replies with a small smile.
âAm not,â you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.
âWanna tell that to my shoes?â Spencer teases, raising a brow.
You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. âYouâll take too long,â you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. âIâll miss you.â
âAnd Iâll miss you too,â he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
âThen cuddle,â you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he canât resist. âPleaseeeâ
Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of youâsoft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows youâre usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, youâre anything but sober, and he canât find it in himself to deny you.
âPleaseee,â you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, âIâll buy you new shoes,â your eyes wide and imploring.
He knows you probably will.
âEnough about the shoes,â Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, âJust help me change the sheets tomorrow,â he relents, his voice warm with affection.
He knows you probably wonât. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.
You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. âKnew you wouldnât say no,â you mumble into his chest.
Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he canât quite put into words. Heâs never been one for messâfor dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. Itâs in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?
His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.
Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.
For you and only you, he thinks, heâd make an exception every time.
ââŽïžËïœĄâ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer x reader#spencer x self insert#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid x bau!reader
696 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tokyo Revengers Boys, if you kiss them without warning
Note: You are not yet in a relationship in this scenario, but about to be. I hope you like it
Mikey didn't think about it at all and just kissed you back a few seconds later. You couldn't tell by looking at him, but he was naturally uncomfortable. He doesn't regret it though, he loves your soft lips and wants to kiss them again, but he knows that he'll probably have to make the first move.
Darken just looked at you for a few seconds and realised what you'd just done. As always, he tried to play it cool, like he didn't really care, but I can tell you, later that night, he thought about it and he couldn't stop smiling and he hoped that he'd get to kiss you again someday.
Mitsuya blushed, but pulled you close. Honestly, he likes you either way, so why wouldn't he do that, it's one of the best chances he'll ever have. He would have acted on intuition and of course he let you go as soon as he realised what he'd done and apologised. Still, his thoughts kept going back to it, he doesn't know why himself.
Chifuyu definitely enjoyed it and even closed his eyes to savour the moment even more. But unfortunately, this magical moment had gone as quickly as it had come. When your soft lips moved away from his again, he woke up from his own little bubble and got a little scared. Of course, he apologised to you and disappeared as quickly as he could.
Baji took you by the shoulders after the kiss as gently as he could at that moment and asked you what you were thinking. You might think at that moment that he didn't like it but, let me tell you, he loved it. Since that moment, he hasn't been able to think straight or sleep. He wants you to do it again. Again and again and again, but of course he won't tell you that.
Takemichi has stopped breathing, but still puts an arm around you. With his arm gently wrapped around your waist and your face so close to yours, your lips on his. He doesn't quite know why, but he thanked you for the kiss and maybe cried a little, not crying, but maybe a single, happy tear running down his cheek.
Angry returned the kiss. Simply without thinking about it and, in fact, at that moment without any charm. Unfortunately, the embarrassment only came afterwards and, much to his regret, much more strongly than usual. He ran away, to be honest, but he couldn't do anything but think about it all day until he finally lay in his bed and replayed the whole moment in front of his eyes, like a film, over and over again and he also wondered what would have happened if he had stayed there.
Smiley pulled you closer to him and asked you what you thought you were doing. Paired with that mischievous grin, he looked very amused, but don't worry, you'll just have to remain constant, withstand his gaze and, if you're feeling particularly brave, kiss him again. I promise you, his confident facade fell away and he did the anoint like his brother, he ran off to think about it, which he actually did. He couldn't think about anything else, but that's another problem.
Hakkai's brain has stopped working. He can't remember almost anything, just one thing. Your soft, gentle lips on his and how much he longs to kiss you again. He probably left without a word, didn't talk to anyone else that day either, and this memory, this realisation, only came into his head in the evening and he thought about it for the rest of the night and his cheeks glowed red, like fire, the whole time.
Kazutora asked you directly what you had done. He didn't understand why this, objectively speaking, so simple touch felt so good. He's just so starved for touch and will also ask you if you can do it again. Please, just give him another kiss, then he'll be satisfied for a while and think about it for a while until it occurs to him that he might like you. It hits him like a wave of emotions, he wants you to touch him more often, but he doesn't know whether and how to tell you.
Koko was confused but happy and asked you what the kiss was for. For a few seconds he was afraid that you might have just kissed him because you wanted money from him, but this thought quickly disappeared when you told him with that sweet blush on your face that you just wanted to kiss him and hadn't thought about it. He also gave you a kiss and then just carried on with what he was doing before, leaving you confused. But honestly, he didn't sleep that night because he had to think about your soft lips.
Inupi returned the kiss and he loved it, of course he didn't show it outwardly, his usual expression adorned his face, but the slight, sweet blush on his face gave him away. He actually thought about it for a long time and came to the conclusion that he liked you. I mean, what else could be the reason that he wants to kiss you again and again and that he really longs for it?
Hanma teased you about it, but of course he understood that it meant a lot, he's not as stupid as he seems. He laughed about it and made fun of it, but he caught himself thinking about it over and over and he wanted to feel it again. No kidding, he wants to be kissed by you again, but a little more intimate, more personal. As you can guess, he'll never admit it, maybe someday when you're in a committed relationship.
Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. All credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed please contact me.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers x yn#mikey x reader#mitsuya takashi#mitsuya x reader#draken x reader#ken ryuguji#sano manjiro#takemichi x reader#takemichi hanagaki#chifuyu x reader#chifuyu matsuno#baji x reader#baji keisuke#hanma shuji#hanma x reader#kazutora x reader#kazutora hanemiya#inupi x reader#inupi seishu#kokonoi x reader#kokonoi hajime#smiley x reader#nahoya x reader#nahoya kawata#angry x reader#souya kawata#souya x reader#hakkai shiba
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Erased || Logan Howlett x Reader
summary: You are a powerful mutant with powers you hated. They ruined your life and it led you down paths you weren't proud of. Things changed and now you lived happily with Logan. Until your past seems to come back to ruin everything
warnings: angst. traumatic childhood, brief mentions of torture.
wc: 2.7k
Link to part 2
a/n: Hi guys, so this is kind of the you get hurt and he goes feral fic but i've combined it with this other wip i had laying around. I talked a lot about wanting more angst and tw death (my grandmother passed last night) so ive been in this weird state of sadness that i'm repressing. Either way i wrote a fic so there's that lol. I will def have a part 2 btw so don't worry.
Sometimes when you close your eyes you can remember your childhood. What it was like before your, gift, appeared and ruined everything. How your family loved you, how your friends welcomed you, how the world didnât hate you. Everything was perfect.
Until the day it appeared. All you did was touch her arm. Thatâs all you did. An argument with your mother, silence, and then you touched her arm to try and apologize and next thing you knew she was asking who you were. Yelling at you to get out of her house. You cried not understanding what was happening.
She looked at you with nothing but confusion. Not even a hint of recognition. Then your father came home and you ran into his arms. Afraid and distraught when he pushed you off him. The same look in his eyes. Who are you? They threw you out, threatened to call the cops. They left you all alone, afraid, and confused.
It didnât take long for you to understand. A mutant. You had heard of mutants but never thought you could be one. A mutant with a powerful ability. Memory manipulation. You could alter memories, dive into someone's deepest fears, their secrets, and even erase anything from heads. In a single moment their whole lives could be changed. It was a dangerous power and you wanted nothing to do with it.
For years you lived on the road. Keeping yourself moving, stealing when you needed to. Never getting too attached to one place, to anyone. You were alone.
Then one day some people found you. Dressed in stupid costumes. Still they took you in. Gave you a home, fed you, trained you. You grew up there. From teen to adult. Charles was kind and you don't think you could ever repay him for all that he's done. Your powers were strong but he taught you to control your emotions.
Still you tried to stay a safe distance away from people. Not just physically but emotionally. The nightmares of your parents haunt you everyday. They're nice. All of them are. The kids loved you and you enjoyed the mansion.
Still when the team invited you out you declined, when the kids wanted to crowd you during dinner you politely excused yourself to your office. You didn't go to parties, you didn't celebrate the holidays with them. You were just you, a nice, safe distance away from them. Then your world got flipped upside down.
The day Logan rolled into the mansion. He was mean and angry. He had that "I don't like being around people" kind of vibe but he stuck around. Ended up becoming more apart of the team than he wanted. And he liked it.
Logan was the first one to really break down your walls. Just like everyone else you stayed away from him. Smiling and greeting him but never going past that. Maybe that's what drew him to you. You were a mystery who smelled like vanilla. It was your perfume. He would try to flirt but he got nowhere. Eventually he gave up the flirting but his interest stayed. He find ways to talk to you, getting bits and pieces of information from you.
You quickly learned he was just like you in some ways. Guarded, a past life that you don't want to talk about, loners. Somehow in all of it, as he stayed at the mansion and grew to become part of this family, he wormed his way into your heart too. Just too loners who found out that being alone together is better than being lonely.
As time passed, your relationship with Logan evolved into something you never imagined you would experience. Love. You never let yourself feel this way, too afraid that you would do the same thing to them. That you would get close, build this connection, make these memories, only for it all to come crashing down with just a single touch. These memories are precious to you. Every single one of them.
You remember the day your feelings were revealed. Both of you desperate, afraid of what they meant, but neither of you could lose each other. It was the cure. Some company had found a way to suppress the gene. The moment you heard about it you were intrigued. Your mutation wasn't fun. It didn't let you control the weather or turn things to ice. You couldn't touch people. Just like rouge you were at risk for destroying someone's whole life.
Even with the years of lessons you weren't fully in control. You never let yourself try. Logan could see it in your eyes. The confrontation wasn't pretty.
It was anger at first, wondering how you could even consider that. Then it was anger from you, years of pent up feelings releasing all at once. The fighting turned into a deep confession. An intimate moment between the two of you. He cared for you in a way that scared the shit out of him. He couldn't say the words yet but he felt them. You felt the same way but just like Logan. Something was holding you back from saying those three words.
Still you showed your love to each other in other ways. You always let him know how much you cared for him. The words died on your tongue but he knew. You hope he did.
Logan bought you a necklace. Didn't make a big deal of it but you could see the blush on his face. Tossing you the box and mumbling something about him seeing it and thinking of you. It was gorgeous. Just a simple heart necklace with two sparkling stones. One for him and one for you.
Even if you couldn't touch he wanted apart of him to be with you. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You had Logan. You had the team, the mansion. For once you felt like your life was falling into place.
Apparently the universe didn't like that. Charles had called the team in for an important mission. You weren't on the team due to your own choosing so when Logan came back to bed he started to talk.
"Yeah some rogue mutants. Bunch of assholes who enjoy torturing humans." He grumbled as he threw his jacket on. Fixing his hair in the mirror as you sit on the bed. You're doing everything you can to stay calm, to not set off Logan's super senses.
"Some guy named Mack is their leader. Guess he's got some illusion powers or something." Logan says it all like its nothing. To him it is nothing. Just another mission. To you though, it's the beginning of the end.
"Don't know who in their right mind would do shit like that. Just a bunch of low life idiots." He spits. You wince at his harsh tone. He notices your silence and glances over at you. You're practically frozen in place. An unreadable look in your eyes.
"You alright?" Logan moves to touch your arm but you jerk it away.
"Yeah sorry, just had another nightmare last night." You lie. Logan looks at you strangely before sitting on the bed. His hand intertwining with your gloved one.
"Though I told you to wake me up." You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "And I told you the same thing." You counter. He smirks, you have him there. Part of why you go so well together.
"I'll wake you next time, I promise." There's a loud knock at the door and Logan grumbles.
"Promised some dumb kids I'd take them to the mall. Storm promised me a six pack of beer." After saying goodbye you let your smile fall.
This couldn't be happening. You thought you were finally safe, this was years ago. How could they still be around. Before Charles had found you, you were involved with this group. You weren't proud if it but you were hungry and afraid and they found you. Mutants just like you. They weren't afraid of you. In fact they were in awe of you, something you had never felt before.
You fell into their group, participating in the horrible things they'd do. You never did anything yourself. You were clean up crew. Wiping memories of anyone who saw something they weren't supposed to. Still, you enabled it all. When you finally left, it wasn't easy. You had tried to erase their memories but for some reason they could block you. You got away but they swore one day they'd come back for you. You were one of them forever now. No one would understand, no one would forgive you. You were a monster just like them.
Your mind runs a mile a minute. Thinking of everyone in the mansion. The team. Storm, Jean, Scott, Rouge...everyone.
Logan, oh god Logan.
Would he understand? He would have to. He's just like you. He did things in his past. He was violent, angry, a survivor. He never claimed to be a hero. But that doubt swirls in your mind. Fear overtakes any rational thought. You know what you have to do.
This was your fight, not theirs. You could stop them, you needed to finish what you started. Grabbing your wrinkled old backpack you stuff clothes, money, and any essentials inside of it. You had to move quick before any of the mind readers got a hint of what you were thinking.
Especially Charles. You barely had time to think about this but the fear was creeping into your mind. Poisoning it. It's better this way. It's safer this way. They've done so much for you that you owe it to them to help. You're protecting them. All of them. Logan included.
You held on tightly to the necklace he had given you. Tucking it in your shirt as you leave the room. You smiled as you walked through the halls. Saying hello to those who passed by. By the time you were at the front doors you felt a pull to keep you here.
Deep down you didn't want to leave. Of course you didn't. But you overcome the pull and walk through the doors. Refusing to look back as the mansion grows smaller in the distance. You walked for hours. Your feet aching as you finally reached some rinky dink motel. The room is depressing but for now it's home. Curling up on the bed you bury your face in the pillow.
Your heart longing for Logan. You're scared, so scared. A part of you wants to go back and find him. Tell him everything and ask for help. But then you remember what he said. How would he react knowing that you were one of them? Would he forgive you or would he turn his back on you just like Mack always said?
You barely get a moment to think before there's a loud knock at the door. Hand slamming impatiently against it. You quietly get up and look through the peephole. You cover your mouth to hide your shocked gasp. Logan. How the hell did he find you?
"I know you're in there." Oh he's angry. You open the door and Logan steps through.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice booms through the room.
"I come home to a ransacked room, I thought you were in danger. Only to be told that you ran away." He growls. He's clenching his fists tightly. How could you do this to him?
"How did you find me?" You demand as you slowly sink back towards your bag.
"Why did you leave? What's going on!" Logan is confused, lashing out on you because he just doesn't understand. Things were going great. You loved him and he loved you so why would you just run away. Away from the mansion, away from him. Did you not trust him anymore? Why?
"You wouldn't understand." You try to move past him but he grabs your shoulders and pressing you against the wall.
His claws coming out to pin you to it. The sharp adamantium knicks the chain around your neck, breaking it in two. The necklace falls to the ground but neither of you notice.
"Try me." The anger is slowly fading as he silently begs you to talk. To let him in.
"I'm sorry Logan, but I can't."
"Why not? What are you running from? I can help. Let me help." He begs. Please don't leave him. Please. He can do something. He can heal like crazy, he can track, he's fast, he's got fucking metal claws. He can help.
"You can't help me with this Logan. This is for your own good." You try to stay strong but looking into those gorgeous eyes of his was about to make you break.
"This is my fight and mine alone." He scoffs and lets go of you and starts to pace.
"Bullshit. This is our fight now. That's the deal. I lo-" He sighs and pulls you close. "Its you and me. Together." You gently trace his jaw with your gloved hands.
Tears glossing over your eyes as it takes everything in power to stay strong. To not fall into his arms. He's protected himself his whole life and you can't be the one to put him in more danger. He's a hero, he's your hero but tonight he's the love of your life and you need to protect him. Even if it feels like ripping out your own heart.
"Logan..." You say softly. He looks at you with those pretty eyes and you cup his face.
Slowly your lips brush against his. It's just a hint at first. Then it's everything at once. He smashes his lips to yours. Kissing you with a passion and need that you've dreamed off. This is your first kiss after all. It's everything you ever wanted. To feel his lips on yours. Skin to skin. You'll treasure this moment forever.
He's so wrapped up in the kiss that he doesn't notice you take your hand away. Taking off your gloves and move your hands to the side of his head. Hovering over his temples. He pulls away, breathing heavily as he leans in and kisses you again.
"I love you Logan, I love you so much." You say with tears falling down your cheeks. He realizes too late, a flash of fear as you press your hands to his face.
"No!" He roars but its too late.
Like he's in a trance he stands there. You cry as you erase every memory he has of you. He won't remember you, he won't know why he's here or how he got here. You know that you won't have long before someone else finds you and you'll erase their memory too. It's for the best. It's for his own good. His eyes flutter close as he falls to the floor. You catch his head, lowering him gently to the ground. A pillow placed under it. You can't stay, he'll wake any moment. But you have a few seconds. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.
"I love you Logan Howlett." You whisper gently.
You take one last look at him before grabbing your bag and running out the door. Each step apart from him is like a knife in your chest. You tell yourself this what needed to happen. You'd rather lose Logan like this than watching him suffer because of you. This way he can be happy, he can move on.
You did this for him. All of it for him.
-
Logan wakes to a pounding in his head. Confusion washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. Where the fuck is he? He doesn't remember how he got here, why he came here. He stands up and looks around the room.
"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself.
Was this a prank or something? He cracks his neck and looks around. The room is mostly empty but a small glimmer catches his eyes. He walks over and sees six holes in the wall that match his claws.
Leaning down he picks up a necklace. A heart with two stones. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his head. He stands up and slips the necklace in his pocket, something telling him to keep it close. He feels a pain in his chest. Not physical pain but something else. Maybe he finally got drunk. Drank enough to finally fuck him up.
All he knows is that he needs to get back to the mansion. As he leaves stops for a second. He shakes his head and continues on, hopping back on his motorcycle. For a second there he swears he caught a whiff of vanilla.
Must be his imagination.
571 notes
·
View notes
Text
donât let me go
pairing: tyler owenâs x f! reader
language: B/N - brothers name
L/N- last name
summary: Tyler has always protected Y/N, his best friend's little sister, from childhood scrapes to unwanted advances, but during a house party, their long-held feelings finally surface as they share a tender moment.
p.s: iâm thinking about making this into a series lmk your thoughtsss
The L/Nâs house was like a second home for tyler . y/nâs brother, B/N, and Tyler had been inseparable since they were little, and Tyler was always around, whether it was for dinners, holidays, or random game nights. Tyler was practically a brother to her or at least, thatâs what she convinced herself. The way her heart fluttered every time he threw a teasing grin her way told a different story, but it was the kind of secret she buried deep. B/N would never let it happen. He was too protective, always watching out for her like a hawk.
Tyler had been a fixture in Y/Nâs life for as long as she could remember. He was B/Nâs best friend, the boy who practically lived at their house. When they were kids, B/N always tried to keep her out of their games, insisting she was âtoo youngâ or âjust a girl.â But Tyler never saw it that way.
âI want to play too!â Y/N would say, running out into the backyard where the boys would be setting up for a game of baseball or catch.
B/N would roll his eyes. âNo, Y/N. This is for us. You wouldnât even know what to do.â
But Tyler? Heâd always smile at her, his brown eyes full of mischief, and toss her the ball. âDonât listen to him. Come on, weâll make our own team.â
Y/N beamed as she caught the ball, and Jake would groan in defeat, knowing Tyler wasnât going to budge. No matter how many times B/N tried to push her out of their games or call her a nuisance, Tyler would let her join in, telling her to ignore her brotherâs grumbling.
Sheâd follow Tyler and B/N everywhere, whether they were riding bikes down the street or building forts in the woods behind the house. Every time she got a scrape or bruise from keeping up with their reckless adventures, Tyler was always the one who took care of her.
One summer, they had all been climbing the big oak tree at the edge of the property. Y/N had insisted on going as high as the boys, even though B/N warned her not to. But halfway up, she slipped, scraping her knee against the rough bark as she slid down a few feet.
âOw!â she cried, clutching her knee.
B/N glanced at her briefly before turning back to the tree. âI told you not to climb that high. Youâre fine.â
But Tyler was already climbing down after her. âLet me see,â he said, crouching beside her once he was back on the ground.
âIâm okay,â she said, trying to be brave, though tears welled up in her eyes.
Tyler wasnât having it. He pulled out a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped away the dirt and blood. âYou donât have to pretend it doesnât hurt,â he said softly, his touch careful as he cleaned her scrape. âBut youâll be alright. Itâs not too bad.â
Y/N sniffled, watching as Tyler tied the bandana around her knee like a makeshift bandage. âThere. Good as new,â he said with a smile, ruffling her hair.
From then on, every time she got hurt, Tyler was the one she went to. Jake would shrug it off, saying it was part of playing rough, but Tyler never hesitated to clean her cuts or sit with her until she felt better. It became their thing, even when they got older. Tyler was the one who made sure she was okay, whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised heart.
And as the years passed, things changed. Y/N grew up, no longer the little girl tagging along with her brother and his best friend. But Tyler? He never stopped looking out for her. Even when B/N kept trying to treat her like his annoying little sister, Tyler always made her feel like she belonged.
Tonight, like most nights, the house was buzzing. Their parents were out of town, so naturally, B/N had thrown a party. The living room was full of their friends, music thumping, drinks in hand. Y/N had managed to escape the chaos, slipping into the kitchen to refill her drink, when she felt the telltale signs of trouble approaching. Some guy she barely knew his name had been eyeing her all night, and now he was cornering her.
âCome on, Y/N, one dance wonât hurt,â he slurred, leaning in too close for comfort.
âIâm good, really,â she said, trying to keep her tone light but firm. She edged away, but he followed.
Before she could make another move, Tyler appeared beside her like heâd been summoned. âShe said no, man. Back off.â
The guy sneered. âWhat are you, her babysitter?â
âSomething like that,â Tyler replied, his voice low, muscles tensing.
Things escalated quickly. The guy grabbed for Y/Nâs arm, and in the next instant, Tylerâs fist connected with his jaw. The crack echoed over the music, and chaos erupted. B/N, drunk and stumbling, managed to pull Tyler off the guy before things got worse, yelling at everyone to get out.
Soon, the house was empty except for Jake, whoâd crashed upstairs, and Y/N, now hovering over Tyler as he sat on the kitchen counter, nursing a split lip and bruised knuckles.
âYou didnât have to punch him,â Y/N murmured, dabbing a wet cloth on his lip.
Tyler winced but didnât pull away. âHe wasnât taking no for an answer. I wasnât about to let that slide.â
Y/Nâs gaze softened as she continued cleaning his wounds. Tyler was always overprotective, always stepping in when she needed him, but tonight felt different. There was something in the way he looked at her now, his eyes tracing her features as she worked.
When she finished, she threw the cloth in the sink, only to turn back and find Tyler watching her. His hand reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. âYou looked beautiful tonight,â he said softly, his voice a little rough, maybe from the fight, maybe from something else.
Her heart skipped. She was used to their banter, the back-and-forth teasing that everyone assumed was sibling-like, but this? This was something new.
âOh yeah?â she replied, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. âYou sure youâre not concussed?â
Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. âNo concussion. Just saying what Iâve always thought.â
Her breath caught, but she kept up the act, leaning in slightly as she raised a brow. âIf I didnât know better, Iâd say you were flirting with me, Tyler Owens.â
His eyes darkened, a glint of mischief flashing in them. âAnd if I was?â
Y/Nâs pulse raced. She leaned back, crossing her arms with mock seriousness. âWell, Iâd say youâve got terrible timing. My brotherâs upstairs, and heâd kill us both if he knew what you were thinking right now.â
Tyler shrugged, a slow grin spreading across his face. âB/Nâs drunk and passed out. I think weâre safe⊠for now.â
They stood there, the space between them thick with unspoken words. For once, neither of them bantered to fill the silence. Instead, Tylerâs fingers brushed her cheek again, lingering just long enough to make her cheeks flush.
âMaybe one day,â he murmured, his voice low, âwe wonât have to worry about your brother.â
âMaybe,â Y/N whispered back, her heart still racing.
Now, sitting in the kitchen after the fight at the party, Y/N couldnât help but think back to all those times Tyler had been the one to take care of her. Cleaning his wounds was almost like a role reversal, but in a way, it felt familiar like theyâd come full circle.
As she dabbed at his knuckles with a wet cloth, she smiled to herself, remembering how patient he had always been, how he never treated her like she didnât belong.
Tyler noticed her smile and raised a brow. âWhatâs that look for?â
She glanced up, her eyes soft. âJust thinking how youâve always been the one to patch me up, and now itâs my turn.â
Tyler smirked, his gaze locking onto hers. âI guess it is, huh? Seems like weâve been taking care of each other forever.â
Y/Nâs chest warmed at his words, the familiar banter between them giving way to something more serious. âYouâve always been good to me, Tyler,â she said softly, her hands still gently cleaning his knuckles. âEven when B/N wasnât.â
âB/Nâs just⊠B/Nâ Tyler replied with a chuckle. âHeâs always been protective of you, but he doesnât get to decide who you hang out with or what you do. Youâve always held your own.â
Y/N leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she gave him a playful look. âAnd yet, here you are, still playing the big protector.â
âOld habits die hard,â Tyler said with a grin, but his voice was softer this time, his hand reaching up to brush that same loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitched again, her heart skipping at the tenderness in his touch. âYou didnât need to punch that guy, you know.â
Tylerâs expression hardened slightly. âNo, I did. He wasnât taking no for an answer, and no way was I going to let him treat you like that.â
Y/N looked down, feeling the weight of his words. âThanks for always having my back.â
His hand lingered on her cheek for a moment before he pulled it away, but not before he whispered, âIâll always have your back, Y/N. Always.â
The moment hung in the air between them, and for the first time in years, Y/N realized just how much she meant to him, how much he had always cared, even if it had always been under the guise of âjust looking out for B/Nâs little sister.â
But tonight? Tonight, that pretense was falling away, and maybe, just maybe, they were both ready for something more.
NEXT CHAPTER
#tyler owen x f! reader#tyler owenâs x you#tyler owen x fem reader#tyler owens x y/n#tyler owenâs#tyler owen x reader#tyler owens x reader#tyler owen#tyler owens#glen powell x reader#glen powell#glen powell fanfic#glen powell fluff#twisterfanfiction#twisters
478 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd
Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, itâs so obvious they love each other theyâre stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.
Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.
Words: 4.8K
This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!
When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you.Â
âGod, I wish that were me.â
It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it.Â
But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new.Â
It also brought up many questions.Â
Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you.Â
Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actressâ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face.Â
All things he shouldnât be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldnât be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp.Â
Granted, you and Bob havenât had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four.Â
Promises or not, best friends shouldnât be one anotherâs first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each otherâs New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner.Â
The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated.Â
âYouâre a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.â
âIf Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.âÂ
âIâm sure next year youâll have someone.â
âIf I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.â
âYouâre an amazing friend, you know that?â
Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them.Â
At least that's what the other thought.Â
It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up.Â
âBeen awhile?âÂ
And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought.Â
âTry never.âÂ
It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt.Â
âWait, never?â The shrug you give isnât satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest.Â
âReal talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?âÂ
You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, youâd know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied.Â
You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation.Â
âNo Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?â Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you.Â
Darn those long limbs.Â
âBut you've been with peopleâŠ..so what did they do?â When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain.Â
âThey would touch me,â you motioned to the lower half of your body, âAnd like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.âÂ
Bob raised an eyebrow, âYou guess?âÂ
College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people.Â
And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship.Â
Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else?Â
âSo instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?âÂ
Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different.Â
You rubbed your thighs together.Â
âAre you shaming the people I've been with or me?âÂ
Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee.Â
Have his hands always been so big and veiny?Â
Fuck, did you have a thing for hands?Â
âI'm not shaming you. Iâm shaming the people you've been with because well,â he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, âWell, I enjoy givingâŠ.I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?âÂ
His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing.Â
Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point?Â
âYouâŠlike doing it?âÂ
The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, âYeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.âÂ
It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work.Â
He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual.Â
âWell,â you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, âI can't wait âtil I meet someone who feels the same way.âÂ
âYou don't have to wait.âÂ
The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking.Â
But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look heâs given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear.Â
You heard me.Â
âWhat-are youâŠâ You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational.Â
Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left.Â
âWouldn't that be like crossing a line?â Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body.Â
âWouldn't be much different from what weâve already done.âÂ
All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, youâd wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo.Â
Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up.Â
The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching.Â
For what, you couldn't tell.Â
After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.Â
âDo you want it to be different?âÂ
What good was telling him if he didnât feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?
âDo you want it to be different Robby?â You countered back.Â
He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, âI asked you first.â
He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster. Â
âI asked you second, Robby.â
Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe.Â
âIâm going to really miss your resounding maturity,â Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained.Â
It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didnât stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didnât find value in speaking when it wasnât necessary. He didnât hold back with you, didnât feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and youâd be lying if you said it didnât make you feel special.Â
He was never that way with the other girls he dated.Â
âYou love me,â you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter.Â
But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching.Â
Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut.Â
âYeah, I do.â There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said.Â
Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bobâs hands were.Â
âYou gottaâŠ.if you want to stop, tell me,â His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasnât marching band practice and yâall werenât on the high school field. You were in your parentsâ basement, with Bobâs lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his.Â
It wasnât your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didnât hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild.Â
When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didnât mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt.Â
âI thought you,â your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, âThought you were gonna eat me out.âÂ
Bobâs moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to.Â
It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable.Â
âDid none of the guys you were with do foreplay?â He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations.Â
âI-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,â you grunted against his lips.Â
âGod, you have terrible taste in men.â
You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were.Â
How could he do that so quickly?Â
He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, youâd love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight.Â
When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth.Â
Thank god your parents were on vacation.Â
His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off.Â
Bob couldnât help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch.Â
âWha-why did you stop?â You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you.Â
âAre you-I just need to know, do you still want this?â God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, youâd find it endearingly sweet.Â
But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier.Â
âRobby, I swear to god, if you donât eat me out, Iâm going upstairs and using my vibrator,â Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions. Â
He laughed. Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet.Â
Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it.Â
âWonât need those. Iâm nearsighted after all.â
âYou little-â The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit.Â
His mouth was warm. The pressure wasnât too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out.Â
Good.Â
You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible.Â
God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled.Â
And he had just gotten started.Â
He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time.Â
But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away.Â
The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.
âSo fucking sweet,â He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, âSweetest thing Iâve ever tasted.âÂ
âRobby.âÂ
To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century.Â
Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving.Â
A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch.Â
Was he this thick elsewhere?
You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldnât even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up.Â
Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible.Â
You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did.Â
But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it.Â
He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued. Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard.Â
Why did either of you wait this long?Â
You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth.Â
But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy.Â
When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out.Â
He really did enjoy it.
âCome. Wanna taste ya,â His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you.Â
Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.
Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release.Â
You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under.Â
His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time.Â
The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bobâs mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt.Â
âYou're so pretty when you come,â Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours.Â
Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.Â
âM-my turn,â you whined, hips jerking up towards his.Â
Bob shook his head, âWanna be inside ya.âÂ
How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid?Â
Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick-Â
Jesus Christ, he was huge.Â
âFuck, she was right.âÂ
Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, âExcuse me?âÂ
âBetsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,â you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once.Â
Bobâs brows knitted together in confusion, âBetsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?âÂ
âSaid she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.â Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform.Â
âIâŠ.we can unpack this later-âÂ
You snorted, âWhy? Too busy packing here?âÂ
Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick.Â
Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful.Â
âWoah, hey. Easy baby, easy,â his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock.Â
Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek.Â
âDon't want to hurt ya darlinâ.âÂ
Darlin. You were his darlin.Â
He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears.Â
Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, thatâs what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy.Â
Even he didn't know when he would return home.Â
It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship.Â
âHey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.â Bobâs voice was soft, full of concern.Â
His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes.Â
âI don't want you to go.âÂ
âI know,â his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them.Â
âI know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,â He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you.Â
âBut for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.âÂ
Unlike in the past, where Bobâs smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his.Â
âI'm gonna start moving now, okay?â Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards.Â
âYou're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.âÂ
Your fingers tangled into Bobâs hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory.Â
Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him.Â
He was going to need it for the next few months.Â
Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere.Â
âWhen-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.â How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension.Â
The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask.Â
âGonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers âcause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.â You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things.Â
Your walls clench around Bobâs thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to.Â
âIf you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,â Bob whined into the crook of your neck.
âThatâs-shit- the point,â you grunted, your hips picking up speed.Â
Bob shook his head, âNeed you to come first.âÂ
Confusion caused you to still your hips, âBob, I already-âÂ
âDon't finish that sentence, don't you dare,â Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock.Â
Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was.Â
In hindsight, it was painfully obvious.Â
His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars.Â
You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls.Â
It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him.Â
âCâmon sweet girl,â heâs panting, voice desperate and raspy, âWanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come sâbad, please, please baby.âÂ
Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bobâs words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer.Â
âYou're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.â Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd.Â
Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group.Â
But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus.Â
His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didnât stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bobâs enjoying making you feel euphoria.Â
That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it.Â
But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock.Â
âHoly shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?âÂ
Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release.Â
Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his.Â
The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bobâs undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body.Â
His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go.Â
Youâd be a damn fool to.Â
The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob.Â
After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, âDid you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?âÂ
Bobâs cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, âIâŠ.yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.âÂ
You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, âRobby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?âÂ
He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, âShit timing?âÂ
âYou're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.â Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter.Â
âI know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?âÂ
The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple.Â
The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts.Â
âUh can IâŠ.eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?âÂ
Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.
---------------------------------------------------------
@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @attapullman @ryebecca @sio-ina-bottle @rhettabbotts @callsignspark @roosterforme @lewmagoo @hangmanapologist @justabovewater20 @theharddeck @cumholland @bobfloydsbabe @sometimesanalice @heartfairy @auroralightsthesky
#my writing#Bob Floyd#Robert Floyd#Robert Bob Floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#Bob fucks#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd fic#Bob Floyd smut#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd x female reader#top gun smut#top gun fanfiction
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
forlorn || mattheo riddle
Summary: based on this request.
Beware: angst, fluff, slightly aged-up characters, Hufflepuff reader, sweet reader, she/her pronouns used, mostly in second person, jealousy, mistreatment, a little bit of blood, slightly commanding(?) and intimidating Mattheo.
Words: 7.8k (not beta read)
Note: I am sorry luv, I don't think I did justice to the request. I also apologize for taking so long. I still hope you like it, even if it's just a bit. @cat-loves-music
Mattheo Riddle, son of Voldemort, or Tom Riddle if you willâfor a more humane approach. But then, there's no humanity in the way he's treated. Always an outsider, always a monster.
There is wealth to his name; after all, he is the only living heir of Salazar Slytherin. However, his blood is corrupt, shunned by the very people who kissed the steps his baby feet took. Looked down on by the blood supremacists and not accepted by the other side, the "good side."
Even he was tired of the same sob story. He doesn't even need to introduce himself; they already have a preconceived image of him in their minds. He could try to fix his image in an ideal world, but even then, what would he say?
'Hello, everyone, I'm Mattheo Riddle, son of the man who once threatened your lives. Please welcome me with warm hands.'
Too cliché? Yes, but it's true and the only truth he knew.
Riddle didn't even know why the name Riddle was cursed and didn't know what his father did that made everyone's hate transcend generations. What made their hatred justified and his hate a crime? He didn't know until it was too late.
Mattheo was raised by the only living relative of his, his mother's auntâthe one who died recently. The one who kept all this hidden away from him hid all the Hogwarts' letters, raised him like her own, and protected him until her last breath. She loved him but all within the vicinity of the manor. He didn't know the world that existed beyond those walls.
He knew about the world outside only through the books she'd let him read. He thought it would feel liberating to step off the lavish floors onto the rich earth. It was everything but that.
"But Nona, why can't I go outside?"Â he remembers asking that silly question when he was about nine. What he wouldn't do to get that naivety back.
"Because, my dear, there are people out there who wouldn't like you. There are bad people outside ready to punish you,"Â he also remembers crying when she told him that. He didn't understand why people would hate him. He just wanted to try the chocolate frogs he read about.
He just wanted to talk to all the different animals out there, the same way he could talk to the garden snakes.
"But I didn't do anything wrong, Nona. Tell them that I'm a good boy. I can even give them some of my toys. Will they like me then?" If only it were that easy. His Nona cried for the first time in front of him then, looking at all the toys he had set onto her lap, looking at her with teary eyes, pleading, "I didn't do anything wrong, Nona, I promise."
Mattheo didn't understand her tears back then, but now as he stands all alone, those same tears fall out his eyes. It's useless. "They'll know that someday, moon pie. You aren't wrong. They'll know." They'll know? What a fucking joke.
Mattheo tries to enjoy the view in front of him, you know. But how can he? When his batchmates are out there partying and enjoying life, he's been a lone wolf all his life. Yet in moments like this, he seems to forget his old ways of existing.
There's not much he can do anyway; he's not needed anywhere. In fact, they all want him gone. Finding beauty in small things is hard when misery clings to him. There's self-loathing in the way he thinks about the night and himself. There's nothing positive he can say.
You'd think that he must've gotten used to it all by now. No, he hasn't; it only got worse. At least little Mattheo held hope that people would understand someday or the other. Every bit of hope was destroyed by the very people who would've feared him had his father been alive. In moments like this, he wished he could see the man, live as the son they paint him as.
He'd have someone to lean onto then, someone to call his own. At least his father would've loved him. But this last bit of consolidation too was stolen away from him when he got to know that he was a backup plan for his father. Mattheo Riddle was not supposed to exist. His father wanted to live on forever; he was the last option the so-called Dark Lord had, to produce an heir and have them further his cause, and control his life as Tom lived on his last lifeline.
But all of it died with him. Mattheo promised himself that he would never be the man they all expected him to be, the man they wanted to point fingers at. So, he stayed in line. But then he thinks, sometimes, maybe, what ifâyou know?
He simply stares up at the brightly lit sky, it's a shame that he's the only one out there to appreciate the scenic beauty because he's physically and mentally incapable of appreciating anything, you can't blame him now, can you?
Cold breeze in mid-August, how fucking ridiculous just like this life of his, so unlike his peers, who were out there partying and having the time of their lives, the music vibrating through the walls was like salt on wounds. He'd like to drink a few and chat with his friends but then again, he hasn't got any. And it's the bitter truth that he's not welcome there, he'd be greeted with nasty looks if he tried to enter any such party, they'd all glance his way like the ominous thing he is. It's times like this when he really contemplates it.
Mattheo looks down from the height he's on, no one would care anyway, the fall will kill him, might just give it an actual try unlike those previous attempts- he's been a coward all his life, never ready to face the extremes of life but he has nothing to protect at the moment, he's come far too long, life was never going to be worth it.
He climbs over the railing onto the brick ledge, sitting down for a moment, to take it all in for the last time ever. Mattheo remembers all the whispers that followed him, the suspicious looks passed along the way, those words of disdain- at the same time the thoughts of a happy life enter his mind, it all feels unattainable, in fact, he's so far gone he can't even picture joy, all he sees is bright colours when he thinks of a happy life.
Mattheo had desperately sought relief all his life, but the pain only worsened with time, it's only reasonable to want to end this feeling of hopelessness. The weight of his family's legacy feels heavy on his shoulders. He slouches over and looks down once again, sighing as his eyes shift to the ring on his finger, the other Gaunt ring, he slowly removes it- a pathetic heir he is, he doesn't deserve it, couldn't live up to the name, disappointing both sides of the world.
Maybe they should have destroyed this along with his father's ring but apparently, his dear sweet Nona thought he could change their fate, change the course of history, change the Gaunt legacy for the better, fuck- he couldn't even try and change people's perception about him. Even in this sense, he's nothing like his predecessors, incapable of leaving a mark, of changing the world, be it for the better or the worse. He's just fucking worthless- he fiddles with the ring as he shifts a bit closer to the edge, ready to let go of it.
"Nice ring," he turns around startled, "Mattheo, isn't it?" not Riddle? He hadn't heard his own name in a long time, no one had directly addressed him in years let alone called him by his first name. It all feels foreign, he simply nods not knowing what to say. "Do you mind if I join you?" you don't wait for a response though and carefully bend and climb through the gaps between the two rails, settling down beside him. "Hi, I'm-" he doesn't hear it, he's too focused on your face, you were dolled up, for the party he thinks, but then why are you here of all places? Was this some kind of prank? He steals a glance back at the entrance and the seemingly empty hallway, to see if anyone is waiting for a reaction.
"You know you shouldn't sit so close to the edge, you might fall down," you grab his forearm urging him to move back, your hand feels warm on his skin, it feels unnatural, his hands are always cold. Even though it's on him for a couple of seconds he can't help the multiple emotions going on about in his mind and before he can sort them out, his mouth decides to act on its own, "Why aren't you at the party?" "Oh-" you look disappointed, and he apologises right away, not wanting to upset the only person who had the decency to talk to him, "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," he's quick to defend himself, it's a natural response after all but you only seemed amused, "No, it quite alright, I was just surprised by your voice-" "Is it that bad?" "Gosh no! It's just not what I expected, quite rough, it's nice," you are quick to shut him up, "And about your question, I am annoyed at my friends forcing me to try more drinks and all, I just came up here to relax."
"I can leave if you'd like," you add on as an afterthought, but you really didn't want to go, it was the only place with some peace, unlike the loud corridors and dorms, where you were mad at your friends and were in no mood for a party. "No, it's quite alright, I was just surprised," he tries to lighten the mood, repeating your words jokingly, it works, you laugh and properly look at him instead of the waters ahead.
"Haha so funny," you say in a monotonous voice, trying to act like you didn't just laugh but you can't contain your smile, and he finds it quite beautiful. You look down at the ring between the two of you, "it's a beautiful ring I must say," You compliment it again since he hadn't acknowledged it before. Mattheo thanked you quietly trying to think of a response that might not make you run away from him.
It's been only a few minutes and you've said more nice things to him than he has ever heard in his whole life, it's quite ridiculous when he thinks about it, seemingly you find it quite easy to compliment him. He stays quiet not knowing how to take a compliment, but you don't let the silence continue, you look around trying to find something to talk about and soon enough you start talking and he's glad, "You know about those plants right there?" you point to the shrubs at some distance from the castle walls. Mattheo shakes his head unable to recall if he had seen them before. "It's alright but now that you know, you have something to look forward to this upcoming month!" you smile yet again, cheerful that you have something to share.
"What's special about them?" "It's not the plant itself but the fireflies that live there!" Mattheo tries hard to keep up with your energy and pace, "Why aren't they out now? They aren't migratory, are they?" "That's what makes it special unlike fireflies that are present throughout the summer, these ones light up only for the last week of August," "I'll look forward to it," "You should! I missed it last year and then everyone thought I was lying when I mentioned it." Mattheo frowns, "No one knows about them? Not even the professors?" "The professors would know but it wasn't that serious that I'd take it up to them," Mattheo finds it difficult to relate, he always would let everyone know that he was in the right if the facts favour him because no way in hell would he let anyone see him in the wrong light, he couldn't bear to be in the wrong.
And it slips out his mouth, "I would've argued till they knew I was right," "I don't like arguing though, reminds me of my parents, they parted ways because they argued a lot, so I try to avoid it myself," his lips purse trying to think of an appropriate response, "Anyway, you are in Slytherin right?" it wasn't a question, you just knew, "I'm in Hufflepuff, nice to meet you!" you turn towards him and extend your hand with a smile, he can't help but mirror your smile, "Nice to meet you indeed." Your hand feels soft in his, he was finding it hard to let go but you pull your hand back almost instantly- remembering something, "OH right I forgot, do you like chocolates?" Mattheo was quite taken aback by your energetic self, it was infectious, "Of course you do, it's a silly question, I mean who doesn't like chocolate-" you stop midway and fix him with a scrutinising look, "Unless you are some heartless monster-" "Nah I like chocolate alright," "Good good."
You fish through your jacket's pocket and pull out two chocolate bars, "It's muggle chocolate," you place one in his hand, "Muggle? I've never had muggle candy," Mattheo inspects the small sweet in his hand, "You are missing out then!" you chuckle as you take the wrapper off yours, "I'll eat it tomorrow, thank you," He pockets it and looks ahead with a small smile, tonight's beautiful now that he looks at it.
"You are a muggle born then?" Mattheo can't help but want to know more, because how dare his fucking father go after your lot, "Yep, I was surprised you know? To receive the letter, I thought it was some prank but of course, after a few days I realised how real it was, couldn't have been happier, to be away from home." It's funny because all Mattheo wants to do is go back to the gloomy old mansion and here you were saying the opposite, the stark difference between the two of you was obvious to him.
You ramble on and he listens, it's nothing but enjoyable to listen to mundane stories being narrated with such interest, he finds himself smiling a bit too much, to the point where his face hurts but he doesn't care because you are quite the lovely company to be around.
Muggle-born, the same year as him, Hufflepuff, living with your mom- it's not the best back home he gathers that much. You were angry at your friends and were going to hold a grudge if they didn't apologise. He learned a lot about you in that one hour and learned a few things about him as well, he didn't know he had jokes like that OR you were just too kind to laugh at his bad quips, whatever it was he was grateful because you didn't make him feel bad or like a burden. Mattheo was glad that you were the talkative one and that you didn't expect him to share anything if he wasn't comfortable, also the fact that he didn't want to send you running away by talking more about himself.
He admires the fond smile you wear when you talk, the stars reflect a bit too brightly in your eyes, and he inhales breathing in your scent, it's surreal, the moment. Mattheo didn't quite think properly until you left, wishing him a good night, "it was nice spending time with you, Mattheo!" He wonders if you knew how much it meant to him.
...
He finds out your name the next day and sees you everywhere, it's annoying because he was tired since he couldn't sleep thinking all night about you and now he has to see your face again. Now that he knows you, he can't seem to avoid you, earlier it was easy to be blind but now, everything else seems like a blind spot but you. Or maybe it's that his head is not hanging low, avoiding looking up at people.
Mattheo got over the irritation rather quickly, discreetly looking at you, eyes following every movement of yours. But you don't look at him once, he was just like any other guy to you, the realisation both hurts and feels nice, knowing that you don't demonise him but also the fact that he's no one special either. And maybe, he can live with that.
He notices the large number of people you keep around, you are never alone, always surrounded by a group and you are always the one talking, you are clearly popular. How had he not noticed you before? But then again he knew no one in the school apart from the professors, he never tried to get to know anyone because of course his fate wouldn't allow that.
Mattheo seeks out the solace of the library to keep you out of his mind for a while but the plan doesn't seem to work when he finds the chocolate you gave him in his bag. He simply sighs, knowing that there is no escape, unwarps the sweet and pops it into his mouth, shutting his eyes, and recalls your sweet smile. Warmth takes over his body, it feels nice like this, he has to talk to you once again because that can't be the only interaction he has with you, not when it's all he can think about. He breathes out slowly, staring down at the wrapper and mindlessly reading the information on the back, his jaw tightens as he realizes his stupid pathetic feelings. Mattheo puts the wrapper in his quill case and tries to study with a head full of you.
...
Okay, now it was really starting to bother him, he practically couldn't keep his eyes off you, it's like a spell had charmed him in. He wasn't even trying to be discreet at this point, he downright stared at you from a distance, it was creepy, he was aware of that but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Mattheo doesn't like this new feeling you've instilled in him, it's sweet and it's fucking uncomfortable. He finds it extremely difficult to get rid of you from his thoughts, so he gives up on trying and lets his mind go on autopilot.
The way you talked to him without any judgement in your eyes that day, the images of you repeated over and over again in his mind. Even when he sees you with someone else he can't help but think you are in front of him telling him a story, with those animated expressions of yours, but then seconds later he comes to his senses and sees the smile that's not directed at him, the one you gave to everyone, him too. He thinks it was your pity, that made you talk to him. He didn't feel like he was burdening you then but now when he thinks of approaching you, he knows he'd be burdening you. Your life looks no different, every day is full of joy, and you aren't smiling any less.
Why would you talk to him of all people? Perhaps, you only talked to him that day because you needed a change of scenery and not because you wanted to, he's wrong in thinking that but he's also deluded. It's the only way he keeps himself at peace, to not see meaning in your words, to not long for your company.
But he's a Riddle after all, some things just run in your blood, he has his eyes set on you and he finds it difficult to look away. New dream of his, and he'd like to have it, no matter how unattainable it feels. Yet he hasn't got a clue, it's all too new, and he doesn't know what to do, he'd like to have a plan but what would the plan even say? Go and talk to her? Yeah, like he's about to embarrass himself in front of her.
...
Your eyes stretch at the sight of him sitting in the library, alone but not in some deserted corner, he had claimed the whole couch in the centre of the room, sitting right in the middle, reading a book leaning back, a frown on his face. He looked intimidating, and to be honest, you were scared of him, the little beer in you that night had given you the courage to approach him, maybe your fate was too kind to let you find him that night but now your nerves were on fire.
It was no secret to you that he had been staring at you the past couple of weeks, but you couldn't understand the look on his face, his jaw was always clenched, eyes narrowed, and not a hint of emotion on his face. Was he mad at you? Was he the planning on-
No. You didn't like to think about it, you didn't want him to be the man they paint him as, he's just a boy, your age, maybe that's another reason why you hadn't approached him. Staying away because you were scared that they'd be right, you'd rather delve into what ifs than actually be heartbroken, your imagination brought you bliss.
But would it really be your mind if it would let you just forget it? You think and think, getting worked up over every little interaction you've had with him. How could he be evil? He talked to you so nicely the other day, even- even though you were a muggle-born, a mud blood. But when you see how he looks at you, you can't help but feel scared.
It really was an intimidating sight, your courage wore thin but you had made up your mind. You approach him cautiously, as you greet him, you start feeling jittery and flushed, "Hey Mattheo."
Mattheo jerked his head up as he heard your voice, surprised, caught off guard in fact, he didn't trust his words just yet so he simply nodded at you, acknowledging your presence, closing the book and setting it aside, all his attention on you. "I came here to study and noticed you," you look around bashfully before continuing, "I just wanted to ask you if you liked the chocolate I gave you the other day, you know the one with dark brown wrapper-" "Yeah I did," He stops you from rambling on, not that he had any problem with it but you clearly seemed nervous, he just wanted to ease your nerves, "Right so-" you quickly pull out a small pack of the chocolate from your sling bag placing it beside him, straightening up, "I'll go then, enjoy-" you are quick to turn away from him, cursing yourself in your mind, blaming yourself for making things more awkward than they already were.
Mattheo stops you in your tracks as he calls you by your name, you turn around, and he speaks in that cold voice of his, "You said you were here to study right?" you nod timidly, clutching onto the straps of your bag, he leans back and with a flick of his wrist, a table and chair are summoned in front of him, "then study," he motions to the chair opposite of him.
You were quite taken aback, you stood there for a bit before actually registering his words, and you quietly sat down, you didn't have it in you to disobey him, he was Mattheo Riddle for fucks sake, he looked and sounded like someone who doesn't take no for an answer.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you carefully sit down, looking down, not meeting his gaze, he couldn't believe it, you obliged his wishes? Mattheo leaned back fully, arms folding as he watched you, brown eyes capturing each detail, amusement crawled over his face as he watched you pull out multiple books all at once, various colourful stationery items sprawled out all over the table. You looked pretty like this, stray strands of hair framing your face, lips pursed in concentration. He knew how creepy he was being, so he opened his book again and tried to read but he simply couldn't not when you were sitting in front of him, he relished your presence and this was so unlike the others, every time he had looked at you- you had been surrounded by people, so it was a sight to behold, only for him to admire. So he did, in secret, glancing up at you, every few seconds.
It's been two hours and not once did he get bored of looking at you, a small smile lingered on his face as you closed your books and looked up at him, "How's that book?" you nod towards the book in his hand- the one he was supposed to be reading, "Good, good" he bites the inside of cheek as he lies through his teeth, "Got everything done?" he sets his book aside, fixing you with a soft stare, "Yes, I just wanted to revise a bit, I forget stuff easily if I don't revise regularly," you tilt your head a bit, his eyes were much softer now, and it made your heart flutter a bit, feeling a lot more comfortable than before, so you do what you usually do when you are comfortable- talk.
"By the way, did you study for the upcoming herbology test?" And before he could answer, you pulled out a piece of paper from your bag, "This is like the holy grail, a senior gave it to me last year, it has all the specifics, of recognising plants and how to make generalised guesses about their uses-" you speak in a hushed voice, slightly leaning over the table, eyes wide as you shared your little secret, "you can have it, I have it memorised haha" You bless him with that pretty smile of yours, pushing the paper towards him, you don't let him refuse the offer and start talking about something else, he gives you a small smile, and it makes your insides turn into mush, you bite your lip trying to contain your smile, eyes shy as you start fiddling with your hands on your lap.
You talked for hours, he was much more open this time, and the conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, it was you who mostly did the talking but he didn't seem to mind he looked more than pleased, he didn't like talking much, it seemed, so you filled in the gaps, made it look so effortless like it was easy talking to him, maybe it was easy for you but to him, it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. You two stopped only when the librarian came in and told you it was curfew time, your eyes widened as you turned to look back at him, an amused smile on your face, both of you got up, walking beside each other, not uttering a word till you were out of the librarian's stern gaze.
"I made you miss dinner-" your eyes widened further as soon as the two of you got out, stepping into the empty hallway, "it's alright, I don't mind," you playfully rolled your eyes at him, he chuckled at your antics, "yeah sure, but your stomach would, but- we can sneak into the kitchens, you know, sneak some food out," you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a sheepish grin on your face, he scoffs in disbelief, a fond smile gracing his face, "something tells me, this isn't your first time sneaking around."
"No, it's not," you chuckle a bit before continuing, "So, are you coming or not?" you purse your lips, looking up at him with doe eyes and he questions your motives right then because there's no way you didn't have a clue about what you were doing, "would be an idiot to say no," he muttered under his breath shaking his head, "I didn't catch that-", "Yes, I am."
You give him a pleased smile, you looked so happy at that moment, he was rooted in his position as you started walking ahead of him, he had to look away to catch his breath, "Merlin" he exhaled, a hand reaching over to his chest to soothe his loud thumping heart, and in that moment he knew he was a goner.
"Mattheo-?" you turned around since you didn't hear him walk with you but soon he rushed to your side the moment you looked back, you gave him another smile as he walked beside you, he looked straight ahead then, you needed to stop doing that because no fucking way- would he be able to let go of you.
You lead him to the kitchen, both of you cautious, well just you- he was having the time of his life, getting a detention would be worth it, just a small price to pay. Mattheo repeatedly stole glances here and there, the moment you entered the kitchen, you grabbed his arm and pulled his painfully slow self in, "gosh- you sure do walk slow," you glare at him, but there's no malice in your eyes, instead they are just amused, you roll your eyes when he just shrugs in response, moving over to the tables. Mattheo just looked at you with fond eyes, he was just trying to buy more time with you by walking slowly and he didn't feel one bit guilty about it, he felt a bit too proud.Â
You sigh dramatically before returning to him with a small tray in your hands, "I didn't find anything else, apart from these blueberry muffins," your eyes wander around once more trying to see if you missed something, "usually there's still stuff left, that's weird- oh well, at least we have these," you give him a small defeated smile, setting the tray on the table, shrugging as you felt that muffins weren't worth the effort of sneaking around and that you only troubled him further. Mattheo saw through you and he hated that you were feeling that way, "didn't I mention this to you? I love muffins, especially the blueberry ones." he gave you a small smile, picking up the muffin, taking a bite, "yeah, that's good, way better than the dry vegetable and chicken pies they make." He didn't look at you as he said that, but you smiled, realising what he was trying to do, you wanted to cry, why was he being so considerate? You were now beginning to go down a spiral, of all the times you thought of him in the wrong light, how dare you even think like that?Â
Mattheo caught you staring and it was hard for him to control the heat that rose to his cheeks, he cleared his throat, "What? You don't like these? Well, guess they are all for me-" he teased, taking the tray in his hand and started walking away, "Hey! No-" you rushed after him with an amused smile, "I want one too," and the tray was shoved back into your hands, "better not eat all of them, yeah?" he gave you a small cheeky wink, leaning against the table, finishing the muffin in his hand.Â
Mattheo offered to walk you back to your dorm, he didn't have to insist much, after all, you wanted to spend time with him too, you easily agreed after a couple of tries. You two walked in comfortable silence, as you neared the Hufflepuff dormitory, you were thinking about how you'd part ways, overthinking about what would be appropriate and in the mix of it, you just gave him an awkward side hug, squeezing his arm a bit before mumbling a quick "goodnight" and rushing in.Â
He couldn't believe his eyes, were you blushing? No way, he must be imagining things. Mattheo could still feel your warm touch lingering on his side, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, he wanted to scream out of excitement- he was getting cuteness aggression, had to be it, his fists clenched at his side as he stared at the door, for god knows how long, if he could- he would've squeezed you into a bone-crushing hug, but you were quick, left him speechless.Â
He walked back to the Slytherin dorm without any trouble, he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it, he was pretty sure his skin was burning with all the warmth that was flowing through his veins. Merlin, he was embarrassing! Mattheo sighed contently, a big smile on his face as he replayed the whole day, your smile-Â
...
The next few days, you guys didn't talk at all, he was back to staring and this time, when you did catch him in the act, instead of pretending you didn't see him, you gave him a knowing smile and a wave. Lingering looks, and subtle greetings, were sweet, Mattheo was now on a new high, he couldn't get enough. But for some reason, he maintained his distance, he stuck to looking at you from afar, it felt comfortable this way, not wanting to taint your reputation by talking to you in front of others, he'd talk to you if it was only you but you were never alone.Â
Mattheo starts seeing life for what it is, when he looks at the trees outside, the castle in its entirety, he feels like he is seeing it for the first time. How had he missed this? He finds himself back at the astronomy tower, he looks at the lake ahead, it was a sight to behold, and he is starting to appreciate the view, these days he didn't care about much, you were all he could think about and you were more than pleasant, it was as if the grey lens of his life was replaced with a coloured one, and it would be foolish to credit anyone else but you for it, and he was fucking grateful for it. The reason he was here was, that it was the end of August, and the fireflies you so damn wished to see would be out tonight, he came here just in the hope that he'll get to see you alone.Â
He was zoning out when some movement near the edge of the lake caught his eye, it was you- with a few of your friends, his smile faltered the moment he saw some blonde Hufflepuff dude pull you to his side, slinging a hand over your shoulder, you all walked towards the shrubs and didn't have to wait long before the fireflies lit up and started raising above the shrubs. He was about to leave, he was mad for some reason, really pissed- but then he took another look at you. You were standing a bit behind your friends, who had all their attention on the flies ahead, you seemed sad, looking down, messing with the soil beneath your shoe, hands in your jacket. Mattheo could make out the pout on your face, the deflated shoulders, you then turned to look right where he was, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
Your posture straightened immediately, the pretty smile returning to your face as you looked up at the astronomy tower balcony, having spotted him, you waved at him. Mattheo nodded, forearms on the railing as he leaned forward, a smile gracing his features, the anger leaving him. You excitedly pointed at the sky, and he nodded, you turned back around when your friend called you and he couldn't look away, he was staring at you till you left, Mattheo started feeling the warmth creep up to him when he saw you making an effort to steal back glances at him. He felt seen, fucking special-Â
...
Mattheo still hadn't talked to you, he couldn't catch you alone really, it was starting to get to him, he longed to hear your voice, hear you talk to him- and yet, he didn't have it in him to approach you in front of others, it would ruin you, you thrived in the company of others, he couldn't snatch that away from you. Maybe if he was a bit more selfish, he'd do it, snatch you away from others, have you all to himself but he wasn't about that life, it was something his father would do, he's sure of it, go after what he wants, not caring what others would think-Â
Mattheo feels like passing out when you deliberately look at him just to give him a shy smile, a flushed look on your face. He walks away because he cannot handle looking at you, the urge is too strong, to just take you into his arms, he walks out to the empty hallway, a hand over his chest- it had become a subconscious habit of his, whenever you gave him that smile, the one that felt like it was just reserved for him, yeah that one, he felt like he was in heaven, you sent his heart rate through the roof when you did that, it borderline hurt him since he couldn't do much to satiate this feeling.Â
The longing was etched into his eyes when he looked at you, one thing he realised was, that when he had his head up, no one dared to look his way, he was enjoying that power for some reason, it filled his veins with something dark, he liked seeing people look down instead of him looking down, it felt fucking nice, and it felt even better when the only person that did look at him, was you. People averted their eyes when he entered the room, choosing to ignore his presence but the fear was very much evident, so he knew they didn't see him staring at you but at this point, he really couldn't bring himself to make an active effort to look away even if someone noticed.Â
It was no lie, that Mattheo wasn't up to date with all the gossip and news, he just lived life passively but now that he was out there more, he couldn't help but hear the words that fell onto his ears, Yule Ball, huh. WAIT- ball dance? That meant having a date, who were you going with? Fuck his mind was rambling shit to him, he could not let someone else take you to a fucking dance as their date, no, he wouldn't let that happen. He had to get to you before someone else did, it was nighttime, and tomorrow's the weekend, approaching you will be the first thing he'll do after he wakes up, he has to plan shit out, you know, make it special and heartfelt, you deserved nothing less.
But his heart nearly broke when he overheard two Slytherin guys talking about you. The way one of them talked about you made his blood boil, his jaw clenched tight, nails drawing blood from his palms as they dug into his coarse skin, "I told you not to ask her out, plenty of guys tried and guess what? She rejected them all." the guy who was being talked to only scoffed angrily, "She's a fucking slut, that's what she is, leading people on-" the other boy just stopped him and Mattheo exhaled, a bit relieved because if it wasn't for him, Mattheo would've smacked the guy and pushed him to the fucking wall, "dude, come on, that's not true, all she did was smile at you when you gave her your seat, she's a nice girl," these guys were in the fifth year, he recognised that much, "sure, whatever," the guy walked away to his room, making sure to loudly slam the door behind him.Â
Mattheo then gets up and walks towards the guy left behind, the one who stood up for you, when he stands in front of him, he sees the dude cower into the seat, Mattheo tries to speak in a polite voice but the anger is still radiating off him, his irritated stare didn't help either, "she doesn't have a date, yeah?" his hands were behind his back, over one another, the blood still fresh, "who-o?" the guy stutters out, looking around for help but no one was there- "You know who," he fixes him with a glare, before uttering your name out loud, "no no, she doesn't, rejected them all." Mattheo then nods at him and leans back, then finally he walks back to his room, allowing the guy to catch his breath.Â
Mattheo feels relief wash over him as he lets the information sink in, okay good, you didn't have a date but then again, why were you rejecting them all? What if you reject him as well? Yeah, he couldn't handle that wound, he'd fucking die, he contemplates whether he should ask you or not but he's done fucking waiting, waiting for his fate to fuck things over, if things are going to be fucked, he'll be the one to do it.Â
...
Mattheo puts on a black shirt and black pants, not caring to tuck his shirt in, the cold metal ring stings him as he puts it on, the feeling is grounding, he's doing something his dad would've done and for some reason that doesn't feel half as bad, he feels like himself, it was like something had possessed him, the confidence was unwavering, even as he stepped out into the crowded hallway, hands in his pockets, looking ahead, people parted, giving him space and Merlin, did that feel fucking powerful. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he approached the room you'd be in, you always were there on the weekends, with your friends and he didn't think before he stepped into the room, heads turning towards him in shock, even yours but the shock on your face was soon replaced with a smile, quietly waving at him and that right there, fed right into his ego.
He walked over to you in a few quick strides, eyes zeroed in on you, nothing else mattered at that moment, "Can I talk to you?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement, you were ecstatic, you've wanted this for so long, to talk to him in front of others, you never knew if you should because he might've felt uncomfortable, "Yes ofcourse, what is it?" you nod, a smile still on your face, "Alone," his voice was cold, "oh yeah, sure-" you step towards him, thinking he'd lead you somewhere private but he stayed rooted in his place, eyes never leaving yours, he stayed quiet for a bit, taking in your whole self, the bright clothes you were dressed in, the equally bright smile on your face. Then he looked over your head, to the shocked faces of your friends, "Alone." It came out as an order, he couldn't care less.Â
Mattheo liked this newfound authority, he also relished in the fact that you were being so compliant as if you wanted this to happen and he couldn't be more glad, "Guys, I'll be back, you can go ahead, don't worry," you explained, seeing their hesitance, his unwavering gaze was back on you, brown eyes were intense. The apprehensive group slowly emptied the room and just went the last person was out, Mattheo muttered something under his breath, and the door slammed shut, locking itself.Â
Mattheo cursed that pretty smile of yours before smiling back, "You have a date? For the ball?" you lowered your eyes to the ground at the question, a shy look grazing your features as you shook your head, the more he looked at you, the more positive he got. "Good." He finally pulled his hands out of his pocket and suddenly there was a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand and a velvet box, he wordlessly handed them to you, your eyes were wide, full of amusement, face warm, you noticed how the lights around you got dimmer, the small mock firefly charms that floated in the air, you didn't have a clue on how he was doing all this without his wand but you couldn't bring yourself to think of it, not when you had him standing in front you, in all his glory, about to ask you to the ball, gosh you felt like you were on cloud nine, the guy you were waiting for had actually approached you? You had to be dreaming.Â
Then out of nowhere, you hear your favourite song but on strings, you look down at the box curiously- "It's the muggle chocolate you were talking about, the one you said was hard to get your hands on," he shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal but in reality, he was finding the courage to finally tell you what he was feeling, ask you out. Your brows pinched together, as you noticed that all of it was a muggle, even the flower arrangement- the song, how did he do all of this? You looked up at him with an amused look. "No questions please," he breathed out like he was out of breath, you then smiled at him gratefully, and he quickly averted his eyes, his hand subconsciously reaching over to his chest, "Oh Merlin," he exhaled quietly, not being able to look back at you.Â
He then slowly gathered the courage to look back at you, you were just looking at him patiently, the smile still on your face, Mattheo cleared his throat before opening up, "I have never been the one to be graceful but I want to do this properly." he inhaled sharply before continuing, "Ever since that night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I think I've gone mad honestly," He lets out a dry chuckle shaking his head, looking into your eyes, "I think I've taken a liking to you, your voice, your smile-" and then he interrupts himself, forgetting the little speech he prepared as he watches your smile widen at his words, "yeah that, more of that please," and that makes you blush, the genuine interest in his eyes, the way admiration shines in his eyes, you are so close to him, that you can hear his heart thumping loudly, "I'd like to have the honour of taking you to the ball," then he says your name quietly, "would you like be my date?"Â
"Yes yes!" you couldn't be more excited, you are quick to throw your arms around him, and all the worries leave his body as soon as he is subjected to your embrace, he closes his eyes, pulling you closer, finding everything comfortable in your grip. His heartstrings thrum at the moment, it was embarrassing how quickly you got him flustered but he didn't seem to mind it. He whispered a small "thank you," before hugging you tighter, you just giggled into his chest and Merlin, did he feel like he had just won the lottery.
...
<<prev work: this love || mattheo riddle
#mattheoxreader#matheo riddle#slytherin boys#mattheo riddle x reader#matheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#oneshot#slytherin
980 notes
·
View notes
Text
J U N K Y ' P R I D E
joel miller x reader
" MY MEAN DADDY, MY BAD BABY, DON'T YOU WANT ME? " ⧠âș âș ă°
CHAPTER ONE
WARNINGS: age difference (although no age is mentioned), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel is still a sad old man, joel being mean again, smut, references to harassment (not from joel), literal sex, breathplay, oral (f receiving), although joel may get some head in the future if he's lucky, you're more important than him, two uses of daddy, just because joel is disgusting and i wanna test the waters before i fully commit to my depraved fantasies of calling a grown man daddy, joel no aftercare miller because he's lowk a little asshole who's afraid of women, pussy pronouns because i feel like that's joel's brand atp
WORD COUNT: 14.6k
AO3 LINK
CHAPTER TWOâPRETTY BABY
Joel had cowered in his trailer for two weeks, acting like the recluse he was at heart, avoiding interactions with others, communicating with grunts and murmurs and looks that made sure anyone who dared speak to him in any way that couldâve been perceived as âcheeryâ would be off his back and turn the other way.Â
He hadnât been rattled by the conversation heâd had with you, nor had he been left feeling some ridiculous guilt just because heâd got in your face and made those pretty features contort in fear. No, he had purely been pissed off with you. You thought youâd hit the nail on the head with your analysis, that you knew anything about him at all. And when youâd asked him if he was okayâŠwell, after that, most of his restraint had been lost.Â
Storming off like a petulant child was better than hurting you so badly heâd never get a taste of your sweet cunt just once. After thinking about it, it was better that heâd walked away when he did, simply because it gave him the ability to get his head straight again, shake off some of the rage, and channel the rest into fucking you until you cried.Â
Before, he wouldâve never been so volatile with you, wouldâve never even thought about fucking you at all. Heâd fix what you wanted fixed, heâd smile at you and call you âMaâam,â like a sociable, pleasant old man. Not the sad sack of shit heâd turned into it. So angry all the time for reasons he refused to unpack. If he acknowledged it, heâd have to acknowledge that she wouldâve hated what he turned out to be.Â
You were younger than what she would be if she were alive today. Would it have made her feel sick? Would it have made her run away from him, unable to recognise the man sheâd called dad?Â
In part, it was the reason why heâd banished you. Not in the moment. No, in the moment heâd wanted to choke you. But some subconscious part of him, some ghost of compassion had possessed him and heâd thought about her eyes, how scared sheâd looked as heâd held her and how similar you had looked when heâd raised his voice, when heâd kept it quiet, all menace and intimidation, when heâd touched you, gripping onto your thighâwhen heâd looked desperately into your eyes and hoped that youâd crack a smile. That youâd stop looking at him like he was the fucking devil.Â
You really were something else, something so ridiculously dissimilar to himself, better than himself in every conceivable way, and yet simultaneously aggravating because you wouldnât stay away from him. Every single time, you kept crawling back like you had no other choice. Like Rick across the way wasnât a better plumber than Joel was and wouldâve fixed your stupid tap permanently for free.Â
He wasnât blind or oblivious to your efforts. Heâd called your bluff a long time ago, when youâd come skipping along and bat your eyelashes at him, acting like the most innocent little thing in the state of Texas, not knowing that Joel had seen you tripping over your feet at night with a cigarette in your hand, circling the park again and again and again, worrying at your bottom lip. Or when youâd kicked over your bike in frustration because the chain kept falling off or when youâd got in Lindaâs face at the Fourth of July barbecue because sheâd been whispering amongst the trailer park's entire female population that you were a whore.Â
Joel had laughed to himself when the rumour had found himâhad laughed even harder when youâd defended yourself, thrown your coke all over the fucking gossip and stormed off, only to knock on his door later that day to give him his mail that had made its way into your letterbox, a pretty little smile on your face and a sweetness to your voice that hadnât found its way into your tone the day before.Â
There was a fierceness to you, a deep-cut vision like a B-side from a beautifully crafted album, the scraps just as brilliant as the first choice. Under all those pretty smiles, was anger, a knack for getting what you wanted with a few shouts and a quick tongue. Heâd seen it when youâd misread him, called him a pervert with puffed-out cheeks and left Joel with a suspicion that you would start stomping your feet and smoke would pour from your ears. However, unlike your confrontation with Linda, youâd cowered when heâd fought back. Part of him had hoped youâd keep going, that even when heâd scared you, youâd push through fear and slap him across the face.Â
Maybe itâd bring back his sense.Â
Maybe heâd slap you instead, make you give him some fire. Anything that he can use against you to reign you in.Â
Joel had no interest in hurting you though. Simultaneously, he had no interest in keeping you safe from what he knew he truly was. If that led to hurt, it was unintentional. You werenât a schoolboy crush, nor was the situation love at first sight, but you were interesting to Joel; he wanted to get to know you. There was something there, something repressed that you kept locked away, that only came out to pounce on you when you were alone in the middle of the night.Â
The only issue was that if he had to get to know you, that meant youâd have to get to know him too. Joelâs history was something he wasnât prepared to let go of, an incomplete manuscript that couldnât be edited, that was full of flaws and bad decisions. He wouldnât let you open it, wouldnât let you peer at the front cover or skim the spine with your finger: it was guarded by tendrils of barbed wire, pushing through the clouds and up past the stratosphere. It would be difficult to damage it, damn near impossible to break the fortification entirely.Â
So, naturally, Joel left you alone. He didnât look at you in the mornings, didnât peer through the windows at night and in turn, you left him alone too. Though nowadays there was a sag in your shoulders, a frown constantly tugging at your lips and he felt a certain sense of pride that he was the reason for it. He didnât need to ask you, he knew. Could tell by the way you avoided eye contact when heâd driven back from the store (heâd been low on Camelâs) and saw you sat on your steps, puffing away and gnawing on your bottom lip.Â
It was petty, the way youâd turned away immediately upon hearing the sound of his engine, stubbed out the cigarette and stormed back inside.Â
Joel didnât mind all too much. You were bratty and he liked itâenjoyed when you spoke back like he wouldnât be able to knock you out with one weak punch.Â
It had been a surprise when youâd turned up on his doorstep on a Friday night, all dressed up, makeup youâd clearly worked hard on, ruined by your streaming tears.Â
âIâm sorry,â youâd blubbered, shaking like a leaf on his porch and he wasnât sure if it was the chill of the night air or fear. âI know you donât want me here.âÂ
Then why show up? Itâs what he wanted to say but he bit his tongue to save you from collapsing from dehydration. All those tears you were coughing up like there was a free supply of them behind those pretty eyesâeyes now red raw and bloodshot.Â
âWhatâs the issue?â he asked, less soft than you perhaps wouldâve liked. He couldnât give too much attention to it, though: the concern he felt buried underneath layers upon layers of tough exterior; even your flood of tears couldnât wash away the rubble to find it.Â
âI-I was out, I wasnât doing anything wrong, t-this- this guy heâŠâÂ
Right there, Joelâs blood burned bright fucking red. Heâd felt it with Dale when heâd seen the old man drooling after you like a rabid dog, eating away at your anklesâjust begging for a taste. Heâd scared the man shitless when heâd grabbed him by the collar once he was out of your eyeline, yanked him along to the outskirts of the park and spat in his face. The only reason he didnât beat him bloody was because it wouldâve been unnecessary and Joel had been sober that night so had been thinking at least a little rationally.Â
But this guyâŠwhoever the fuck he was, hadnât just made you uncomfortable, but had made you come to Joel Miller for comfort. Had forced your hand, had caused you to swim into the shark's mouth. Perhaps, worst of all, heâd made you cryâbig, hot, glistening tears that travelled sporadically in all directions across the expanse of your face, dripping from your jaw and settling in your clavicle.Â
âWhatâd he do?â Joel was intimidatingly calm, voice even and eyes sharp.Â
You sniffled, lip quivering and your mouth opened to speak, then closed as if the words had gotten stuckâthat the force of your pain overpowered your ability to be coherent.Â
âBabyâŠâ Joel murmured, unable to stifle the smile that twitched and fell when you snapped your eyes to hisâhopeful with the promise of the nickname. âTell me.âÂ
Taking a deep breath, you swallowed away the thickness in your throat, tried to stop the shaking by playing with your fingers, lips downturned and looking like such a scared little lamb. Despite being a wolf, Joel managed to set aside his natural tendencies, tucking them away safely for whoever the fucker you were crying over was, and instinctually, wanting to keep you safe.Â
âI was all by myself, I shouldnât have gone by myself,â you looked away from him like Joel would judge youâlike he would think it was your fault. He wanted to say something but waited patiently for you to continue, wondering when would be the best time to invite you in. If he even should invite you in given the implications of the statement and what he had done the last time youâd stepped through the boundary separating the inside of his trailer from the outside. âHe wouldnât stop touching me, I tried to get him off but he wouldnât leave me alone and I- I got out of there when he wasnât watching but he fucking followed me home-âÂ
âWhere is he?â It was instant, the way Joel snapped into action, fists clenchingâprepared to fall right onto his face and break his fucking nose.Â
âI- I donât know,â you muttered. âI just came to you.âÂ
Unsure of how to react to the information, he scanned the area behind you, taking a singular look at your trailer and deciding that he could not, in good conscience leave you alone. Having a good conscience in the first place had been a foreign thing to Joel for such a long time that the feeling of wanting to do something right, the knowledge that he was not inviting you in because he wanted to touch you but because he wanted to protect you, was a troubling thing to realise. He couldnât afford to go soft, to let people in, to hold them close until he inevitably told them everything and they realised how much of a bad person he was. But with youâŠit hardly mattered.Â
âOkay, babygirl.â His hands twitched towards your face, both palms landing on either cheekâso natural that it shouldâve scared him. âCome on, letâs get you warm.âÂ
Stray tears fell at his affection and he couldnât bear to look at you crying anymore so guided you inside, letting you occupy his space, and took one last look outside before closing the door behind himâlocking you both away.
It was when heâd called you babygirl, that you knew youâd fallen deep. The entire purpose of going out that night had been to forget about him, find someone else who maybe had that same smouldering look in his eyes, that same mystery that rendered every single movement an enigma. Itâd been useless of course and youâd been harshly reminded of why you never went out in the first place, certainly not by yourself and certainly not to hook up with a stranger. The ache was just so very large, all-encompassing and you struggled immensely with the silent treatment heâd inflicted upon you.Â
Youâd be lying if you said it was much different from before. Lack of conversation between Joel and yourself was in fact extremely common but the context in which the communication had haltered, the undeniable tension that permeated every accidental look and every longing stare at that white door in the middle of the night, was a pain you would never admit to him.Â
You didnât want him to think you were weak, that you needed him in any capacity, so youâd got out. Youâd ran away from him and in a cruel twist of fate, youâd crawled right backâcrying on the doorstep and looking more pathetic than you think heâd ever seen you.Â
However, heâd held your face in his hands, gazed at you with something akin to pity and you wouldnât have left him even if heâd asked you to.
Youâd shuffled into his home, rubbing at your bare arms and staring at Joelâs back as he reached into the cupboards for a glass. You wanted to bury your face into him, wrap your arms around his waist and drag him close. The cold sting on your cheeks from where heâd touched you, the echo of his words in your ears wasnât enough. You wanted him near, wanted to bury your head between his chest and beg him to tell you that you were safe.Â
âDrink.â His words snapped you back, eyes stinging as they flitted to his face and then to the glass he was holding.Â
âThanks,â you muttered softly as you reached for the water, fingers brushing against his a sensation you attempted to ignore. After a moment standing, eyes fixated on his shoes and mulling over the situation, you apologised again. The âSorryâ falling from your mouth, the feeling of stupidity as the tears finally began to subside, and Joelâs gentle touch as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger: delicate and affectionate. From the outside looking in, it would seem like a man simply comforting his girl with firm words and soft fingers.Â
âDonât apologise. It ainât your fault.â His gaze was set, those gorgeous eyes still hard and stony, fixated on youâhoping to bury the words beneath your skull.Â
âI just donât wanna bother you-âÂ
âI ainât got nothinâ better to do.â There was a hint of a smile at his lips but it didnât reach his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching, looking like the action itself was painfulâlike the words he uttered echoed in his ears and bashed at his eardrum. Maybe he should have something better to do than sit around and look after you.
You furrowed your brow at his expression, looking just as pained as he did and sipped your waterâthroat finally feeling some reprieve from the scratches that littered the flesh. His hand fell from your chin, resting at his side and you couldnât shake the burning in your stomach as he refused to cease the eye contact so you did it for him, eyes firmly on the linoleum and teeth sinking into your bottom lip.Â
He probably didnât want you hereâsurely he didnât. Heâd spent the past two weeks ignoring you, refusing to acknowledge the conversation youâd had the other night, when youâd felt everything brew up inside you and finally boil over. When youâd thrust a finger in his face and pointed out every flaw and every observation. Everything that Joel Miller was.Â
That solemn, brooding solace you found being close to a personality that reminded you of days long past. The intimidation that he used like a shield, strengthening his defences after people tried to get inside his walls; heâd shot them down with arrows, leaving the bullets in his palm for himself. You thoughâŠheâd let you in. Heâd shot at your shoulder then let you past the gates to dress the wound.Â
âMight wanna wash your face,â he said grimly, brushing past you to go sit on his leather throne.Â
You gazed at your reflection in the window above the sink, light from the ceiling flooding you in a spotlight and illuminating the streaming makeup, the blotchy face and the red eyes. Suddenly conscious, you snapped your head back to him, his back turned to you, working at the TV with a steady hand.Â
Sensing your eyes, the stare that burned through himâfull of pity and understandingâhe muttered, âBathrooms first door on the right.â Trying to get rid of you.Â
Wanting to ensure he was comfortable in his own home, you placed your glass on the counter, turned on your heel and began down the hallwayâstopping at the first and only door on the right-hand side and slipped inside. You wanted to shower but knew it was a step too far, that that would be taking his hospitality for granted, so you settled for the sink.Â
Makeup was crusting along your skin, forcing its way into your pores and mingling with the sweat and dirt from the long walk you took from the centre of town. Hastily, you turned on the tap, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing it over your face. You sat with it for a moment, with the cool droplets running down your face and soothing the stinging of your eyes before scrubbingâwanting it all off. It felt wrong along your skin, the crusted tears near your eyes painful as you washed them away. It was effort, with just the water, but when you rose from the sink basin with a fresh face, you felt better.Â
You were safe with Joel, that much you were sure.
You took a deep breath before retreating from the solidarity of the bathroom, door handle cool under your palm as you inhaled, held, and exhaled. With the dispelling of that cool air, you pushed, stepping out into the hallway and hearing the faint sound of late-night television coming from down the way.Â
Joel was still sat where youâd left him, putting his cigarette out and discarding it inside an empty beer bottle, eyes fixated on the TV and although it looked like he hadnât heard you, you knew he had. That subtle tensing of his shoulders, shuffling in his seat as he cracked his neck distractedly. You stood there, looking at the back of his head for far too long, lingering in the shadowed hallway and hoping heâd turn around and look at youâgrant you that deep gaze that held so much. So many words said with just one glance.Â
But he didnât. He stayed exactly where he was, nestled in his corner of the world.Â
You went to him on shaky legs, entering his living space with short breaths, playing with your fingers as you stopped just in front of where he sat.Â
âThanks for-â you began, stopping yourself when you heard the crack in your voiceâhow hard it was to speak with the heaviness of your eyes and the hoarseness of your throat. Managing to swallow away some of it, some of that pent-up misery you felt clawing its way up the passages of your insides, you uttered quietly,â JustâŠthank you.âÂ
âYeah,â he said back, voice just as pensive as yours; you didnât know if he wasnât looking at you purposefully or if he truly was just as nervous about the interaction as you were. The notion that Joel Miller would be nervous at all was laughable but you knew there was something thereâsomething greater than he let everyone think. Curiosity was a big driver in your interactions with the man, a desire to see what he felt, hear every thought that burrowed itself in his head, but right there, your insecurity prevailed and you decided itâd be best if you left him alone.Â
âI think Iâm gonna go home now,â you said reluctantly, knowing that all you truly wanted to do was crawl into his lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck. âIâm tired.âÂ
âOkay,â he nodded and as he turned to look at you there was a glint in his eyesâalmost beggingâthat said âDonât go.â You didnât want to, you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, limbs entangled in feverish desire. But you couldnât stay. You could barely move in his presence and it wasnât worth it to be engaged in something that would cripple you forever.Â
So you repeated his word, purse hanging loose from your fingertips as you turned your back on him and headed for the front door.Â
He halted you before you could get there.Â
âIf you see him again, even if you hear a noise out there, you come back to me.â There was a care in his voice, a forceful attentiveness that left you reeling. He was letting you go but inviting you back too. He was professing something, expressing words unspoken, with actions and you couldnât help the way your heart swelled in your chest, your throat constricting as a sob attempted to choke its way into your mouth.
You just nodded, sure that if you spoke youâd end up crying again.Â
With no more words left, you opened the front door, stomach twisting as you looked around to check that you were alone, and scurried down his porch steps, not knowing that once Joel had heard your door close, heâd stepped out into the night and placed himself on his shitty white chairâwatching the surrounding area until dawn came, ready to deter the danger if it came for you.Â
Sunlight shot through the half-open window, the heat stiflingly stagnant, sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you lay, immobile on your bedroom floorâhoping that the dewy grass underneath the trailer would somehow rise up through the ground and relieve you of the suffering that was prevalent whether you were indoors or out. Your shitty fan was rattling in the corner, doing little to alleviate the pain, and in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon, work already completed, you had no other choice than to think about the man next door and his actions.Â
There was a gentle acknowledgement, a careful unspoken communication that something, whatever it was, had switched in you and Joel. After that night, that pathetic night when youâd cried on his doorstep, he had not thrust you away as you had expected him to. He had barely even been rude to you, that awful scowl that was perpetual in every sense, stripped from his face. The careful commands, the casual way in which he took care of you.Â
The only thing you wished, was that heâd let you stay the nightâthat even if you had been the one to suggest the departure, he would ignore your wishes and make the decision for you, grab you by the hips and pull you down on top of him. Kiss you on the lips with all the ardour he had stored somewhere deep in the pits of his being. Damn your age, damn the consequences, damn anything that would occur in retaliation. You wanted him. If not for selfish reasons, for an interesting sympathy that you held for him every time he looked in your eyes, every time someone speculated on why he had turned out the way he had.Â
The whispering, the wondering, the stories that seemed so elaborate and profound that you couldnât bring yourself to believe them. The contractor whoâd told you of a man named Joel Miller. His fate. What befell him that September when heâd lost everything meaningful to him.Â
You didnât know, however. You didnât know what was the truth and what was all facade, if Joel had shot down the rumours himself by telling a fabrication of reality to all of those who dared make false assumptions.Â
So, you settled with the equivocations, the image of him in your mind expanding until all that remained was a pity that ran through each of your bones, vibrating your insides; the pleasure of his touch was the only sedation.Â
Laying there, on the carpeted floors that you wished were wood, you thought of him. You thought of him deeply, throwing your mind back to that first interaction with him when heâd stood in the light of the rising sun, eyes running all over you. Observation. It was something he was good at, being able to discern the very fabrics of the human soul by glancing over at your movements, your mannerisms, taking note of the way you spoke to certain people. You were sure he knew you were smitten from the moment you opened your mouth.Â
In truth, you had been completely enamoured by him. Despite those initial reactions to his leering gaze, that sleazy look in his eyes that rendered you disgusted by his very presence, you had mulled over it on those particularly boring shifts, those mundane Sundays when you gazed at the empty white chair on his porch and thought about how handsome he looked sat there: legs spread wide, thumb and finger playing at his furrowed brow, cigarette burning between those pretty fingers and the portable radio next to him expelling a country tune or the occasional Texas Rangers game.Â
You fantasised about sitting there with him, fingers curled around his as you lounged in the chair adjacentâalways looking like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. For you to sit in it.Â
But you werenât brave enough. You werenât brave anyway.Â
You werenât brave enough to speak up when you felt like you were caving in on yourself, boulders falling from the tip of your head and landing at your feetâbreaking each toe until you couldnât move, suspended by the sensation of skin melting from your face, your brain losing all rational thought. You werenât brave enough to do something bigger with your life, to approach every memory that haunted you like an evil phantom, intent on breaking you down into nothing until you sat as dilapidated as the abandoned moonshine still that rested its weary legs just opposite the bypass.Â
You werenât brave enough to tell Joel that you wished to have him completely. That you wished to help him build himself back up; if what was said about him was true, you were willing to ignore all of your demons, to repress them like you had many times over, and place all your energy into making him smile.Â
Instead of actively hoping to remedy the situation on your lonesome, to be active with your desires and do everything possible to make them come true, you instead wait for someone else to fulfil them for you. If Joel wasnât willing to tell you, to confess every depraved fantasy, youâd continue to lay on your bedroom floor and hope for things to be different.
In the sweat of that Wednesday afternoon, in the midst of summer despair, you thought of him. In your bedroom you had not decorated, staring at the ceiling fan that did not work, you thought of him. Through the fog of everything that made up your regrets and your achievements, he remained the central thing that kept you alive.Â
A knock on the door brought you back, three raps that came down hard and assured. With a thick head, you peeled yourself off the floor, brushing down flyaway hair that had ran away from your scalp and cracked your back as you stood.Â
Just that simple movement had sweat pooling at your lower back, the sun at its highest peak, menacingly bright and dangerously hot. Sniggering as it watched you stumble down the hallway, lethargic with the soupy air and trying your hardest to put a smile on your face as you pulled at the doorknobâa wall of heat separating you from the outside.Â
That half-hearted grimace that had replaced your frowning, quickly transformed into an expression littered with confusion as you stared at the man before you. Had you begun thinking about him so much that youâd started to hallucinate him? Had you thought about him so loud that heâd taken the time to knock on your door and tell you to shut up?Â
You said nothing as you stared at him, the delirium of the day causing your brain to momentarily stop workingâgreetings and manners that youâd been taught since you could walk something you gave no attention to. Only able to focus on his broadness hogging the space, the way he stared down at you with a clenched jaw, the perpetual tense of his shoulders and the hardness of his eyes. Just seeing him was enough to send you falling headfirst into a sensation you had no desire to express to him.Â
âYou okay?â he asked, softer than expected and your heart sank as you looked down at his hands to see the two envelopes nestled between his fingers. Heâd come to give you your mail.Â
âYeah,â you mumbled out, lingering too long on the paper before flicking your eyes back to his and gathering yourself, scolding the fact that you couldnât focus around him. You nodded briefly to what had caused that pit in your stomach to open up again. âThat my mail?âÂ
He nodded in response, handing it out to you with the manner of someone who wished to be away from the situation they were involved in.Â
âThey keep getting us mixed up,â you said, forcing a smile and trying to make it all as comfortable as possible. âI still think they do it on purpose.â It was a poor attempt at a joke, coercing a conversation so that maybe heâd stay a little longer than intended. You yearned for a little courage, hoping that your mouth would expel the words you wished to speak: invite him in, ask him if he wanted a drink or a cigarette or both, tell him how much youâd been thinking about him.Â
âIâll have a word if I see them.âÂ
Why was it awkward? It was unusual, the way he wasnât leering at you, how he wasnât purposefully overpowering you. It seemed that he was more intimidated by you in that moment than he ever had before in his life. What a strange feeling it was: to have Joel Miller cowering. It gave you some much-needed bravery as you placed the mail on the side table next to your door, near the bowl that held your keys and discarded receipts you hadnât bothered to throw away.Â
When the words came tumbling out of your mouth, you struggled to believe they were real.Â
âYou wanna come in?â The shaking in your hands as he raised his eyebrows, the doubts hurtling at your chest with all the force of a high-speed collision. âI havenât got anything else to do all afternoon.â You decided adding a little context would be betterâmaybe sway him a little more.Â
You couldnât tell if the slight smile toying at those pretty lips was genuine or a courtesy, nor did you know if when heâd accepted your invitation he was doing it just to be polite or because he actually wanted to.Â
In your delusions, you told yourself that it was all because he did want you around, that heâd just been playing hard to get all this time because, like you, the thought of letting anyone in was so incredibly daunting. No matter how much you wanted Joel, just the thought of kissing him made you nauseousâthe anxiety of what may occur after, the consequences to everything, what he would think when he realised that you werenât all sweet. That you were awkward and mean at the best of times; the way youâd presented yourself to him was not your true character.Â
You feared that after everything, he would decide he didnât like you. That you werenât worth his time. From the things youâd heard about him, you werenât even sure heâd let you stick around long enough to figure out what you were truly like.Â
As he walked into your home though, nothing in his hands to suggest that he was only here to do some light maintenance and be on his way, you couldnât think about that. You were no longer on your bedroom floor, begging God for things to be different. Things were becoming different, and when you offered him a drink, assuring him that he could smoke inside despite never doing it yourself without hanging halfway out your window, you found yourself becoming comfortable. Too comfortable honestly.Â
He settled himself on your couch, hips rising as he reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a scratched-to-shit silver zippo and shook his head at your offer of coffee. You nestled yourself a respectable distance from himâtucking your legs underneath you and watched as he brought the light to the dangling stick and lit it. A cloud of smoke muffled his face, the scent of tobacco tickling your nose and bringing comfort sliding down your spine.Â
It was silent, in the most blissful way, the heat blushing his cheeks, the loving caress of the setting sun as it promised to fall beneath the horizon as soon as it couldâthat its day of evil heat was slowly falling away. The light breeze that trickled through your open window, taking the smoke away with it, guiding it up towards the sun and stars. Cicadas chirping, birds coming to and from their nests, searching for some good food to bring home to their babies, and snakes burrowed in the shade to escape the searing heat. All of nature's beauty peeking its head past the haze of despondency just to enlighten you and Joelâto help you feel greater than you had just five minutes ago.Â
It helped clear your thick head, helped escape the thin veil of your body's disparagement to get to a point where you could focus on Joel and only Joel. Watch him take a drag and exhale, chest rising and falling.Â
When his head rolled backwards, resting on the edge of your couch and revealing each tendon in his neck, you finally decided to open your mouth.Â
âThank you for the other night.â The words fell quietly, whispered to him as if not to disrupt his moment of relaxation. âIt was late and youâŠâÂ
How he looked at youâŠyou couldnât quite describe. Those eyes wide and glinting, the unadulterated sympathy that lingered in those pitsâsomething else dancing with it that you were unsure of. Hoping to God that he would tell you outwardly instead of hoping youâd understand that one meaningful look.Â
âCouldnât leave you cryinâ on my doorstep,â he uttered, holding that stare, refusing to look away.Â
âIâm sure lots of people wouldâve,â you rebutted.Â
âNo one can say no to that face,â he finalised.Â
Your heart fluttered in the confines of your chest, eyes wide as he looked at youâthose perpetually tired eyes, those tense shoulders and clenched jaw, desperate to stroke your fingers over each eyelid and lull him to sleep. See if he would drift away with a smile and wake up with the same expression permanently etched into his face. Hoping heâd look at you like that for the rest of your life.Â
âI wanna thank you properly, Joel.â There was a brief pause, a flicker as he scanned his way across your face, and then the heat of his stare was gone and you were left dowsed in ice waterâwaiting for his words.Â
The hasty way he brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazing at the grey as he exhaled, huffing with the force of a dragon trying to dispel the danger. The harsh way in which he shook his head, the utter rejection that brewed up inside you once youâd realised that youâd gone too far. The bravery youâd been gifted for speaking up had betrayed you; youâd crossed the line.Â
âYou really wanna go there?âÂ
You paused, eyes flickering softly over his form. Heâd caught your double meaning with the grace of a fly falling directly into a death trap, flown right through your words, and came out the other end with a defiance you had expected but had not wanted. The man who looked at you like he wanted to lock you away, display you on a shelf so he could poke at you for eternity, had rejected you. It was more insecurity-inducing than you had thought.Â
Feigning ignorance to heal the aching in your heart, you continued the game through a hoarse throatâwishing for the man whoâd drooled over you that very first time youâd set eyes on him.Â
âGo where?âÂ
âDonât play stupid, we both know you ainât.âÂ
He glared at you, the brightness of his eyes disappearingâa strange uncomfortable glint dancing in the shadows of them; you couldnât stop looking at him and thinking that he looked goddamn exhausted. All the time. You were unsure if he ever slept, if he ever allowed himself to have a moment of peace, a short second to himself where he screamed into a pillow and rolled over to the other side of the bedâready to drift off. Youâd hold him until the frown on his face disappeared if heâd let you.Â
From the way he stared at you, however, you were sure he didnât want you there at all.Â
âI just wanna thank you,â you said softly, gazing at him earnestly. âSeriously, Joel, you do a lot for me-âÂ
âI fix your tap and give you your mail, you donât owe me shit.â It was almost self-deprecating, the way he refused youâas if he didnât think he was worthy of you.Â
âWill you just let me do this one thing?âÂ
âNow, let's get this straight,â he interrupted, accent growing as thick as his aggravation. âWe ainât friends.â
âI never said we-â
âI need you to listen to me.â The fatherly tone startled you, a far cry from those leering looks and sleazy staresâsilencing you with the harshness of his tone. âYouâre a goddamn kid. Whatever you thinkâŠwhatever Iâve-â he cut himself off with a shake of his head, bringing the cigarette clasped between his fingers to his lips, inhaling sharply; all the smoke went into his lungs and none came out as he spoke again. âIt ainât right.âÂ
Silence encapsulated the space, your heart sinking as those words entered your ear and left through the other side, the rejection everything you had not expected. What had you expected really? For him to profess his undying love and hold you forever? For him to put you on his lap and tell you that he was proud of you? That he would be there for you forever and always?Â
Youâd hoped a little bit too much and consequently, been disappointed by your own expectations.Â
âWho says?â you tried to level your voice, to rid of the fear and anxiety that had clouded your entire being since youâd learnt about your mortalityâwhen youâd sat on a rocking chair at the ripe age of thirteen and rocked it so far youâd fallen flat on your face and hadnât gotten up years later.Â
âI say.â It came with so much conviction, that signature stare still plastered onto his face, set scowl all intimidation and no loveânothing behind those eyes except persistent irritation and self-hatred.Â
Suddenly, you found some gall, blood bubbling as you mirrored his frown. âSo it was okay when you looked through my bedroom window whilst I was changing? It was okay when you said Iâd get cockdrunk real easy and laugh about me being dumb with your buddies? I thought I wasnât stupid, Joel.âÂ
âYou ainât-â
âThen you should know that I know exactly what I want and what I want is to thank you!â A deep breath, gulping away the saliva that had accumulated in your mouth and observing every twitch of his jawâthe shake in his hands. âIn a way that I know you want because Iâm not stupid. You might think that youâre subtle but I promise you, you arenât.âÂ
âWhat do you want from me, huh?â he asked abruptly, venom in his glare, all of it directed at you and poisoning your blood indelicately.Â
It was a good questionâone that stumped you if you were being completely honest. What did you want from him? A good fuck, someone to hold, someone to tell you that you were worth it? Or maybe, you just wanted him to make you feel desired. To make you feel like you were wanted by something, even if that something would hide you away, isolate you from your friends, and keep you trapped in a palace of deceit and fresh bloodâcutting away at your flesh to keep the supply of crimson flowing.Â
Joel urged you on with the power of his stare, waiting for an answer with false patience.Â
âI justâŠâ struggling to form a proper sentence, stringing together words in your mind that didnât make sense. âI just need to know how you feel.âÂ
The answer didnât seem like enough, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds more before he broke the contact, leaving you shivering as a breeze suddenly pushed through the open windowâdrapes dancing with the force of it.Â
His attention was captured by the cigarette in hand, the thing almost smoked down to the filter, grey billowing from its end as he sniffed, shook his head, and stood.Â
âYou got an ashtray round here?âÂ
It startled you: the way he changed the subject so quickly, so determined to make you forget. To make himself forget. Standing there, hogging the space with his bulk, you could sense the turmoilâhis hesitation to do what he wished to do and his distaste with himself for doing what he didnât want to do: walk away.Â
You were granting him an opportunity, a chance to put all that time spent watching porn into practiceâto take whatever he wanted from you without guilt.Â
However, it was better to acquiesce to his cowardice. Arguing would only push him to the point of no return. Truthfully, you were afraid of Joel and his temper. Sometimes, it felt dangerous to rile him or to talk to him out of turn. What he was capable of, you werenât sure, but from the story that Spencer Dressure had told you about that one time his brother had taken off with Joelâs pills, the manhunt that followed it and the fact he had not pressed charges despite having to be hospitalised, left little room for you to think it was a good idea to be on Joelâs bad side.Â
Calling him a pervert until he fucked you seemed to be a surefire way to get you on his list of foes.Â
âItâs in my room,â you stood carefully, brushing past him to get to the small kitchenette, trying to subdue the result of smelling the remnants of cologne and tobacco that lingered on his skin. âJust put it out in this.âÂ
You handed him a dirty mug from the pile of dishes you had yet to tackle, cheeks heating as you became all too aware of your untidy home, before stepping a respectable distance away and waiting for his next move.Â
What followed, you had not expected. The undeniable whiplash, the pain that ravaged your stomach as it flipped continuously, looping round and round like the coaster at Coney Island you used to fantasise about as a kid.Â
âCâmere,â he murmured, a softness to the edge that melted you, pathetically accepting his advance as you stepped forward once, twice, thrice, only three steps and you were closer to him than you had been when youâd been situated on the couch moments before.Â
The simple movement of him holding up the burning cigarette that was begging for death, the shortest ring of white decorating the cylinder, had you shuddering in anticipation. The brush of your fingers as you reached up to take it and the warmth in your belly as he shook his head and thrust the thing closer to your mouth. You caught his intentions too late for you not to feel embarrassed, gazing at him with a determination you knew was false, something he was bound to pick up on too if the shaking in your legs was as bad as it felt.Â
Leaning forward, you parted your lips, clamping down on the cigarette with bravery you were surprised you could muster, and inhaled softlyâtaking every last thing it could give you and savouring the taste of his fingers on your lips as they brushed ever so slightly against his skin.Â
âListen,â he murmured as he watched you, eyes trained on your pursed lips as you pulled away and expelled the smoke from your throat, chin tilting slightly to direct the trail away from his face. âYouâre a pretty girl.âÂ
You stayed rooted to the spot as you listened intently, eyes carefully observing his movements, the flex of his forearms as he dropped the dead cigarette into the mug and the sound of it sizzling as it reached the remnants of your morning coffee that nestled at the bottom. The way he looked at you and made you feel like he was your single priorityâlike nothing mattered in that moment except you and making sure you were holding onto his every word.Â
âAnd I donât hate you,â he continued, tilting his head to gaze at your face. âBut you gotta understand, that you ainât gonna be a long-term thing.âÂ
You couldâve laughed in his face if you werenât so intimidated by the proximity to him, the warmth that emanated from his body and the goddamn smell of him that had your body reacting in ways you hadnât ever expected it to. That telltale ache and warmth that pooled in your shorts, the way your skin burnedâhair rising from your arms and breath catching in your throat as you were overcome with the need to start hyperventilating.Â
âI donât care either way,â you managed to huff out, shuffling slightly closer, teasing those boundaries you hadnât known were there in the first place.Â
He looked far from convinced, eyes narrowing slightly, chest heaving with a single, deep breath, and hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried as hard as he could to get inside your head.Â
âI donât know if I believe you.âÂ
Joel stayed leaning against your counter, casual in his stance but all-encompassing dominance in his demeanour. His menace plagued the trailer park, red âXâsâ on every door that the man had targetedâa reminder to passers-by of his impact; what could happen if he was crossed: damnation, ostracisation, and wet pants from where theyâd all pissed themselves under the strength of his harassment. A figure that the Preacher warned of as the making of the devil, the bottom of Americaâs proverbial melting pot. A figure that you now stood toe-to-toe withâstaring evil right in the fucking face.Â
If Hell burnt, he was surely a child of the underworld, scorching the earth beneath and ravaging the heat blazing in your pants.Â
âWhat is there to believe?â you asked breathlessly. âIf you wanna leave after, you can leave.â You failed to mention how desperate you were to lay skin-to-skin with him, to feel the heat of him everywhere as he wrapped himself around you: glossolalia in your ears as he lulled you to sleep.
âBabygirl, I ainât afraid about wanting to leave.âÂ
It took a second, a moment of analysing his words before the sincerity of them reached your chest and broke all your ribs. Your lips parted, chest unashamedly heaving as the impact left you winded, and a shake in your legs that you tried to ignore in fear youâd fall flat on your face.Â
Noting your body language, observing every inch of youâeven the smallest of reactionsâhe took your sporadic breaths as an indicator to continue, standing to his full height as he stepped closer; towering with the grace of the land of Idumaea above you.Â
A hand cupped your cheek, a tenderness to the touch that was destroyed by his next words.Â
âYou ainât stickinâ around,â he said plainly. âI need you to know that.âÂ
âI know,â you said defiantly, growing increasingly annoyed with the tone he was taking with youâlike you were some disobedient kid who needed reprimanding. It seemed he didnât much appreciate how you spoke either as his soft touch quickly transformed, fingers gripping your chin and squeezing.
âI donât wanna be the one to say I told you so,â he murmured. âI donât want you whininâ after this or talkinâ about me with Lillian otherwise the whole goddamn place is gonna know that I fucked you. Then, they gonâ be askinâ about you and I donât like sharinâ.â He tugged on your chin, tilting your face so he could lean in. His lips against your ear made you shiver, hot breath against your skin causing every hair to stand to attention and a sweat to form on the back of your neck. âUnderstand?âÂ
He pulled away, eyes back on yoursâthat tiredness replaced with a lust so profound that you were sure he couldâve made you spontaneously cum just by looking at you.Â
Attempting to ignore the ache between your thighs, you nodded. When you replied with an âI understand,â there was the overwhelming feeling that you had just signed away your life to an evil force, a ghost with bad intentions that had asked permission to haunt you for the rest of your days. You could move houses and he would be there, you could move states and he would be there, you could move out of the entire country and he would be waiting for you with a hard stare and a clenched jaw. There wasnât a single scenario in which you could get away from him.Â
A stain between your legs: forever.Â
âAlright,â he drawled, breathing coming just as heavy as yours, eyes flicking to your lipsâsubconsciously licking his own. âAlrightâŠâÂ
It was slow, the entwining of lips, the gentle way that you both leaned into each otherâpicking at each petal on a daisy until all that remained was the yellow disk in the centre; lips meeting in the middle of the earth and connecting each continent until you both brought back the great mass of Pangea. His hand cupping your cheek, opening his mouth to let you in, tugging at your waist to pull you flush against him and breathing heavily through his nose when the shock that froze you washed away and you wrapped your arms around his neck.Â
You leaned up, chin tilting as his hand engulfed one side of your face, fingers tickling your hair, teasing the short wisps before threading his fingers into the length and tugging at it: hard.Â
A soft whimper left your throat, vibrations running through your body as he trailed his hand under your shirtâdesperate to feel the dip of your waist, the soft skin just beneath your ribcage that he ran a gentle thumb over.Â
Tongues entwined in heavenly matrimony, the taste of him tingling on your flesh, the heat of him burning your insides until all that remained was a bubbling pit in your stomach that spit lava and breathed fire.Â
You truly lost your head when he snaked his hand further under your shirt, taking advantage of your lack of bra as he skimmed his fingers under your breast and smirked against your lips at the sound you emittedâa shuddering, high-pitched thing that shot right from the back of your throat and sent heat streaming in waves down your legs. Â
Desperately, you tugged at the hair that tickled his neck, pressing your weight against him, allowing him to brush every so slightly over your nipple and relish in the reaction he caused as your knees fell weak and your kisses grew harder.Â
âJoel,â you murmured between the kiss, finally feeling the heat of him against you, the hard plains of his body that kept you groundedâlocked in a transcendental dance, swaying in the lamplight as he hummed into your mouth: his response to your call.Â
The words you had nestled on disappeared from your head, your questions and answers, statements and expressions all leaving on a cloud that settled out of your reach with God on high. His hands left you empty, his lips causing your stomach to flip and your cunt to ache in the crudest, most hedonistic sensation humankind had been granted. The deep, gruelling feeling between your legs that flashed so hot, so wet, that you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against hisâcatching the groan that dispelled from his lips and the grip on your hips that grew hard enough to bruise.Â
When he pulled away to press an array of kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking on the junction, your knees grew weak and the fire inside you raged so large that you wouldâve begged at his feet to put it out. You were choking on the smoke, flames licking at your calves and travelling higher, and with another call of his name, he commanded Noah to grant you a flood.Â
He trailed his fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling it tight and tugging it upwards. You didnât want to part from him to get it over your head, clinging to him like he was life itself, ignited by his palms pressing over your bare breasts as he hiked the fabric up towards your chin. You obeyed his quiet command, pulling away just far enough for him to peel it off and then brought him right back towards you as his head fell to your chest and his lips clasped around your nipple.Â
âFuck,â you whispered between laboured breaths, his tongue laving over your skin, lapping at every sweet flash of flesh.
His lips moved against you as he uttered a muffled, âFilthy mouth,â kissing back up to your lips in haste. âAlways got somethinâ nasty to say.â The deep, rasp of his voice fell into your ears; the heat of his breath against your mouth as he stared at you with an intensity that flashed right through the very core of your soul.Â
Bare-chested in his presence, the rough fabric of his shirt rubbing against you, you couldnât quite come up with a reply. Words failed you, wit and intelligence just out of reach and the feeling that you were drunk on him without even having a cock inside you. Joel had been right. You think he mightâve been right about everything and you were prepared, in your shitty kitchen, with your shirt laying in a heap on the floor, to do whatever he wanted you to.Â
âJoel.â It was the only constant word running through your head, the only name you could muster as he pecked you on the lips and splayed his hands along every bare bit of skin he could reach.Â
âNot gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby,â he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.Â
You wouldnât have minded if he had, the adrenaline of his touches leaving little room for you to feel picky, but with the slow merging of lips as he placed gentle kisses to your mouth, coaxing you to speak, you managed to shudder out a sentence.Â
Nodding, you removed your hands from his hair, reaching for his palm that rested on your waist and entwined your fingers with his. You couldnât bear not feeling his warmth, his weight, over you, your feet hurried as you turned away from him and tugged him down the hallwayâintent on shouldering through the open door that led to your room.
With the sun setting in the west, shards of golden light shot through your bedroom window, the patterns on the lace drapes casting shadows of profound nature marching across your comforterâthe bunched-up blanket that lay at the foot of your unmade bed after youâd kicked it off in the middle of the night: too hot and head too full of the man that pushed you down onto the very mattress youâd touched yourself in the night beforeâignoring the beauty of the four walls illuminated by mother natureâs dying heart.Â
Human consumption, an all-encompassing need as he ate at your flesh, ripped your skin from its bones as he positioned you in the middle of the bed, kicked his shoes off, and nestled on top of youâa knee between your thighs that pulled a gasping breath from your lungs.Â
âPretty baby,â he murmured, lips back on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone and thumb working over your nippleâwatching carefully to note the furrow of your brow, the parting of your lips and the bend in your back as you arched into him, reaching for his shoulders to feel the entire weight of him pushing you through the feathers and springs. âAlways so pretty.â
Kissing down your bare stomach, tongue flicking against the skin as he reached his hands into your shortsâfists tugging just slightly to reveal your hipbones and the slight dusting of hair that nestled between them. He lay his lips on it, eyes ablaze when they opened and settled right on your heaving chest. There was question in them as he ran his thumbs over your hips, asking non-verbally whether he could strip you bareâfingers clasped around the hem, pulling just a little further and then ridding of them completely as you nodded your head and bucked your hips to ease the fabric down your legs.Â
âNo panties?â he grumbled, letting you kick away the shortsâhearing the thump as they landed somewhere at the foot of your bed.Â
The air hitting your naked body left you writhing in the wake of enlightenment, body attuned to every touch as he rubbed his lips over your mons, breathing you in and forcing a whimper from your throat. A retort to his question pulled you from the reverie of weary head, smiling softly as you mumbled, âYouâve already seen them before.âÂ
He narrowed his eyes, smoulderingly handsome and devastatingly beautifulâbeauty stripped away as he landed a smack to the side of your thigh, pulled a gasp from your throat and hummed softly.Â
âYeah, they were pretty.â He silences any response by grabbing onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart and tilting his head as he stared blankly at your cuntâtaking in every detail. âPretty like this pussy,â he murmurs into the space, breath fanning over your wet slit and causing your hips to twitch. Noting the movement, he slowly and deliberately purses his lips, inhales and breathes out a line of air against your clit. It pulses through you, the cold stream causing your eyes to flutter shut and a heavy heat to settle in your stomach.Â
âJ-Joel,â you stutter, biting your lip, hoping desperately that heâd touch you properlyâbring you to that blissful brink where you could teeter just once and go falling over the edge into a meadow blanketed by the hands of angels and the mouth of God.Â
âWhat?â he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone that aggravates you further. âGotta speak up, sweetheart, I ainât no mindreader.âÂ
âNo,â you manage to huff out as he manoeuvres your leg over his shoulder, his thumb running along the outside flesh, teasing you to the point of no return. âNo, youâre just an asshole.âÂ
âMhm,â he agrees, licking his lips as he brings his eyes away from yours and gives his full attention to the leaking slit between your legs that pulses with the heat and aches with the denial. âShe donât seem to think so.âÂ
God and it's disgusting: the way he talks about you. Itâs depraved and sick and so awfully indulgent but lying there, limp and at his mercy, you canât care. All you can think about is his thumb travelling slowly, back and forth, along your slit, the gentle kisses he places on the insides of your thighs and the words âThink I should give her some love, donât you?â swimming in your head before your mind blanked completely and your skin sears as he presses his mouth fully over your cunt, and begins to lick with intention.Â
Expletives fall from your mouth, silenced by a second smack to your thigh and a chastising âLanguage,â as he pauses briefly, leaving you sweating and scared heâs changed his mind before heâs diving headfirst inside you againâtongue teasing at your hole.Â
It pulls the worst of sounds from your, body reacting on autopilot as you arch into him, head falling back into the pillows and hands grasping the sheet beneath you in the hopes of gaining a semblance of stability.Â
He doesnât seem to like that, however, his head tilting upwards and hands grasping onto yours as he pulls them to his head, shuddering as your nails reach his scalp. âHold on, baby,â he says with a slight smirk. âDonât want you fallinâ off now, do we?âÂ
The assault on your cunt begins again, his tongue dancing with ease over the full surface, sucking and nipping and eating like he canât stand to hear the growling or feel the sharp jolts of pain in his stomach anymore. The breathy moans ripping from your throat, the wet sounds reverberating from between your legs that you couldnât bring yourself to be embarrassed byâthe tearing sound as you gripped so hard onto his hair that you pulled tufts from the thick grey.Â
Whimpering and writhing; unable to function with him lapping up everything from youâstealing the sweetness of your heat and hoarding it away in his back pocket.
When he sunk his fingers inside, life was pumped back into you, a phantom defibrillator bringing a gasp from your throatâeyes snapping open.Â
âShh,â he murmured as he pulled his mouth away, working his fingers in and out, stroking at the spot that sent you straight to heaven. âRelax, baby.âÂ
The words swam in your ears, feeling that sweet pressure in your stomach as he continued thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upwards in a manner that had your thighs shaking and a deep exhaling pouring from your chest. You trapped him between your legs when he leant down to lick at you again, small laps that transformed into blissful suckling as he took your clit fully into his mouth. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the encouraging way he looked at you every single time you dared open your eyes, all had you ascending.Â
Every nerve was on fire, synapses working double time to keep up with the overload of sensations imploding inside of you. The world scurried away on a wave, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you squeezed your thighs around his headâlocking him there to ensure he would not leave you. That he would keep this feeling brewing in your stomach building forever.Â
âJoel,â you murmured between moans, a trail of expletives following it as you stepped to the edge of the cliffs in Big Sur, looked down at the rolling waves as your eyes fluttered shut, swaying in the wind, and letting the gust sweep you over.Â
A strangled cry left you, a powerful force of nature overtaking you as you gripped tight onto his hairâbriefly recognising his growl as you did so. You continued to fall, the sound of crashing ocean in your ears, before you landed softly in the tall grass and basked in the glow of the setting sun as it nestled across your face.Â
Your chest rose and fell as his fingers slowed, mouth now hovering above you and watching intently as your head fell into the pillows and your body slumped with the exhaustion of pleasure.Â
You found his mouth wet when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smearing slick over your hip as he crawled up your body and tugged you down the mattress.Â
âYou still with me?â he asked as he placed kisses on your neck, brushing sweaty hair away from your forehead and cradling your face in his hand.Â
You managed a nod, communicating with actions as you pulled his face to yours, kissing him earnestly and trailing your hands towards the hem of his shirt, muttering an âOff,â barely registering his laugh at your eagerness.Â
âYeah, youâre still here,â he said with mirth, straddling your hips as he sat up to rip his shirt from his body, throwing it next to the pile of your clothes. âStill want it.â He grunted as he palmed himself through his jeans, the sight of him on top of you, so strong, so powerful, caging you in like you were a baby deer and he was the one standing over your dying body with a rifle. A shot through your legs as you heard the clink of his belt buckle, another to your stomach as he slid it from its loops and finally, one to the head when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock free.Â
Sizeable in an entirely intimidating wayâthe vein on the underside that peeked through his fingers as he firmly stroked himself. That slight lick of precum gathering at the tip that dominated the space, your mouth watering as you were taken by the overwhelming urge to suck. He didnât let you, howeverâpulling away to slide his jeans off his legs, boxers with them and leant over you to kiss you again.Â
You couldnât get enough of his lips, plump flesh bringing you to life as he nestled his mouth against yoursâtongue forcing its way inside to meet yours. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and pussy, smelt of them too, yet it was buried under the overwhelming scent of him. The slight whiff of dollar store soap which was endearing more than anything, the musk of cologne he habitually sprayed over himself every dayâa few more squirts when he was bedbound for a few days, unable to move with the pain weighing him down, and hadnât found the will to shower.Â
It hadnât been one of those weeks though. You could tell as you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and fluffy, slightly wiry with his old age and thinning in the back but still so full and gorgeous. He smelt so good. So much so that as he buried his face in your neck to nip at your collarbone, you inhaled softly, breathing him in, feeling so content being trapped in this complicated dance with him.Â
Your head was going funny, your body tingling and then going into overdrive when his hard cock touched the insides of your thighsâhis bare chest against yours as he kissed back up to your lips, pecking twice before pulling away to stare at you.Â
âNo thoughts in that head, huh?â he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss. Back up again to brand you with the force of his eyes. âJust want daddyâs cock, donât ya.â
The visceral reaction that ran down your spine, shocked you. The undeniable shiver at the nickname, the complete perversity of it that had your cheeks heating in shame.Â
âYouâre fucking disgusting,â you breathed out, no real conviction to it, predicting perfectly what his next words would be.Â
âAnd you like it.â His hand slid down your stomach, diving straight inside you and then falling in one swift movement. Fingers brought in front of your face, a slight smile on his face that you revelled inâthe prospect of seeing him even slightly happy making butterflies fall and flutter in your stomach. âSure looks like you like it.âÂ
The physical evidence swayed the final verdict, his wet fingers falling to your lips, you opening your mouth to let it in and lick away the verification.Â
The groan that came from deep in his chest when you sucked his fingers had slick dripping down your thighsâthe hasty way that he pulled his hand away from you to reach for his cock: all-consuming. Every cell cried out for Joel, for the blissful stretch, the fumbling of bodies as he slotted himself inside you and the casual roll of his hips as he drilled into you.Â
His head at your entrance was undeniably overwhelming, the feel of it dragging back and forth along your slit, slipping in twice before he finally sunk insideâhis body covering yours as he breathed a âThere you go,â against your lips. âTake it for me, baby.â
His words helped with the ease, the burn of the stretch still prevalent but the need to please him, to be good for him, dulled the pain. The kisses on your forehead, the whispered, strained praise as he pressed inside of you, words jumbled and hurriedâno sense to half of themâuntil he was fully inside you, balls pressed against your ass and a tear trailing into your hairline.Â
Joel kissed it away, lips closing around the salty liquid, pulling away to gaze at your expression. His palms settled against either side of your head, grounding himselfâtrying to remain the competent party between the two of you, pulling his teeth between his lips and clenching his jaw as his fists curled into the sheets.Â
When heâd settled and become comfortable with the tightness of you around him, he kissed you again, lips wet and swollen from where heâd bit at themâa full-mouthed kiss. Opening you up, distracting you from the length of him pulling away, leaving your cunt open and lonely, then the gasp and shudder as he pushed back into you.Â
âJ-Joel,â you stuttered out, unable to recall if youâd said anything except his name for the past hour.Â
âI know, babydoll, I know.âÂ
He started slow, hips rolling, cock sliding: in and out, round and round, pubic bone catching on your clitâthe sweet pressure that clouded you, that left you boneless and aching. The moan you let out was something that you wouldâve been embarrassed by if it wasnât for his praise. The sweet âGood girl,â that crept past his lips, followed by the âKeep makinâ those pretty little noises for me.â It couldâve been perceived as affection if it wasnât for the growling tone it was uttered with, a particular harsh thrust that was met with a grunt and a whine.Â
The world around you slipped away, the only constant being Joel and his hooded gaze, his parted mouth as he sucked in every breath you exhaled. Those perfect arms hooking around you, locking you in with him, the weight of him leaving as he sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sight of him lost inside youâthe fire that danced along your belly as he pulled your legs apart and began thrusting at a pace your mind could not catch up with.Â
Words muffled in your ears, âSuch a sweet little cunt.â A flash of heat down your neck as they reached your cock-muddled brainâwhispered right inside your head. âDreamt about this pussy.â Pace faltering as he parted his mouth and took a deep breath; his eyes fluttering shut. âAlways fucking dreaminâ about ya.â
That southern drawl that lulled you right through every sensation, comforting words that helped you gain some amount of strengthâjust wanting to reach him and pull him close. It was cold without him pressed against you. Detached. In a way you didnât want to be, in a way that you had always thought sex shouldnât be.Â
When he grumbled out, âMy perfect girl,â you couldnât stand the separation anymore, pushing up on your forearms and somehow managing to jump him, bracketing his thighs and swinging your arms around his neckâkissing him madly.Â
The surprised grunt he let out made you smile, his hips stilling as you sat on himâfeeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was stabbing at your stomach. You whined against his lips when he rolled his hips upwards, losing the will to move as you buried your face in his neck.Â
Bodies entwined, limbs entangled and a mouth moving against your hair as it uttered words so sinful that you were sure the cross on your bedroom wall, hung right above your bed, would turn upside down all on its own. The devil in your room, his spawn fucking you on your bed and a laugh on Godâs lips because he always knew you were false. That there was no verity to your prayers, that you werenât ever a true daughter; that you would never spend eternity with him when you fell from the burning bridge to the lake.Â
âDoes my baby wanna ride?â he asked, hands on your ass, moving you up and down along his length whilst he smiled into your hair. Enjoying the desperationâbasking in the way you pleaded for him.Â
You nodded your head at his question, unable to breathe with the casual move of his hips paired with the strong manhandle as he moved you along him.Â
âWanted to feel you,â you mumble out softly, entirely dumb with the feel of himâsweat dripping down each body and mingling at the bottom of a well. âJust wanted you.âÂ
Within Joel Miller, in all his outright madness, past all that anger and tribulation, lay a vulnerability you had always wanted to pull from him. A vulnerability that he showed you, in your bed, with you wrapped around him, grinding your hips against his to feel that growth in your stomach. Vulnerability that he perfectly lay in front of you with broken laces lined up in an order, as he whined. A low, breathy thing that had something snapping inside youâa primal instinct as your slick spilt onto his thighs and your brain decided to give him everything.Â
You reached up to drag your hands through his hair, using his hands on your ass as a guideâwhere to start and where to stop, where to speed up and slow downâas you rode him. Nails dragged down to his shoulders, digging into the skin of his back as he bucked his hips upwards.Â
âPretty, pretty, baby,â he mumbled. âThink about you all the time. Think about that perfect little face when Iâm jerkinâ off.âÂ
Such crude words had your heart fluttering, your pace picking up as you pressed your forehead against his and chased that fleeting high. Unable to think of the comedown in the moment, too enraptured by his arms holding you tight against him, the slight dusting of hair against his chest that stimulated your nipples so perfectly and of course, his gorgeous fucking cock that dragged inside you with the sweetest of scrapes. Pushing and pulling, touching against the mind-numbing spot inside you with every thrustâevery time you slammed down against his hips.Â
âI- I,â you managed to breathe out when it all came flooding in. A hurricane swept past the county, headed straight for your home, walls down and completely defenceless when you felt the wind knocking against the panes. âJoel.â
âShhh, baby, I got you.â He wrapped his left arm fulling around your waist, placing the right against your face to tilt your head back. âI ainât goinâ nowhere.âÂ
Rain was fully beating down on your shelter, dripping through the raftersâthreatening to push through the roof and flood you with debris.Â
âI got you,â he repeated, holding you tight as there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run. Just wait for the glass to break and the door to slam open.Â
You could only moan, unable to keep movingâjust letting him do all the work. To keep doing exactly as he had been as the rain came pouring in through the cracks, water rising so fast you were waist-deep in it by the time he muttered a âLet go for me,â his hand moving to cradle the back of your head and keep you locked in place. âCâmon, baby, give daddy another one.âÂ
His words broke the glass entirely, the roof caving in as the hurricane raged, inching closer and closer until it found youâbeating you right to the floor.
It was a continual cry of his name, his words sweet in your ear as he worked you through it, tone strangled and tense as his stomach clenched and he thrust his hips at breakneck speedâdeciding that he couldnât focus on you any longer as he was beaten to the ground by the twister alongside you.
Pulling away hastily, he reached a hand down to rub his cock, fisting at the length until he spilt over you with a broken moan and painted your stomach with the making of your union.Â
You were still twitching when his breathing slowed, his arm still tight around you; not quite ready to let go yet.Â
The storm had passed, and you were left with the damage of its destruction.Â
Broken furniture, ravaged landscape, and a hole where you and Joel layâfingers brushing against one another as you reached out to him.Â
There was a brief moment of peace, the time between now and what was to come, pausing as if to grant you the sweet mercy of holding on for just a minute longer.Â
Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, a single kiss to your lips before he gently laid you down, hesitating just a moment, gazing at you like he wanted to stay, before deciding that he was too stubborn to go against his word, and stood up from the bed to find his pants.Â
Stupidly, in your fucked-out, hazy state of mind, you decided to ignore everything heâd said before: about you not being permanent. Some part of you wanted to believe that he had said it just to hurt you, that there was no real meaning behind them except mindless arrogance and a will to push you away because he was afraid.Â
âYou arenât staying?â
He paused his movements, halfway through putting his jeans on, and looked at you with something akin to disgust.Â
âWhatâd I tell you, princess?âÂ
It was awful. That switch.
As soon as his dick wasnât wet and leaking, he was gone. Lost to the tunnels of his mind, trapped in a maze that had no exit. You couldnât find himâcouldnât see that Joel that had been there just moments ago, calling you pretty and perfect. Telling you that you were his girl.Â
Youâd agreed, you knew you had. It didnât make it any less painful as he refused to look at you when he re-buckled his belt, didnât even glance over when you reached down for the blankets and pulled them around youâsuddenly feeling entirely exposed.Â
All you could do was watch: in an awkward silence. Scan his face for anything as he pulled his shirt over his head and didnât even dare sit on the bed to put his boots back on.Â
It was hurtful when he reached into his back pocket to shake out a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and flicking open his zippo in a way that shouldnât have been so damn attractive.Â
âJoel?â Where the bravery had come from, you didnât know, your body shaking under the covers as his eyes landed on yours for the first time since heâd stared at you as you came undone.Â
âMhm?â he grunted out in response, breathing out the smoke and going straight in for another drag.Â
What you were going to say, you hadnât thought out. You hadnât thought out the entire encounter in general and in that moment it felt like you hadnât thought out anything in your entire life. So, when the mumbled, âThank you,â fell from your lips and the harsh chuckle fell from his, you couldnât quite stop the feeling of utter embarrassment and humiliation.Â
Youâd promised him you wouldnât tell anyone, that you wouldnât go spouting his business to the park's biggest gossips, so you wouldnât. Youâd have to sit with it, to go back to lying on your bedroom floor every day and regretting everything and everyone. Rehashing every person you had wronged when you were stuck in the harshest depths of your mind, every time youâd been beaten down by those out to get youâevery fork in the road youâd come across that seemed to harbour identical destinations: damnation.Â
âGratitude accepted,â he mumbled out, cigarette perched between his lipsâinhaling and exhaling with it still in his mouth.Â
For some reason, you wanted to cry. Your throat closed, lip quivering and tears forming in your waterline. You suppressed itâat least, you tried to. Heâd already seen you cry before. You had no interest in letting him see it again.
There was a heavy silence as he stood there smoking, eyes trained on you and taking note of your throat bobbing as you swallowed down the lump. You knew youâd been caught then, his twitching jaw that he rid of with another drag of the cigarette, the slight sigh that he huffed out through his nose and the single nod of his head as he walked the few paces to your bed and sat down atop the mattress.Â
Quietly, he gestured the burning stick towards you, watching as you accepted it gratefully. It helped rid the ache in your chest.Â
âI said I didnât wanna say I told you so,â he said, running a hand over his scruff before placing it on your thighâskin burning through the thin material.Â
You sniffled, trying to maintain composure as you jutted your chin out and gave him the hardest of stares you could muster.Â
âAnd I said I understood.â You let the cigarette burn between your fingersâthe single drag making you feel sick to your stomach. âIâm notâŠnaive. Not stupid either.âÂ
âI know,â he said plainly. âI know.âÂ
âThen why are you still here?â It was said bitterly, a tone that you hadnât wanted to take with him but left your body unconsciously as some form of repressed rage came bubbling in pieces through you.Â
He swallowed calmly, pulling his hand away as he plucked the cigarette from between your fingersâdeciding he needed it more than you did.Â
âJust wanted toâŠâ he cleared his throat upon hearing the strain in his tone, seemingly struggling to speak the words aloud. âJust wanted to make sure you understood.â
âAnd I do,â you countered quickly.
âGood,â he countered even quicker.Â
Your skin was burning, and your cunt began to ache with the loss of himâthe imprint that heâd left inside you that you were sure would be there for some time.Â
The smell of tobacco was starting to make you feel sick, the scent of sex in the air a harsh reminder of everything youâd gained and lost in the space of a few hours.
The sun hid itself behind the horizon, its light no longer shining through and piercing your heart.Â
It was instead the harsh stab of his gaze, the lasting feeling of his hands on your thighs and the intense tightness in your chest every time you looked at him, that broke you completely.Â
âYou can go,â you mumbled, watching his face for any sign that he didnât want to do as you askedâthat heâd finally lay beside you and stroke your hair as he told you everything heâd done wrong. Just so maybe you could feel normal. Like someone else in this world had finally seen you and understood that you werenât perfectâthat there were more flaws than strengths and more fuckups than good decisions.Â
There was nothing. Just a blank stare as he stood, knees cracking and back achingâwalking away and leaving the phantom feel of him inside you, nestled between your legs.Â
âSee you âround,â he mumbled, standing in the doorway.
âYeah, okay.âÂ
There was a pause as he waited, eyes firmly on the floor as he screwed his brow upâlooking like he was thinking hard. Weighing up his options before flicking his gaze up and landing on you: naked and trembling in bed.Â
âI still mean it.â You were confused for a moment, waiting for a confession, hoping in the grandest of your delusions that heâd change his mind and love you till the end of time. Then, the confirmation that, upon close inspection, seemed to be the closest to a confession you would ever get. âYou need anythinâ, Iâll be there.âÂ
You nodded to show you understood, unable to speak in fear youâd crack and crumble, and watched with a deep longing in your heart as he turned his back on you, and walked away.Â
His footsteps were heavy against the floor, his power reverberating all throughout the trailerâthe gentleness he displayed in small gifts of protectiveness and affection, shown through the way he closed the door as quietly as he could. If it wasnât for the creak of the steps, you wouldâve thought he hadnât left at all.Â
When you were sure he was gone, you allowed yourself a moment to cry, turning over in bed to curl up in a ball of self-pity.Â
Why he couldnât stay, you were unsure. Why he wouldnât hold you close, if only for one night, you didnât know. You didnât know anything. You were lost in a world you were so sure was not meant for you, knowing right there, in the sweat of your bed with tears dripping off your nose, that you did not know Joel Miller and would never know him for as long as he lived.Â
Cracking him open was like trying to split a coconut with nothing but your bare hands.Â
Crying with no one to hold you, those final words of admission ran through your head; you knew that this problem, you could not go to him with. That the word âanything,â was a courtesy and a promise he could not cater to.Â
Head pounding with disdain, tears running with despondency, chest aching so painfully you thought your heart would fail. In some way, you wished it would. Just so you could rest for a moment. Because you couldnât without the warmth of him behind you, his arms tugging you close and lips on the side of your headâwhispering everything that had pulled him to you and kept him there.Â
Turning around to face your window, pressing a palm to your head like it would take away the pain, you gazed at the trailer that neighboured yours. The cracks and cobwebs that littered its surface, the two chairs that spent every waking moment together, tucked into their own corner of the world where they could whisper and giggleâexpel every truth because all that time had left them with nothing but absolute trust.Â
You realised that sitting in the chair on the left, the one that had no owner would mean that you and Joel would have to navigate the same type of relationship: one that relied on a bond unbroken by anything except their mistakes and mistruths.Â
You faced away, closing your eyes and willing God to send you an eternal sleepâpathetically pretending that he was there beside you as you ran a finger over the drying cum on your stomach and the lingering bruising inside of you that left a blood on your thighs and a butterfly in your head as it knocked against each surface of your skull and fell gracelessly when it came hurtling against the wall.
© virginreprise
a/n: well, i finally got it out!! not entirely pleased with it but i never am lol. it's only half proofread just because i got bored halfway through and only went through what i wrote today. either way, i hope you enjoyed it!! maybe...there'll be more chapters after this. it's quite a depressing ending which is what i like best tbh but it'd be nice to see joel finally stop being a dick :))
thanks for reading !
taglist: @1maasrpe
#virginrepriseâą#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us 2#tlou#tlou2#the last of us fanfiction
411 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?
Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury
Word Count: 6670
Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!
Part 1 â Part 3
Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.
Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.
His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.
In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.
Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.
He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.
You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.
As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.
He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.
Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.
He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.
He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.
His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. âYou're home, my love,â he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, âYou're finally home.â He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.
His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.
âWhat?â Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.
âAzriel?â Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.
He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.
Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.
Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.
Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. âWhat happened here, Azriel?â If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.
He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.
âDon't touch her,â he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.
He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.
He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.
âLet's talk to him first,â Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.
âHe put up a shield around them,â Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, âHe's not in his right mind.â A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.
âNeither are any of you,â Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.
âWe already called for Madja,â Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, âWe can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.â
âNo,â he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.
Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.
âThe cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-â
âYou will not put my wife in a cell,â the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.
âShe stabbed you,â Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, âit doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.â The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.
âShe is still my wife,â Azriel says behind a snarl, âAnd you will not hurt her.â Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.
He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.
âShe can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,â Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, âShe can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.â Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?
Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.
Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.
âYou need to sit down so I can treat you,â she tells him while inspecting the wound.
âI will not leave her.â
âYou can trust her with us, Az,â Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.
Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.
He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.
He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.
Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.
âIs sheâŠâ What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. âIs it really her?â He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.
âYou know that better than me,â the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. âShe's healthy.â
He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.
He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.
âAre you sure you don't need to rest, Az?â He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.
When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.
Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.
Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.
That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.
âThe wound is healed,â he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.
âThat's not what I meant.â Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. âShe stabbed you,â she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, âAre you sure it's her?â
âI would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,â the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.
âWhy would she hurt you then?â
âMaybe it's my punishment,â the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.
âPunishment?â She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. âYou didn't do anything wrong.â The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.
âI didn't find her,â he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, âShe's been out there for almost a century, on her own,â he clenched his fists at the thought, âand I didn't find her.â
âI know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.â And what good did his best do?
âYou don't understand, Nesta,â he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.
âI do,â she starts, âIf something happened-â
âIf,â he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, âIf something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.â
Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.
âïœĄÂ°â©Â°ïœĄâ
You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.
You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.
The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.
You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.
Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.
Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.
You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.
As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.
You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.
As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.
You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.
You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.
The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.
When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.
âYou're home, my love,â he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.
âWhat?â What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.
âAzriel?â Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.
Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.
The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.
As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.
If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.
Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.
Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.
You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.
When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.
Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.
You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.
A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?
âLeave us alone, Amren.â Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.
Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. âI hope you know what you're doing, boy.â She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.
You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?
Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.
âThat's not my name,â you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.
He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.
You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.
âIt's not poisoned,â he offers, âI promise.â You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.
Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.
âWhat's your name?â You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.
âAzriel,â his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.
You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.
The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.
âI don't know you,â you whisper, more to yourself than him, âI feel like I should.â
taglist: @thisblogisaboutabook @chessebookgirl @going-through-shit @starcrossedsan @macimads @janebirkln @dr4g0ngirl @harrystyles2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @queensl1234 @lisanna2000 @starryhiraeth @shadowsaz @sakurafrost3-blog @evergreenlark @sisterjuliennes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @historygeekqueen @writingcroissant @abysshaven @pablopascal @that-girl-reading @less-chaotic-brain @naturakaashi @tenshis-cake @sharknutz @isa1b2h3 @thehighlordishere @tarathia @sfhsgrad-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @starsandnightmares @cuethedepession @emryb @mybestfriendmademe @fxckmiup @adharanotfound @b0xerdancer @ervotica @aria-chikage @serendipityx150 @fanboyluvr @rogersbarnesxx
(for some reason I couldn't tag some of you. check your settings because you might have tags disabled)
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel angst#azriel fic#acotar fanfiction#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar
1K notes
·
View notes