#i listened to space girl on loop

[kirbyhoneycomb]

Shes a space girl

[rachthechaosbi]

i actually want to rip out my heart and replace it with music sometimes

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

if anyone needs me i will be rewatching trigun 98 and tristamp over and over until my brain explodes

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[rainboww0lfie]

a ghosts graves

In the aftermath of a battle, Phantom, Batman, and Superman could be see talking between each other. 

During a lull in the conversation a tiny girl comes running from underneath caution tape taped around the vicinity, holding a bouquet of marigolds between her small hands. She’s out of breath and seems to be embarrassed when she stands before the heroes, Batman reacts the quickest to the sudden encounter. Asking her about why shes here and what the problem is, he’s about to ask about her parents when she interrupts with “i have something for mister Phantom”. 

Danny who had been only half listening was caught off guard, he looks at her and tries for a reassuring smile but his confusion must show through because she suddenly looks down shyly at her flowers. 

“I heard from mommy that you put flowers on graves for people you like, ” she starts, “i don't know where yours is though, so i got you flowers to put it wherever it is”. She’s obviously embarrassed about interrupting, but she says the words with a form of determination. Suddenly what seems to be her mother comes running from out of the crowd. 

“I am so, so, sorry for Miya, i didn't mean to loose sight of her, she slipped away, we’ll get out of your hair now. ” the woman says in a rush, gently tugging the child back from the slack jawed heroes. Danny can just make out her gently reprimanding the child for her behaviour when he suddenly steps forward. “Wait, wait, wait” he says quickly, crouching down to the child now hiding a bit behind the mother, “you got me flowers. . . so i can put them on my grave?” the tiny nod he gets from that has him smiling, “you wanted to put flowers on my grave?” is asked with excitement, gaining n even bigger nod in return. 

He takes a small step forward, still crouched, and asks “are you alright with me hugging you?”, the nod lets him quickly move forward a spin the child around in a tight hug, laughing. He smiles brightly at the girl, holding her in his arms with enough space to make sure the flowers were safe, who is smiling back just as brightly. Danny laughs, “no ones ever given me flowers before! And you want them on my grave!” the actions have gained the attention of both civilians and other heroes, Danny could honestly care less though, someone wants to put flowers on his grave! Someone went through the effort of giving him flowers! He is so excited!

Both the mother, Superman, and Batman all look uncomfortable, “have you. . . never gotten. . ahem. . Flowers before?” Superman asks, “i mean, you look young so. . . have your parents never. . . ?”, the ending never gets finished but its definitely implied what he wants to really ask. Danny doesn't care, its not exactly important, right?

He looks at the heroes and says cheerily “i don't think my parents even know im dead!” before looking back at the child in his arms, not seeing all the shocked, pale faced staring( minus Batman, he never emotes, like, at all). 

Eventually the kid has to leave due to dangerousness of the area, but not before a final hug and happy goodbye from Phantom after she hands the flowers to the undead hero. Danny says his goodbyes to the surrounding heroes, not understanding why they all look at him funny as he carries around the marigold bouquet before he flies off. He holds the flowers close to makes sure they dont get destroyed by the wind, but he cant help a few happy loops and twirls in his flight home. 

The first ever flowers for his grave, how exciting!

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

Ever since then the heroes and a few civilians make sure to give Phantom flowers each time they see him for his grave. Phantom is so excited people want to give him flowers each time a new set is given to him. 

________________________________________________________________

wooooooo ok

i finally actually wrote something after so long, sorry for the long break between shit, stuff happened :/

sorry if there's any big misspellings or anything like that in here, i had an idea and wanted it down as fast as possible and i fucking ran with it as far as i could lol

y’all can continue this if you want, i just thought this idea was so cute

have a good night/day/afternoon/life

[kaiijo]

DATES WITH HIM — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, kaji ren, togame jo content: gn! reader notes: i did not come up with the date idea in suo's! also i recommend reading the mentioned works in suo’s part and listening to the song in kaji’s! obvious togame bias i’m sorry (but i’m also not)

suo hayato ✶ bookstore date

you saw the idea of a bookstore scavenger hunt date and it was too cute to resist. with your list in hand, you and suo make your way to your favorite neighborhood bookstore. the old lady who runs it greets the two of you before attending to other customers. suo leans over your shoulder to look at the first item. “find a joke to make your partner laugh.”

you make your way to the joke book shelf, where suo picks up a paperback titled 100 dad jokes to make anyone bust a side! he flips through it and lands on a page. “which days are the strongest?”

“i don’t know, which ones?”

he stares at you dead in the eye as he answers, “saturday and sunday. the rest are weekdays.”

you can’t help but snort and roll your eyes, and suo says, “we’re counting that!” and you check it off the list because you don’t know if you can take another cheesy dad joke. 

you read out the next bullet point: “find a puzzle to conquer together.”

you find and complete a crossword puzzle in a magazine (you kept the magazine with you to buy later). your scavenger hunt list leads you through the travel section to talk about your dream vacation spots; the children’s section where you find your favorite childhood books; and the cookbook aisle where you find a recipe you both want to cook together. finally, the last task challenges you to find a poem that describes your partner.

you and suo split up in the poetry section for that. you thumb through pages and pages but nothing is able to capture just how you feel for suo. you find one finally just as he walks over to you, a poetry anthology in hand. you read to him kevin varrone’s “poem i wrote sitting across the table from you” and he recites joy harjo’s poem “for keeps.” 

your heart feels like its about to burst as he finishes and you take his hand in yours, bring it to your lips for a kiss. his gaze is soft as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead.

kiryu mitsuki ✶ arcade date

you pout as you watch the final pac-man score flash on the screen in big, pixelated numbers: 150 to 170. kiryu ruffles your hair affectionately. “we’re all tied up again,” he says. “two to two. what do you want for the tie-breaker?”

you peer around the arcade, glancing at the flashing screens of various games. there’s street fighter, space invaders, and other classics but it’s the air hockey table that catches your eye. you nod at it. “settle the score over good old-fashioned air hockey?”

“sounds good,” he says and you two make your way over to it.

just as you arrive, another couple shows up. “oh, shit,” the other guy says when he and his girlfriend approach at the same time. 

“sorry,” you say. “you guys can have it if you want.”

“no, no, you two came first,” the girlfriend says.

“it’s seriously fine!”

“no, really, it’s cool!”

you’re all at a standstill, neither party willing to takeover the table. instead, kiryu pipes up, “there are four pushers, why don’t we play on teams? a friendly competition.”

“i’m down!” the girl smiles and turns to her boyfriend. “what do you think?”

“i say we crush ‘em!”

“ooh, those are fighting words!” you call, looping you arm through kiryu’s. “ready to kick some ass, mitsuki?”

“always.”

the competition is fierce — the other couple is a lot better than you thought and you’re playing best of seven rounds. it’s the tie breaker and you narrowly manage to block a shot from the other guy. the puck bounces off the sides, hurtling across the board towards kiryu, who easily deflects it back. the volley goes back and forth and there are far too many times it almost sinks into their goal.

the other couple just blocks a shot again and the puck is heading for you. you hit it at the right angle and it just ekes past the defense, sliding into the goal to end the game 4 to 3. you congratulate each other on a good game and kiryu sighs, “i guess that settled the score between us too, huh?”

“what do you mean?”

“you made the winning goal.” he holds out the tickets he’s won. “let’s go get you a prize.”

umemiya hajime ✶ farmer’s market date

“whoa! these squash look so good! how did you grow them? did you plant them in may or june?” umemiya’s eyes are wide and bright as he listens intently to the farmer’s answer. you don’t think you’ve seen him this excited before, which is saying a lot given his enthusiasm for almost anything. 

she smiles warmly at the two of you, asking, “how many would you like?”

“three,” you reply, reaching for your wallet, but umemiya is holding out the money for her before you can even open your bag. 

the farmer shakes her head, gently pushing his hand back. “it’s on the house,” she says, plucking a packet of seeds from a small wooden crate at the edge of the stall. “and i’ll throw these in too, all free of charge!”

“oh, please, we insist,” you begin to protest but she just shakes her head again. 

“it’s been a long time since someone has been this curious about my produce,” she chuckles, “and i’m not about to make a lovely young couple pay for this! all i ask is that you two raise the squash lovingly.”

“we will, i promise,” umemiya says, taking the bag of squash from her. as you two continue through the farmer’s market, umemiya interlocks your fingers, using his other hand to motion to the other stalls you pass. 

he says, “we have tomatoes and cucumbers already but we need mushrooms! oh, those look good!” he already leading you to another vendor, surveying the cartons of wood-ear mushrooms. you raise a brow in amusement as he buys five cartons, humming a cheery song. 

“what’s all this for, again?”

he beams at you. “the summer barbeque!”

“ahh, right!” you smile. “the infamous summer barbeque.” you glance around the market, pointing out a stall selling sausages and other meats. “i think we’ll want to get some protein, then, since your boys eat enough for a hundred men.”

“babe, you’re a genius!”

hiragi toma ✶ cooking date

make dinner at home for date night, they said. it’ll be fun, they said. you think anyone who said this is a fun, stress-free date is a total liar.

“alright,” you sigh as you clean the frying pan of egg residue for the third time. “well, fourth time’s a charm!”

hiragi pops a stomach tablet out of its packaging and chomps down on it. “you said that the last two times.”

“this one’s going to be the one!” you chirp, reaching for the egg carton. “it has to be, since these are our last four eggs.”

hiragi lets out a long, heavy breath before slipping his apron back on. “okay, one more time.” 

hiragi throws a large tablespoon of butter down the pan, tilting the pan from side to side as the melting butter coats the surface. you crack the four eggs into the measuring cup and beat them with a whisk, tipping a little drop of it onto the butter. it sizzles promisingly and you and hiragi share a glance and nod, then you pour the eggs in.

you stir the eggs quickly with a pair of chopsticks, stopping as you see the omelet beginning to smooth. hiragi tilts the pan to let the uncooked egg mixture start to cook, doing his best to keep the curds even and level. 

the new portion of eggs scramble and you spoon your chicken rice mix into the center of the omlet, roughly shaping it into an football-shape as hiragi kills the heat. “good?” you ask him, motioning with your chopsticks at the pile of rice.

“good.” he lifts the pan. “hot pan, coming through!” he places it on the damp rag on your counter. you slide the omlet to the edge of the pan, carefully wrapping the rice with egg on both sides. hiragi’s already moved to get a plate and you hold your breath as he slides it carefully onto the plate.

success.

you let out collective sighs of relief. 

kaji ren ✶ concert date

you had spent hours in an online queue to get kaji tickets to see his favorite band for his birthday. luckily, the venue isn’t too long a train ride from makochi but when you severely undersold how many people can cram themselves into the venue.

kaji’s grip is firm as you weave your way through the crowd, pushing closer to the stage. some guy jostles you, grumbling under his breath, only to apologize when he faced kaji’s cold glare. your boyfriend manages to get the two of you to a decent spot near the front, just off right of the center. 

“what song are you most excited for?” you ask him, speaking as close to his ear as possible. the din around you is getting louder and the crowd more electrified, so you know it’s starting soon.

“wasted nights,” he replies easily. 

you hum, “that sounds familiar. it’s on the playlist you made for me, right?”

his mouth lifts into a small smile. “yeah, i think it’s number eleven or twelve.” just as he is about to add something, the lights around you begin to flash and pulse as the ambient music dies down. the band comes out to thunderous cheers as they take up their instruments. 

even though you don’t know the band well, you can’t help but jump and dance with the crowd, and you sing along to parts you can remember. kaji’s not one for rowdiness himself but he thrives off the energy from it — you can see it in the way he bobs his head in rhythm, the way he seems completely in his element. as the fourth songs in the set transitions into the fifth one, a slower ballad this time, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pecks your cheek. “thank you again,” he says. “i’m glad i’m here with you.”

you burrow further into his side, swaying to the music. “happy birthday, ren.” 

togame jo ✶ pottery class date

you tilt your head as the pottery wheel slows to a stop, examining the mug you were instructed to make. the rim is uneven and it’s leaning towards the left. togame’s isn’t any better given that his mug looks shorter and stouter than the rest of the class and the handle is fully too long. when the pottery teacher walks over, she offers a sweet smile. “beautiful work,” she says. “they both have a unique charm to them.”

“thanks, we totally meant to make them this way,” you say and she carefully brings them to the shelf where the other attendees’ mugs sit waiting for the kiln. 

oddly enough, seeing your mugs together makes them look somewhat normal, almost like an eclectic set, and when you glance at togame, he meets your eyes and you two try to suppress your laughter, togame’s broad shoulders shaking with effort. as you stand side by side, washing your hands in the classroom’s sink, togame smirks. he reaches over and claps a hand on your shoulder, leaving a large, damp terracotta-colored handprint on your shirt. 

you narrow your eyes and do the same, this time on the side of his own t-shirt. his hand touches your back and yours grazes his chest. you could probably do this forever but someone clears their throat behind you and you apologize as you actually finish cleaning up, stepping aside for another couple to wash themselves off. 

togame drapes an arm around your shoulder as you leave the building, saying, “i think i won, babe.” 

you know he’s talking about the stains all over both of your clothes but all you do is smirk at him. “i think i won, actually, since this is your shirt.”

he shrugs. “i wish i could be mad, but you look too good in my clothes to complain.”

bonus!

you return two weeks later when your “unique” mugs are primed for glazing. you two agreed to keep the final designs on your pottery a surprise so you sit as far away from each other with your backs turned. in the end, you two had similar ideas — he chose your favorite color as a background and painted on a pattern of your favorite flowers while you glazed your mug in orange and black with an attempt at a the lion face on the shishitoren jackets, albeit yours is way less threatening and much cuter. 

your mugs sit in each of your cabinets at your homes in all their uniquely beautiful glory, your new favorites — well-used and well-loved. one day, they’ll be together again, side-by-side in a cabinet that you two shared together.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, a gentle rumble, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[charliemwrites]

Part 3 of obsessed Johnny

(Part 2 is here.)

CW for extremely dubious consent.. or this might actually be coerced consent? Is there a difference? Anyway, be safe!

There’s a few things you learn quickly. If you ask nicely, present things just right, Johnny will give you just about anything. Any foods, any drinks. He movies a huge flatscreen into your room and makes it so you can watch damn near anything with streaming.

“I just want to let everyone know I’m okay. You can read the message yourself before I send it! But the police will come looking if I don’t tell people I’m alright.”

So he cuddles up next to your shoulder and reads as you make up lies to family and friends and professors that you’re fine, but you’re very stressed and need space. That you’re taking some time to “work on yourself.” Johnny takes your phone away again when it’s done and apologizes again when you cry about it.

There are things you don’t ask for either, that he brings you. A squishy pillow in the shape of a bunny. A bunch of fidget toys. Soft thigh high socks for the cold room and cotton shirts that stretch down nearly to your knees. Not a lot of pants.

When you carefully ask why, he blushes and tells you that you look cuter without them. Still, you have a couple pairs of fleece joggers that mysteriously disappear sometimes.

Then there’s…. well there’s this.

“I’m making it up to you, angel,” he breathes against your bare thigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean. But I promise it’s all for you, I’ll show you.”

You’re trembling, trying to think of a good way to tell him to stop that won’t upset him. Hard to do that when he’s prying his way so gently between your legs, tonguing at your cotton panties.

“It’s alright, I won’t take anything, Bonnie. Going to give you everything,” he whispers. “It’s not for me. All for you to feel good.”

He rips through the lace on the side with his teeth and tugs it away to bear you. He groans, eyes going moony.

“Gorgeous girl,” he moans, laying kisses all over. “Such a pretty kitty. Knew you would be.”

“W-wait, wait, soap,” you finally force out. But he’s far, far too gone now. His eyes don’t even flicker away from your pussy.

“Don’t get shy on me now, hen.” He loops one of your legs over his shoulder, stroking the outside of your thigh. “Nothing to be shy about.”

Your stomach clenches as his mouth drops open, hot air across your sensitive core. His mouth is already shiny. He finally, finally pries his eyes from your cunt, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Let me, baby,” he begs. “Say I can, say I’m allowed to make you feel good. You deserve it, let me make this up to you.”

At this point, you don’t think he’d listen if you didn’t give permission so you just nod.

“S-slow, soap. Please?”

“Anything for you,” he promises. “Anything… anything…”

He kisses your pussy like a lover leaving his beloved. Aching, slow, devoted. His tongue grinding against your clit, licking at your entrance. He moans at the taste of you, eyes rolling back in his head.

You try to lay still, to be quiet, to just... let it happen to you. But Christ, he feels so good. Luxuriant. There’s no resisting the way he sucks so softly at your clit, tongue rolling over and over that little bundle of nerves.

You’re soaking, you can feel it running down onto the bed. He swipes the flat of his tongue through you slit, picks his head up enough for you to see the thick, glistening string of saliva and slick connecting him to your cunt.

You press a hand to your mouth as your hips buck, muffling the noise you make into you palm.

“No, no,” he whimpers, “how am I supposed to know I’m taking care of you? Please, baby, let me hear you. I know I’m never gonna hear heaven’s choir so you’re the closest I’ve got.”

He dives down with renewed vigor, sloppy noises mixing with his grunts and moans. He’s writhing his own hips into the bed, getting off on the taste of you alone. You’ve lost control of your voice - and your hands. They’re tangled up in his mohawk, guiding him to tongue fuck you just right.

You don’t know what does it? What sets you off. Only that it’s all too much all at once and you’re tipping over the edge before you can think about what it means when you do. You clench down on his tongue, ride his mouth as wave after wave curves your back off the mattress.

When you can breathe again, his cheek is lying on your thigh, a dopey, cum-drink grin on his messy face.

“So pretty when you cum,” he sighs, lashes fluttering. There’s a wet spot against your calf; he came when you did. Just… just from…

“Can’t wait to give you another.”

[princessbrunette]

Do you remember the hammock outside the chateau where john b was lying down in episode 1? Him and reader lying down beside eachother while he stuffs her with his fingers😵‍💫 it's out in the open and anyone could see but johnbees fingers just feel too good to stop😞

🍡🤍🪽୭

his leg is looped around yours keeping your thighs pinned open and there’s a grin on his face— like he knew what he was doing was bad, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“john—john b—” you’re breathless as his fingers punch pornographic sounds out of you, your bikini bottoms pulled fully to the side.

“who? yeah i… dont know who that is.” he tilts his head with faux confusion, brows frowned but his smug smile still remaining.

“daddy— daddy someone’s gonna see. anyone could see!” you correct yourself and he plants a reassuring kiss to your temple, his thumb smoothing over your clit to soothe you.

“no one is going to see, okay?” his voice rumbles warmly against where you’re laying on his chest and you clench around his knuckles, jaw dropping with a shuddered whimper. “this is my house, right? aaaall this space out here is mine to use. if i wanna fuck you in my hammock, guess what. i can do just that, and there’s not a soul around to stop me.” he sarks, spare hand coming to squeeze at your tit, pulling the triangle of your bikini top aside only exposing you further.

“daddy!” you cry out in fear, knowing how the pogues were no stranger to impromptu drop-ins. if they were to arrive now, john b was fully clothed — it would be you on full display.

“easy, puppy. not listening to me.” he brings a sterner edge to his voice and you instantly force yourself to behave— trying your best to relax against his chest and let him please you. “th’atta girl. just focus on my fingers, yeah? should be easy for you, bubba.”

you melt, and soon you’re trembling hard — feeling yourself coming up on an orgasm. john b smiles down proudly at you, continuing to work you over. “i know, iiii know. feels just right, doesn’t it? you can cum, sweetheart. whenever you like.” his comforting tone drives you over the edge, moaning out into the open land, not knowing who could be near by. in the moment, you didn’t care.

🍡🤍🪽୭

[resetoaster]

I have recently gotten back into podcasts an extreme amount, so now I am looking for podcast recommendations!

Podcasts that I have listened to are:

-the magnus archives

-malevolent

-red valley

-time:bombs

-middle:below

-Startripper!!!

-midnight burger

-wolf 359

-station 151

-archive 81

-I am in eskew

-deviser

- stellar firma

-out of place

-the mistholme museum of mystery morbidity and mortality

-video Palace

-mnemosyne

-Desert skies

-Woe.begone

-The Amelia Project

-Sherlock and Co

-Jackie the ripper

-Mayfair Watches Society

For anyone interested in the podcast recommendations, here's a list of them (please let me know if i have missed any!):

101.7 OUROBOROS

Alba Salix + The End of Time and Other Bothers

Alice isn’t dead

Arden

 arsParadoxica

Brimstone Valley Mall

Camp here and there

 Caravan

Dark Ages

 Death by Dying

Desperado

Don’t Mind Cruxmont

Dos after you

Down

Either

 EOS 10

Find us alive

Ghost Wax

Girl in Space

Hello from the hallowoods

Inn between

 Janus Descending

Jar of rebuke

Kakos Industries

Leaving corvat

Life with althaar

Love and Luck

Mabel

Marscorp

Midst

Mirrors

Modes of thought in Anterran literature

Monstrous agonies

Moonbase Theta, Out

Not quite dead

Old Gods of Appalachia

Our Fair City

QWERPLINE

redwood bureau

SAYER

SCP: Find Us Alive

Second Star to the Left

Spines

Spiritbox radio

Syntax podcast

TANIS

Tell No Tales

the antiquarium of sinister happenings

The antique shop

The Big Loop

The bunker

The dead letter office of somewhere, ohio

The deca tapes

 The Deep Vault

The department of variance of somewhere ohio

The far meridian

The Green Horizon

The Hotel

The hyacinth disaster

The pasithea powder

The penumbra

The Sheridan tapes

the slit verses

The strange case of starship iris

The Vesta Clinic

The white vault

The wrong station

Tides - Victoricity

Uncanny

Unwell, a midwestern gothic mystery

Valence

We are not meant to know

We Fix Space Junk

Welcome to nightvale

Where the stars fell

Witherburn After School News

Within the Wires

Wooden Overcoats

[munsster]

hi pookieee

i just found your blog and legit spent like two hours reading your stuff- IT'S SO GOODDDDD OML

so, if requests are open, and if they're not! totally fine, but if they are... can i maybe possibly request a jonathan byers oneshot? 😍maybe domestic vibes, some will and joyce, sort of where reader is just part of the daily, like it's not a 'oH jOnAtHaN hAs a GiRl OvEr' type of thing, the byers are just so used to her being around-

OKEY BYEEE, DRINK WATER, EAT SNACKS, KEEP SPARKLING ✨

fall into place

A/N: HI POOKIE! im obsessed w ur energy and i would do anything for u, this sounds so cute hope u like it 😋

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jonathan comes home to find you fully adopted into the Byers’ daily routine. When did that happen? 1.3k words.

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, cringe 80s references, mike being annoying, KISSING, pet names (baby, heartthrob)

The front door slamming shut rattles the frame of the house, but nobody seems to care over the ruckus. Jonathan drops his messenger bag by the bench in the foyer, shucking his shoes and skirting to the kitchen. Joyce flips through a fashion catalog by the phone with her thumb nail perched between her lips.

"She's in El's room," Joyce says while Jonathan swipes an unopened juice pouch off the counter and tucks a pack of toaster strudel under his arm. There's an uproar in the other room from the usual teenage suspects. He's about to make his way upstairs when his mom chuckles.

"Oh, hi, mom, how was your day?" Joyce teases, "Thanks for asking, Jonathan. It was lovely, I bought you those juice pouches and toaster pastries you like. How was yours?" She cocks a brow, and he peeks back into the kitchen.

"Love you, mom."

"Love you, too. Oh, also it's fend night. There are some leftovers and dinners in the freezer. Your brother was craving frozen pizza."

"Sounds good!" he shouts, already halfway up the stairs and down the hall. The cassette deck on El's desk sings something tinny and youthful and he's pretty sure she has it cranked to full volume. You're perched at the foot of her bed with your fingers looping the fluffy strands of her hair into a criss-cross plait. You look over and smile, leaning into the kiss he plants on your cheek.

"Hi," you coo.

"Hi, baby," he says with a lazy smile across his face. "My room?"

"In a sec."

El tuts, "she's braiding my hair." You chuckle, tying off the end of her braid with a sparkly, blue elastic you nabbed from the bottom of the bathroom drawer. He tips the straw of his juice to your lips, and you hum and pat the top of El's head just before hopping to your feet and fleeing the room with Jonathan's hand in yours.

"Thank you!" she calls, but you both know you'd do it for her anytime.

He falls back onto his springy mattress, and you straddle his hips, pry the decadent box from his grasp, and triumphantly fish out a strudel.

"I didn't know Mike was visiting this week," you mumble through a mouthful of pastry.

"Yeah, their spring breaks lined up." Jonathan chugs the rest of his fruit cocktail, crushing the pouch and setting it on his bedside table alongside the discarded pastry box. Then he recoils, nose scrunching: "You met mike?"

You nod, nibbling the strudel in half and pressing bite-sized piece to his mouth, swiping away the stray crumbs that sprinkle his shirt. "It's cinnamon," you whisper. He hums.

"Was he weird?" he worries.

"Only a little," you tease, sweeping his hair off his forehead and leaning down to press a damp kiss to the open space.

"He's a punk."

You shrug. "Only a little."

You split the last piece of pastry between you, making sure you get an even amount of filling and frosting before clinking the edges and popping them into your mouths.

"What were you and El listening to?" he asks.

"Make it big. You know Wham. 'I don't want your freeeeedom!'" you mock, squeaking out the iconic high note, "Mike got it for her."

"Sounded... contemporary," he chuckles, setting his palms into the curve of your hips, hooking his thumbs in the loops of your jeans.

"Yeah, I think she has a thing for George Michael. We've been listening to it on repeat." Your stretch your arms over your head with a yawn.

"He is pretty cute," Jonathan teases.

"Yeah, well," you say with all the casualty of a partly cloudy Wednesday afternoon, "Not as cute as you."

He scoffs, sitting up with you still balanced in his lap. “Shut up,” he huffs.

“No!” You grin and lean in close, mumbling, “heartthrob,” in a kiss to his lips. When you pull back he stares softly into your eyes.

“How long have you been here?”

“My shift ended at two so,” you say, “since then. Why? You tryin’ to send me home, Byers?”

“No,” he whispers, he wouldn’t dream of it, “No, I like that you’re here when I get home.”

You chuckle and drape your arm over his shoulder. “That’s very domestic of you.”

“God, I know”—he rolls his eyes, pressing his palms flat to your back and smiling coyly—“Wait ‘til uou hear how glad I am that everyone likes you so much. And that you like them, too. Even when they’re fucking crazy.”

You peck the corner of his mouth gently, willing a smile to creep across his face.

“I fit right in, don’t I?” you tease. But he doesn’t laugh, enamored by everything you say and do. His fingertips just graze your cheek and his eyes flick down to your mouth.

He sighs. “Like our missing puzzle piece.”

“Yeah,” you reason, “like the piece that gets knocked onto the floor to collect dust for ten years until someone's sweeping and randomly unwedges it from the floorboards only to realize it's from the puzzle they gave away last week.”

“No, more like,” he chuckles, “like the one stuck to the underside of the lid that you only find once youre putting the deconstructed puzzle away.”

You giggle, tilting your head back. Then you sigh, whipping your head back to stare into his eyes, foreheads pressed together.

“Maybe we’re all missing puzzle pieces,” he suggests. It’s whispered. Like it’s a secret and you two are the only ones who will ever know the truth.

You nod. “Oh, we definitely are. Five billion lonely little puzzle pieces waiting for our lost portrait.” Your fingers twirl a lock of his hair, and he holds back a splitting grin. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation sober.”

He cackles, holding your lower back as he leans slightly. “Wait,” he says, “you’re sober?” You smack his chest, chuckling when he hollers, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding, you're the only person worth getting high with anymore since Argyle's in Utah.”

You pout facetiously, sticking out your lower lip with your brows knitting. “Jonny! So romantic!”

“Yeah, yeah, natural as riding a bike,” he teases. You smile and lean in to kiss him, and he meets your lips sweetly. You pull away and peck the corner of his mouth then his cheek before your doe eyes flick up to his. Your mouth opens to say something, but Mike bursts into the room.

“Ew, gross, at least close the door if you’re going to suck face!”

You turn over your shoulder with a scowl. “You close the door, we’re obviously busy.”

“I don’t even know you!” Mike scoffs.

You hop up and jump to the door wildly, about to slam it just as you squint and say, “Then you’ve got a lot to learn, sonny.”

But before you can close it, Will peeks into the conversation and offers, “C’mon, let’s be diplomatic, people! Mom says come eat and watch Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Mister Kreugs again?” you say, “Yes, please!” You high-five Will, and he shuffles down the stairs. Mike and El follow. You turn back to see Jonathan lounging back on his bed, eyes closed and just barely smiling to himself.

“Coming, heartthrob?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking awake, head lulling to gaze at you, “don’t wait up.”

But you run back anyway, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet.

“Too bad,” you whisper, giving him a consolation kiss. You get him to the bottom of the stairs before he pulls you back against him right on the last step. He kisses you sweetly and with a smile.

Will shouts from the living room, “Okay, I’m usually pretty tolerant, but please no making out during horror night!”

You chuckle, still holding Jonathan’s hand with his arm lazily around your waist. “Okay, fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

You look back to find Jonathan already staring at you. It still makes you nervous or excited or something. He’s holding you so close, and you can’t help but kiss him one last time.

stranger things masterlist

[shadowhearts-ponytail]

gf!abby anderson thoughts!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

a/n: recently, I've been reading a lot of abby fics, and it seems like all of them are pure smut, just absolute filth. and I've been looking for some more fluff. I couldn't find much. so I decided to make some bc bbg deserves some soft love :)

warnings: all lowercase intended, fem!reader, reader is referred to as abby's girlfriend, modern au, soft!abby. this is just sweet stuff for a sweet girl!

words: 1,053

abby is like a human space heater. she just radiates heat. which is perfect for the colder seasons.

if she notices you're cold or you're shivering, no matter where you are or who's around, she'll wrap her big, strong arms around you and hold you to her chest. placing sweet kisses to your head and rubbing her large hands across your back.

she uses the cold weather as an excuse to hold you and touch you. she's very clingy. always wanting to be close. to touch you.

even if she's just holding your hand or her knee is touching yours when you sit next to one another. her hand on your thigh under the table.

she always wants to be close. even during the hot summer months with her body still giving off heat.

she still wants to hug you from behind and have her arm around your waist. even if it makes you both sweat even more.

but this doesn't mean she won't be complaining about the heat. saying you're the one making her hot.

and don't you dare say anything about her making you too hot. she'll pout and whine if you push her hands away or dodge her kisses because she'll only make you hotter.

"no, abs. not right now. it's too hot to cuddle in be-" she cuts you off with an exaggerated whine.

"babbbbeeeeee!" her lips frown down into a pout, "You're so mean to me!"

she's so dramatic about it too. flipping on the bed and pouting as she then goes on to fake cry. whining and groaning like a wounded deer.

if you give her a couple kisses she'll be satisfied until she craves your attention in 5 minutes.

she can't go more than an hour without a kiss from you.

especially at work. having to go an 8 hour shift without a kiss? impossible in her eyes.

so she's always calling you and begging you to swing by and give her a kiss and a hug. and maybe a snack. a girl's gotta eat. what better than a homemade meal that her girlfriend made?

I imagine her working at like a hardware store. I dunno. I don't have reasons other than seeing her muscles flex when she lifts wooden boards or paint cans.

asking you to come over on her breaks. sitting on the bench outside if the weather allows it. listening to you talk about whatever you've been up to that day. work, school, errands. it doesn't matter. she could listen to your voice all day and still not be tired of hearing it.

she'd end up just admiring you as you speak. totally zoned out. chin in the palm of her hand as her elbow rests on her knee. just looking at your face. memorizing your features as if she won't ever see you again.

she'd only snap out of her daze when she realizes you stopped talking and your face is beet red because of her gaze.

"oh, sorry, babe. I didn't mean to stare. you're just so… pretty. pretty girl."

she can't help it. she's just a lovesick puppy!

a lovesick puppy that follows you around in the grocery store. holding onto your belt loop as you walk down the cereal aisle looking for abby's favorite. Captain Crunch.

she'd be looking at you with a big dopey grin. wrapping her arms around you in a hug. planting sweet kisses across your cheek and jaw. not caring if she's in the way or distracting you from the shelves of cereal.

when she's not staring at you, she's grabbing stuff she wants off the shelves and tossing them in the cart.

"really, abby? ramen noodles?"

"what? they're good."

"last time you had some, you complained. said it gave you a 'tummy ache'. remember?"

she smiles bashfully as she places the noodles back onto the shelf. "Yes, ma'am."

and as much as she likes to act touch and all strong. she's totally whipped for you. you tell her to bend over backward, she would. you say jump, she says "how high?"

shes always been like this. even before you two got together. always calling you ma'am. at first it was out of respect and because she was scared of you. pretty girls scare her. but eventually it turned into a way to tease you. she always liked how it made you blush a bit.

"abs did you wash the dishes?"

"yes, ma'am. I did." she usually says it with a cheeky grin.

unless you've scolded her for something. then she says it with a blush and a bit of submission in her voice.

like when she pushes herself too far at the gym. maybe she pulled a muscle or went too far to try and show off.

I mean, we all know abby is a gym rat through and through. like look at her. girl is beefy.

she loves the gym. she loves working out. she's very active. walking, lifting, anything really. she always likes walks with you in the morning.

the sun coming up, morning dew and fog out. the nice morning air. she'd make sure to slow down and match her strides with yours. not wanting to leave you behind. going at your pace. holding onto your hand and just chatting.

she's definitely a morning person. the latest she ever wakes up, even on her off days, is 8AM. she's always up and at em. even if you're not.

she makes herself a morning protein shake. goes for a jog, showers, and cleans the apartment before you've even woken up.

she's not one for sitting around and doing nothing. unless it's with you. if you're there, she'll be happy doing anything.

she's always so happy to have you around. a big grin always plastered on her face when you're in the room. her hands will find yours and squeeze.

if the two of you go out with friends, she won't leave your side. she won't let anyone else sit next to you. she'll have a hand on your leg and sit as close as she can.

most likely not listening to anyone talk but you. laughing at all your jokes, even if no one else does. even if it's a shit joke.

basically abby is perfect and amazing and I love her.

a/n: this is the first time I've written anything in like years. I used to write a bit on a different account, but yk.. life happened. but yeah, sorry if this sucks balls!

[darksturnz]

IN YOUR ORBIT

CONTENTS:・fluff? angst?-heavy plot (¿¿¿) ・star!reader ・bambi!madison ・artist!chris・sappy sappy sappy ・artist!chris gets a smidge corny but ITS CUTEE I SWEAR 😿 + more WC:4.2k

this song literally has been my top song in my spotify wraps since it was released. please listen on loop :3!

The treehouse sat nestled behind Madison’s house, its edges worn by years of weather and love. Its faded wood blended with the trees surrounding it, and the faint golden glow of string lights woven along the beams made it feel like something out of a dream. The creek gurgled softly nearby, its sound underscoring the quiet retreat Star had created for herself. She hadn’t left this sanctuary in a week. She hadn’t gone back to the trailer park, hadn’t faced the mess waiting for her there. Instead, she stayed here, wrapped in the safety of Madison’s presence.

Inside, the treehouse was cluttered with years of memories: old books with dog-eared pages, throw blankets, faded cushions, and now, Star’s cat, Comet, who had claimed a corner as his personal kingdom. His litter box sat discreetly in one corner, his food and water bowls lined up neatly beside a blanket she’d brought from home. He was sprawled lazily on one of Madison’s pillows, his black fur blending seamlessly with the worn fabric as he watched the girls with a contented air.

Madison sat cross-legged by the window, her guitar resting on her lap as she plucked at the strings, trying to tune them. Star lay on her stomach near the center of the room, flipping through one of Madison’s journals without any real focus. Her eyes skimmed over the half-finished song lyrics, doodles, and scattered thoughts, but her mind felt too crowded to take any of it in. She wasn’t ready to think about Chris or Danny or the complicated mess that connected them all. The idea of going back to the trailer park made her chest tighten.

Madison hadn’t said anything about it. She hadn’t asked why Star wasn’t going home or pressed her for answers. Instead, she’d quietly made the treehouse feel as welcoming as possible. A portable heater hummed in the corner, keeping the space warm despite the winter chill outside. A lavender-scented candle flickered on a small shelf, its faint aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the creek and the wood. Madison just kept things easy, offering quiet companionship without demands, and Star was grateful for it.

“You’re being too quiet,” Madison said softly, breaking the quiet strum of her guitar. She glanced at Star with a knowing look.

“What’s there to say?” Star mumbled, not looking up.

Madison adjusted one of the guitar strings, the sound twanging sharply in the stillness. “I dunno, just checking in I guess,” she said lightly, though her gaze lingered on Star a moment longer.

Star shrugged, her fingers idly flipping another page. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and Madison knew it. But she didn’t press. She just returned her attention to the guitar, her fingers moving deftly as she strummed out a soft melody. The sound filled the space, soothing in its familiarity. Madison’s music had always had a way of quieting Star’s thoughts, and tonight was no different. Star let the notes wash over her, her body sinking deeper into the cushion beneath her.

Comet chose that moment to leap onto Madison’s lap, his paws landing squarely on the strings with an audible thud. Madison laughed, pulling him away gently and holding him up to eye level.

“Your son is terribly unaware of manners,” she teased, setting him down on the floor beside her.

Star grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. “He’s the most well-behaved man in my life. Leave him alone.”

Madison raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “That’s depressing.”

Star shrugged again, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Yeah, well. It’s the truth.”

Madison rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. She gave the guitar another strum, then set it aside, leaning back against the wall. “This place has seriously seen better days,” she said, gesturing at the treehouse around them.

“S’perfect,” Star said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Madison looked at her for a long moment, her expression softening. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess it is.”

The air between them settled again, the kind of comfortable silence that only years of friendship could create. Star closed her eyes, letting the quiet hum of the creek and the faint rustle of the wind outside lull her into a sense of calm. Madison picked up the guitar again, strumming idly, the soft notes blending seamlessly with the sounds of the night.

“You haven’t sung for me in forever,” Star said after a while, her voice barely above a murmur.

Madison glanced at her, her fingers pausing on the strings. “What do you want to hear?”

Star opened her eyes, her gaze drifting to Madison’s hands. “You know what I want.”

Madison froze, her fingers stilling. “Seriously?”

Star nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile. “It’s your favorite. And… it’s kinda ours, isn’t it?”

Madison hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then, with a soft sigh, she adjusted her grip on the guitar. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But don’t judge me if I mess it up.”

Star didn’t answer, just leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes again. Madison wouldn’t mess it up, she never did. 

The first notes of We’ll Never Have Sex filled the space, tentative at first but growing stronger as Madison found her rhythm. Her voice was soft, almost shy, but it carried an unpolished beauty that made Star’s chest ache. The lyrics hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

For Madison, the song was an outlet, a way to express everything she couldn’t say out loud. For Star, it was a reminder of safety and love, of the kind of connection that didn’t come with expectations or strings. As Madison sang, Star felt something in her chest loosen, the weight she’d been carrying for days easing just slightly.

By the time Madison reached the second chorus, Star had shifted closer, her head resting against Madison’s shoulder. Madison didn’t stop playing, but she glanced down at Star, her expression softening. She kept singing, her voice steady even as her heart raced.

When the song ended, the treehouse fell silent except for the faint crackle of the heater and the soft purring of Comet. Madison set the guitar aside, her fingers lingering on the strings.

“I missed that, Your voice” Star said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

Madison shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not all that and a bag of chips.”

“It is,” Star insisted, sitting up slightly. “That song—what it means… It’s everything. You’re everything.”

Madison swallowed hard, her heart racing. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Star’s face. “I just want you to feel… loved,” she said quietly. “Like you matter. Because you do.”

Star’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You make me feel that way, Mads. Always.”

Madison didn’t trust herself to speak, so she pressed a soft kiss to Star’s temple, letting the moment speak for itself.

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and full of unspoken understanding. But eventually, Madison broke it, her voice hesitant.

“You should talk to him,” she said.

Star frowned, her brows knitting together. “Talk to who?”

Madison gave her a knowing look, and Star’s face fell as realization dawned. “No. Absolutely not.”

Madison’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not saying what he did was okay. It wasn’t. But he’s become a safe place for you, Star. And you deserve as many of those as you can get.”

Star hesitated, her defenses cracking. “What if it’s not safe anymore?”

Madison shook her head, her voice firm but gentle. “You miss him. And Lila. Don’t let your pride keep you from something good.”

The words sat heavily between them, and for the first time in days, Star allowed herself to consider them. By the time she agreed, the sun was beginning to set. 

Star left the treehouse with reluctance, her steps heavy as she made her way down the old wooden steps. Comet stayed behind, curled into a ball in his makeshift corner, purring softly. Madison leaned against the doorframe, watching her go with an expression that was equal parts worry and hope. She didn’t say anything as Star started down the path toward the trailer park, but her presence lingered, like a steadying hand on Star’s back.

The air was crisp, biting against her cheeks, but Star welcomed it. The chill helped distract her from the storm of thoughts swirling in her head. Each step closer to the trailer park felt like an admission of defeat, though she wasn’t sure what she was surrendering to—Chris, herself, or the ache that had settled in her chest since their fight.

The world around her was quiet, the only sounds coming from the crunch of gravel beneath her boots and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. It was the kind of silence that invited reflection, whether she wanted it or not.

Her mind drifted to moments with Chris. The sharpness of his dry humor, the way he moved through the world like he was trying to go unnoticed, and the rare softness he reserved for Lila. She thought about the way his hands were always busy—sketching, tinkering with the car, rolling blunts—and how those same hands had brushed hers when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She thought about the quiet nights on his porch, words left unsaid between them, and how that silence had felt comforting until it hadn’t.

Her chest tightened as the trailer park came into view, its familiar outline stirring up everything she’d been avoiding all week. She clenched her fists at her sides, bracing herself for the weight of what was waiting for her there.

As she turned onto their shared street, her steps faltered. Chris was already there, standing in front of her trailer. He looked out of place in the streetlight’s glow, his broad shoulders slouched and his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He seemed caught between leaving and knocking, his hesitation palpable even from a distance.

Star ducked behind a tree, watching him. She knew she shouldn’t, but her feet stayed planted, her body frozen. He lifted his hand, hesitated, and then let it fall. The second time, his knuckles brushed the door, the sound barely audible even in the quiet.

The door opened to Danny, whose irritation was visible in the stiff set of his shoulders. Star’s breath caught, and she stepped back instinctively, her back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. She couldn’t hear their words, but she didn’t need to. Chris’s body language said it all. His shoulders were hunched, his posture smaller than usual. Danny’s crossed arms and narrowed eyes were all dismissal.

Chris said something low, his voice too soft to carry, and Danny’s expression hardened. He responded with something curt before stepping back and slamming the door. Chris stood there, unmoving, for a long moment. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration before turning to leave.

That’s when he saw her.

Star froze, her breath hitching as his gaze locked onto hers. His surprise was clear in the way his body tensed, his feet halting mid-step. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Star stepped out from behind the tree, keeping a cautious distance between them.

“Hey,” Chris said, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

“Hi,” she echoed, the word barely more than a breath.

He glanced toward her trailer, then back at her. “You heading home?”

She shook her head. “No.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and taut. Star dug her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, her nails pressing into her palms as she searched for the right words. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Can…can we talk?”

Chris’s eyes flickered, something like relief crossing his face before he nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked in silence to the old playground at the edge of the park, their steps slow and careful, like they were afraid to break whatever fragile truce had formed between them. The swings creaked softly in the breeze, the rusted chains groaning under their weight. Star sat on one of the swings, her fingers curling around the cold metal, while Chris settled on the bottom step of the slide, a few feet away.

The silence stretched between them again, the quiet almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” Star said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris’s head snapped up, his brow furrowing. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough.

She looked at him, startled by the sharpness in his tone.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, quieter this time. He stared at the ground, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“You were trying to help,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “And I… I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He shifted uncomfortably, his hands running through his hair. "I felt cornered. Embarrassed. You were just... trying to help, and I threw it back at you. I got defensive because... because this is what I do. And it's fucking humiliating. But I have to do it, Star. For them. It wasn’t about you. I just… I can’t—” He stopped, his words catching in his throat.

Star waited, giving him the space to continue, but when he didn’t, she spoke. “I get it, you’re taking care of them,” she said softly. “ But it felt like you were pushing me away.”

Chris’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the ground. “I was,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

The honesty in his words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked down at her hands, the chains of the swing digging into her palms. “Why?”

Chris exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because it’s easier,” he said finally. “To push people away. To fuck things up before they can…” He trailed off, his voice cracking.

“Before they can what?”

He didn’t answer. His hands flexed, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the step.

Star felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. “You hurt me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought you…I thought maybe you let me in, but then you just… shut me out. Like I didn’t matter.”

Chris’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. They were filled with so much guilt, so much regret, that it nearly took her breath away. “You do matter,” he said, his voice raw. “More than you know.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Star looked away, her hands trembling as she gripped the chains tighter.

“ m’not good at this,” Chris said finally, his voice low and hesitant. “At… people. At letting them in. Not anymore,” He paused, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “But you… you’re different. You’re not like anyone else.”

Star’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at his words. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for something—anything—to hold onto.

“M’working on it though.. don’t give up on me yet,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the rawness in his expression. She reached out, her hand brushing his lightly. “I won’t,” she said softly.

For a moment, they just sat there, the quiet between them wrapping around them like a blanket, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken and everything they couldn’t quite find the words to say.

Chris’s voice broke the stillness, so soft it almost melted into the night. “You’re like..every star in my sky, you know that?”

Star blinked, her breath catching in her chest. She turned to look at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What does that make you?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing together like he was weighing the words, then let out a quiet, almost shy laugh. “I dunno…maybe just the sky,” he murmured. “Big, empty… but you—you light it up. You make it mean something.”

Her heart ached in a way that was both painful and sweet, like it was trying to hold too much all at once. “You’re not empty,” she said softly, shaking her head. “You’re not.”

Chris’s eyes lifted to hers, the guarded walls he always carried stripped away, leaving behind something raw and achingly sincere. “I just… I don’t know what I’d do without them. Or you. I don’t think I want to find out.”

She smiled then, her lips trembling as warmth spread through her chest. “You don’t have to,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re stuck with all of us, Sturniolo.”

His faint, lopsided smile returned, but this time it reached his eyes.

Star leaned back slightly, letting her gaze drift up to the night sky. The stars were scattered like pinpricks of light, distant and beautiful. “You’re the moon for me,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Chris tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Because even when it’s dark, you’re still there,” she murmured, her voice steady. She turned to him, her eyes shimmering in the soft light. “You always find a way to be there.”

Chris didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand brushing hers where it rested on the swing’s chain. His touch was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right, but when her fingers curled around his, the tension in his shoulders eased.

Star’s chest swelled with something too big to name, and as she looked at him, she realized the ache she’d carried all week had finally started to ease. Whatever this was—whatever they were—it wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

The walk back to the trailers was slow and unhurried, the crisp night air weaving around them as if it were trying to push them closer. Star’s boots kicked at stray pebbles, her thoughts swirling as the silence stretched between them. Finally, she glanced at Chris out of the corner of her eye.

“What were you doing at my trailer?” she asked, her voice careful but curious.

Chris’s steps faltered for a moment, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. He shrugged, the motion almost boyish, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushing a faint red. “Was seeing if you were home yet.”

Star stopped walking, her brow furrowed. “Yet?” she echoed, her voice tinged with confusion.

Chris hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground now, like it might swallow him whole. “Yeah,” he muttered, shifting his weight awkwardly. “been over there a couple times. Y’know, to apologize. After you took a while to respond to the drawing.”

“The what?” Star’s confusion deepened, her head tilting slightly.

Chris looked up, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. “The drawing. The one I slipped through your window?” he said, his voice quieter now, his usual confidence muted. “I just figured you saw it and didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Star blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before she found her voice. “Chris,” she said slowly, “I haven’t been home to see it.”

His expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and something softer, though he quickly tried to mask it with a shrug. “It’s no big deal now,” he said, his voice carrying a forced nonchalance. “Was just a stupid doodle asking to talk.”

Star stepped closer to him, her lips quirking into a small, teasing smile. “You really need to work on your apology skills, maybe hand it to me next time.”

Chris huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and genuine, and it sent a flutter through Star’s chest. “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will do.”

As they neared her trailer, the conversation slowed, the quiet settling over them once again. When they reached her door, Chris stopped, turning to look at her. For a moment, they just stood there, the faint hum of the night filling the space between them.

“I missed you,” Star said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Chris’s gaze darted to hers, his usual guardedness cracking. His cheeks turned red again, but this time he didn’t look away. “Yeah? The trailer’s been a little quiet without you barging in all the time,” he admitted, his voice gruff but laced with something warmer, softer.

The words settled over her like a balm, easing the ache that had lingered in her chest for days, he was terrible with his words but she knew what he was getting at. She smiled, stepping a little closer. “Where’s Lila?” she asked, glancing toward his trailer.

Chris leaned against the railing, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “She’s at a sleepover,” he said. “Some kid from school invited her over. First one she’s ever gone to, actually.”

Star smiled at that, imagining Lila’s excitement. “Good for her,” she said, her voice warm.

Chris nodded before glancing at her again. “Where’ve you been staying?”

“With Madison and Comet,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Tucked away in a treehouse.”

Chris arched a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “A treehouse? That sounds very… you.”

Star nudged his arm lightly, rolling her eyes. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

But Chris’s smile faded slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. “You stayed away because of me,” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Star looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t just you,” she murmured, though they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.

Chris reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, hesitant but steady. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

Star looked up at him, her chest tightening. And before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, but full of all the things they couldn’t find the words for.

Chris froze for half a second before he kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, warm and steady. When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and for the first time in days, Star felt like she could breathe again.

“C’mon,” Chris said after a moment, his voice still soft but steadier now. “Let me take you back to Madison’s.”

Star hesitated, her pulse quickening. 

Chris gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll go slow. Promise.”

After a moment, she nodded, and he led her to his car.

As Chris pulled up in front of Madison’s house, the car hummed to a stop. Star reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open, Chris had already slipped out of his seat and rounded the hood.

She blinked at him as he opened her door, the quiet chivalry catching her off guard. “You didn’t have to—”

He shrugged, cutting her off with a lopsided smile. “Just wanted to.”

Star stepped out, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Before she could thank him, Chris leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It was brief but full of something unspoken, the warmth of his hand resting lightly on her back grounding her in the moment.

Above them, nestled in the soft glow of the treehouse lights, Madison sat frozen. She’d been lounging on the worn cushions, a book open on her lap, when the sound of a car pulling up caught her attention.

Curiosity had drawn her to the window, her gaze slipping past the familiar outline of the treehouse railing. At first, the car didn’t register as anything more than an unexpected visitor. But then the passenger door opened, and Madison saw the guy step out.

Her heart fluttered as she watched him walk around the car, his movements easy but purposeful. He opened the passenger door, his head tilting toward the figure stepping out. Madison’s breath caught as the girl emerged, her silhouette illuminated faintly by the moonlight.

The guy leaned down, pressing a kiss to the girl’s lips, and Madison’s stomach twisted, the scene unfolding like a blow she hadn’t seen coming. She was about to look away, unwilling to invade their privacy any further, when the girl turned, her face catching the faint glow of the moon.

Madison’s heart stopped.

It was Star.

The book in Madison’s lap tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t notice. Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as she watched her best friend kiss Chris. The kiss was soft, nothing over the top, but it was enough. Enough to confirm what Madison hadn’t seriously wanted to admit to herself.

Madison pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look away. She felt guilt pooling alongside the ache in her chest, guilt for watching, guilt for the bitterness she couldn’t push down.

When she dared another glance, Chris was walking Star up the path toward the house, their conversation too quiet to hear. Madison swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the edge of the cushion. She felt like a stranger looking in, someone on the outside of something she couldn’t touch.

As Star turned to wave at Chris before he left, the warmth in her smile was unmistakable, and it only made the ache in Madison’s chest deepen. She forced herself to step back from the window, her heart heavy, and sat down on the cushions again, her head lowering into her hands.

It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself, not really. It was just the ache of knowing she’d lost something she never really had to begin with.

AUTHORS NOTE: this song GENUINELY makes me crash out my god. anyways you can all stop jumping me in my ask now pls, he fixed it it’s fixed they’re married with 38464923874 children in another alternate universe 😿

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696

[lvrhughes]

How You Get The Girl | C. Bedard

1989 TV fics masterlist!

pairing: Connor Bedard x fem!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none?

Summary: How Connor got the girl (you ever listen to the song? it's basically just that)

not my gif!

“Are you insane? Get in here!” The panic in your tone as Connor stood on your doorstep, shaking from the rain, pale as a ghost, brought a smile to his face. “You’re soaked, what are you doing?”  The words coming out quickly as you ran to grab a towel, sifting through the linen closet in search, quickly wrapping it around his shoulders when you found one. 

“I was too scared to tell you what I want, I want you.” His words stunning you, standing still in front of him while the words washed over you. 

“What?” That was all you managed to get out, looking at him in shock. 

“For six months I’ve been so scared to tell you that I want you.” 

It had been a long six months. 

“Connor-” You started, quickly being cut-off by the boy. 

“No it’s okay if you don’t feel the same but you need to know that I love you.” 

“I love you.” You settled on, watching the calm cover his features compared to the stubble stress that covered before. 

“Really?” His voice filled with uncertainty, as if he thought he couldn’t trust what you’d just admitted. 

“I love you so much Connor.” You grinned, reaching up to latch your arms around his neck, his arms looping around your waist. 

“Can I kiss you?” He kept his voice quiet, leaning enough to almost touch you, barely not. 

Quickly nodding before leaning into him, pressing against him. Letting yourself melt into the kiss, him doing the same while you ran your hands through the damp ends of his hair. 

“Did you run over here?” You asked as he pulled away, almost panting for breath. 

“Maybe.” He grinned, pecking your lips again before picking you up, electing a squeal from your lips. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he walked through your house, carrying you bridal style to your room. 

“I’m cold and it’s late, we’re going to bed.” He smiled, pushing your bedroom door open with his foot before placing you on the bed. Digging through your closet for the clothes you’d stolen from him, ending with a pair of his sweats and a canucks t-shirt you had taken the other week. 

He quickly changed, ditching his wet clothes in favor of the warm, dry ones. He crawled in the bed beside you, laying before grabbing you, pulling you tight against him. Smiling at the boy as he did the same, looking down at you where you laid in his arms. 

“I’ve been wishing for this for six months.” He mumbled, kissing your lips once more before reaching over you, flicking off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. 

“You could’ve had me six months ago too.” You answered, curling impossibly closer into him while he sighed. 

“I wish I would’ve but I got you now and I’m not losing you anytime soon.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head, mumbling a goodnight before drifting to sleep. 

Pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks, scatters along your walls, every happy memory filled your space. Fighting to tear all the pictures down, taking them down to immediately put them back up again, tears flooding your eyes as you looked at them. The picture on your nightstand, you and Connor, at the annual fair, his lips pressed to your cheek as you smiled. He’d disappeared now, it felt as if he was hiding, staying away for some unknown reason to you. 

Knocking on your door pulling you from your trance, wiping the nearly dried tears from your cheeks, giving you notice of how long you’d been sitting there. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I must’ve lost my mind,” He started, his arms covering your body before you could react. “Leaving you without an explanation, God I had to have lost my mind.” He mumbled, kissing the top of your head. 

“What are you doing? Connor, you broke my heart!” You cried, subconsciously leaning into his hold as you sobbed. 

“I’m so sorry baby, one more chance that’s all I need. I broke your heart, I’ll put it back together.” His words are soft, keeping them in a gentle tone to keep comforting you. “It’ll be just like before, promise. I’ll never leave you again. I want you for ever and ever.”

Nodding against his chest, him looking down at you. Looking back up at him, nodding again while the smile grew on his lips. 

“I get another chance?” He asked. 

“One more.” You nodded. 

His movements quick, pressing a kiss to your lips before you could even think, his arms holding your body against his as he kissed you. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” He mumbled against your lips, leading you towards your room. 

He moved back, reaching to open your door, leading you into your room. His eyes scanning the walls, the same as he’d remembered. 

“You kept all the pictures?” His eyes traveled in awe, stopping to admire each picture.

“I couldn’t get rid of them.” Admitting it in a tone barely above a whispered, his eyes snapping back to yours quickly. 

“I love you so much,” His eyes staring at yours, softening his expression with each word. 

“I love you, too.” You smiled, moving towards his arms before he fell onto your bed, laying with your body on top of his. 

“I want you for worse or for better, I would wait for ever and ever,” HIs hands held yours as you stood, on some random pier in Vancouver, his jacket wrapped around your body to protect you from the wet cold he grew up with. “I broke your heart, I put it back together, I want you for ever and ever.” 

Tears flooding your waterline as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a simple velvet box in one hand. 

“It’s not a proposal,” He clarified, earning a small laugh from you. “Not yet, it’s a promise ring, that I’ll love you for ever and ever.” 

“Connor,” His hand coming up to wipe away the stray tear that fell. “I love it, I love you.” 

He smiled, his hands coming up to place the ring on your finger, pressing a kiss to your hand before letting go. Letting you stare at the ring adorn your hand now before wrapping your arms around his shoulders to kiss him, tangling your hands through his hair while his encircled your waist. 

“This definitely means you’re going to marry me one day now right?” You grinned, whispering the words against his lips. 

“Definitely.” He smiled back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

[afewproblems]

I just got a tattoo done and was thinking about all of the before and after care instructions they gave me and how older Eddie would have possibly reacted to the list of things he would need to do or items to purchase for a new addition to his sleeve.

The artist reaches out to Eddie years after corroded coffin makes it big. She's fairly well known as a minor celebrity herself in the tattoo and body modification space in LA, so when she contacts Eddie's agent about offering a new piece for his eclectic sleeve he checks out her portfolio and is immediately sold.

She sends him the idea and he signs off on it right away and before they know it, he and Steve are on a plane from Chicago to Los Angeles.

It isn't until it's done, and the second skin is placed over the piece, smoothed out to ensure no bubbling, that Eddie balks at the secondary list of steps he needs to take.

The artist taps out the instruction email on her phone, hitting send with a dimpled grin before reaching out to shake his hand and Steve's, thanking them for being such great new clients. She asks Steve if he would be interested in a piece at some point, to which he smiles politely and shakes his head.

Steve has never been into tattoos for himself, though he's always gone to great lengths to admire and kiss each piece on Eddie's body.

Eddie half listens as they continue to chat, pulling out his phone to review the email she sent him.

"Ensure that you leave the second skin on for three to five days and upon its removal (see removal instructions on page two)..."

Eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes right then and there. It's not as though this is his first ever tattoo, he's been getting ink since before this girl was even born.

He winces at the thought, reminding himself that just because she's young doesn't mean she doesn't know her shit, and she clearly does. He shakes his head and nods when Steve says goodbye for them and they make their way to the elevator.

"Okay, what's with the face?" Steve asks quietly as soon as the door closes.

Eddie sighs and folds his arms over his chest, careful not to bump the now tender area on his forearm.

"You look like you swallowed a lemon, spill," he reaches out for Eddie's shoulder, his warm hazel eyes, now lined with gentle wrinkles at the edges search his face, "do you not like it?"

Eddie barks out a laugh, "it's probably one of the nicest ones in the whole collection, no Stevie, it's not that".

Steve raises his eyebrow now and just looks at Eddie until the elevator dings and the doors open before them.

God Dammit.

He loves and hates this ability, that Steve knows Eddie will crack eventually if he just waits long enough.

"Fine!" Eddie sighs as they make their way back to the hotel.

It's gorgeous out, nothing like the weather back home right now, the palm trees lining the streets and the twinkling fairy lights on every corner gives the area an almost magical feel, despite the bustling pedestrians packing the sidewalks.

"It's a little weird all the instructions," Eddie says eventually. He speaks slowly, doing his best to articulate exactly what he feels.

Steve nods, though the confused pinch between his brow doesn't quite fade.

"And I've been getting these done since it eighties, Steve, it's just a little--"

Eddie growls and tugs on his hair in frustration, "I don't want to be shitty".

Steve shrugs and loops his arm around Eddie's small waist, tugging him closer.

"Be shitty, you know I love it," he grins and lifts his free hand to remove Eddie's from his hair, "what about the instructions made you upset?"

"It's like I'm being talked down to," Eddie says with a frown, "I got a stick and poke from Jeff in '84 that was totally fine with out any of this," he lifts his arm now to show off the shiny second skin to Steve who nods.

"And which one was that again?" Steve asks, there's a leading lilt to his voice that makes Eddie want to sit on the sidewalk.

He huffs out a low whine, "Steve--"

"Eddie," Steve answers with a soft smile.

And Eddie knows he's lost this argument, if you could even call it that, because the bats that Jeff did for him all the way back in '84, have since been covered up.

Over the years they had morphed into six blobs of bluish grey on the back of his forearm that could no longer be distinguishable as bats, and after being asked about his 'abstract' tattoos by an interviewer a few years back, he had made the decision to get them covered.

And it could have been any number of things that lead to the eventual fading and blobification of his bats, but Eddie figured it was probably because they had almost immediately gotten infected a few days after Jeff had finished them in his parents garage.

Eddie clears his throat and opens the email on his phone again, taking another look at the list the artist had sent him.

"Fine, you gonna help me take care of this thing Stevie?" Eddie grumbles as they enter the revolving door of the hotel, stepping carefully into the pie shaped section to avoid colliding with the moving entryway.

Steve snorts and lets his hand curl through one of the belt loops on Eddie's jeans, "I think I remember agreeing to something like that, in sickness and health?"

He leans forward and nuzzels his nose into Eddie's ear, "till the end of our days".

[babyblue711]

Temptation

Ettore (High Life) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: Tired of the monotony of everyday life aboard the spaceship, you decide to start a little game to taunt Ettore. But your plan backfires and now you must deal with the consequences of temptation. This fic was heavily inspired by these two songs. I recommend giving them a listen before continuing: "Fill the Void" by Lily-Rose Depp & The Weeknd and "Little Girl Gone" by CHINCHILLA Words: 6.3K

Warnings: PLEASE READ! NSFW, Smut, Mature Themes 18+, Sexual Content 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Rough Sex, Physical Violence, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Physical Abuse, Language, Degradation A/N: Consider Part 1 to be "just getting warmed up". I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and @myfandomprompts for providing most of the pics and gifs! Dividers by @firefly-graphic

Every day was the same.

Trapped on this doomed spaceship that was destined for hell, every day felt like a relentless loop of monotony and misery. Same work, same people, same experiments, same old bullshit every fucking day. 

The utilitarian living quarters of the spacecraft make you feel like you are in a mental hospital, cold and uninviting. Every facet of the interior is minimalistic; a mix of sterile clinical spaces and dimly lit, shadowy corridors. Blue light shines at night that’s supposed to help the inhabitants sleep. The bland functionality and oppressive “sameness” just makes you want to scream.

Some days it all becomes too much to bear and you feel a small part of you snap. You despise feeling helpless and not in control of your life anymore; with each beat of your heart, white hot fire courses through your veins. At times, you yearn to unleash your fury on someone, anyone, to let out the pent-up frustration that has been building within you for far too long. But then the storm inside of you passes and you settle back into your repetitive routine once more. 

Your fellow shipmates are a bunch of criminals and weirdos. You try to make due with what you have, except for Dr. Dibs, whom you hate with your whole heart. Her cold demeanor and cruel experiments are a constant source of dread. She seems to derive pleasure from the suffering she inflicts upon you and the other girls aboard the ship.

Although you aren’t really sure you could call them friends, there are a few people you were “ok” with, mainly the other girls that also had to suffer through Dr. Dib’s sick experiments. A few of the guys are alright too; Monte is a loner that mainly keeps to himself and you’ve never heard him say an unkind word. Tcherny’s favorite place on the ship is the makeshift garden and you couldn’t blame him since it reminds everyone of Earth, of home. 

Ettore is…unusual. He has a certain aura that just feels…off. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck whenever you catch him staring or whenever he passes too close in the corridor, as if an electric current surrounds him, radiating off of his body. He’s a man of few words; you’ve rarely ever heard him speak. 

Amongst the girls, it’s well known that he doesn’t give a fuck if he is caught staring or leering, which he often is. Boyse especially dislikes him because he gives her the creeps. She normally has trouble sleeping at night because she says she can feel her skin crawl when he looks at her. You try your best to just ignore him most of the time. 

Until one day, during lunch in the cafeteria, you are sitting with the girls, mingling and talking quietly, when you feel a tingle go down your spine. You glance up and immediately make eye contact with him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself momentarily captivated by the intensity behind his gaze.

You were already having a bad day and you can feel the beginnings of another storm brewing inside. You’re sick of Ettore’s shit so you stare right back, issuing him a challenge in a silent duel to look away first. The air seems to sizzle with tension as you watch his glare harden when you don’t look away, like most of the girls normally do; he looks positively predatory with his sharp angular face and dark blue eyes. 

You refuse to let him intimidate you. Your eyes are watering but you’re too involved in this stupid little battle of wills to concede to him now by blinking. Thankfully, a welcome interruption arrives in the form of Monte. Having not noticed the little contest between you and Ettore, he walks right in front, breaking the spell between you two. You blink rapidly and take a deep breath, watching as Ettore leans around Monte to look back at you, an unspoken promise in his stare that seems to say, I’m not done with you yet. You roll your eyes and look away.

“What are you looking at, Y/N?” Boyse asks from beside you, snapping you to attention. 

“Uh...nothing,” you mumble back, not really wanting to engage with her.

“That fucking creep. He sits across from us to stare at us on purpose, have you noticed?” Boyse says, noticing the trail of your gaze.

“Yeah, I know but don’t let it bother you, Boyse, just ignore him,” you try to diffuse the situation. You don’t want to be involved in yet another incident where Ettore made a girl feel uncomfortable. Boyse goes back to picking at her food silently and you do the same. 

You ignore him now; he isn’t worth your time or attention. Even though you get a bad vibe from him, you can’t help but notice a certain attractiveness about Ettore. He is tall and lean, with corded muscles on his arms, toned chest, and abs. He has a very angular face, strong jaw and chin with a sharp nose and luscious lips. You have to admit that you had never seen a man with as beautiful lips as his.

Lost for a moment thinking about his body, you bring yourself back to the present. You scold yourself; perhaps the monotony of this ship really was driving you insane, lusting after someone who gave off such ominous vibes. You swore to hate men for all eternity after what you had endured. That’s how you ended up in this hell hole to begin with….

After years of torment and physical violence of both you and your mother, you finally snapped and murdered your abusive stepfather in his sleep after he was passed out from another drunken rage.

But, despite arguing in court that your actions should be considered self defense after years of abuse, the jury found you guilty and sentenced you to life in prison...or join this sick experiment in space. You aren’t remorseful that you had killed your step-father. He got what he deserved and no other woman would have to deal with his violence ever again. However, when your mother learned that you had chosen to accept this mission in space, she couldn’t bear the pain of losing her only daughter. She took a bunch of pills and never woke up. 

Now, you are an unloved, unwanted murderer and no one cared if you lived or died. This mission is perfect for people like you. 

You’re standing in line for the shower that evening, towel in hand, when Ettore walks by; his hair is still wet from his shower and he’s wearing a fresh set of scrubs, towel slung over his shoulder. You see him coming and avert your eyes so as not to attract his attention. He saunters over anyway and you know he’s trying to annoy you on purpose.

He stops right beside your left shoulder and you reluctantly bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. His presence is imposing and you can't help but notice how much taller he is compared to you, making you feel small and vulnerable in his shadow. He leers, invading your personal space and it takes everything in you to not step back from him as he looks down his nose at you. Your eyes lock in a tense standoff, each daring the other to back down. 

Despite your inner resolve, you feel a knot of tension in your stomach, and your hand instinctively tightens around the towel you're holding. It takes all your strength to hold your ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he sneers in a low voice. 

You realize that he is trying to intimidate you with some stupid alpha-male shit, but you are not afraid of him. Fire burns hot in your blood and you are ready for a fight.

“I’m not doin’ shit, Ettore, now fuck off,” you say back aggressively, letting him know you won’t be an easy meal with your tone.

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls lowly, deep in his chest. He steps closer to you, suddenly trailing a finger from your eyebrow down the side of your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you flinch and freeze, staring up at him with wide eyes mixed with confusion and defiance.

“C’mon, love, I know you’re just playing hard to get,” he whispers as his eyes look you up and down suggestively. Finally, he turns and walks away.

As he exits the bathroom, you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding and think, What the fuck was that? You curse internally; you knew you shouldn’t have started anything back in the cafeteria. Now he thinks you’re interested or some shit. But…maybe you were, in a way? You feel conflicted, knowing that he thinks of you as an easy target. 

Finally, it’s your turn for the shower. You undress quickly and start to relax as the hot water streams over your shoulders. As you’re washing your hair, an idea comes to you and butterflies flutter in your chest at your wicked thoughts, the most excitement you’ve felt in a long time. Because of your abusive past, you refuse to let anyone ever make you feel small and insignificant ever again and decide on the spot that Ettore is going to become your next target of torture. You knew his weakness; you’d exploit his obvious sexual deviousness, which was probably fueled by the rules on the ship that the inmates couldn’t engage in any sexual behavior with each other.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. You’d show him who’s boss. Given the lack of privacy on the spacecraft, you’d never fear his retribution; you could tease him mercilessly and always be able to evade any potential advances if he thought he would take things further…or so you hoped. 

A tiny alarm bell rings in the back of your mind. You knew that what you were planning was the equivalent to waking a sleeping dragon but you didn’t care. You are so beyond sick of the monotony of everyday life that you convince yourself that you needed this little extra bit of spice as an escape from the mundane reality of your circumstances.  

So, you allow this little game to proceed between you and Ettore, a cocktail of emotions swirling within you: boredom, lust, anger, hatred, desire—all of them fuel this strange dance.

As the days pass by, you continue to provoke him with stolen glances and lingering eye contact that says more than words ever could. He responds eagerly to your meager attention, just as you knew he would. His advances quickly became more pronounced as simple stares turn into physical contact: brushing your shoulder on purpose as he walks by, daring you to react. Anytime you are in the same vicinity as him, you feel a magnetic energy pulling the two of you together. You have created this friction on purpose to drive him mad, but you can’t help but feel like you are getting caught up in it too…  

Something had awoken in you that night when he touched your face in the bathroom. A wild, feral animal rattles at the bars of this proverbial cage that you had locked away deep inside a long time ago. Women aren’t supposed to be sexual creatures in the same way men are. It was a part of yourself that you have spent years hiding because you are afraid you’d just be labeled a whore or a slut. But what did it matter anymore on this dreaded spaceship? You can’t deny that you, too, feel a deep void, an ache in your chest, a need for something more.

Upon arriving back at your bunk one evening, you hear a deep breath from behind you. You whirl and see Ettore across the hallway, standing in another doorway, watching you. It’s the most provocative he’s looked thus far since he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. You hesitate, then decide to make a show of looking him up and down, biting your bottom lip, secretly admiring his toned chest and abs. When your eyes flick back up to his face, his gaze locks onto yours as he reaches into his pants and starts pleasuring himself right in front of you, not caring if anyone saw. 

Your eyeballs pop in shock at this brazen display of desire. Your heartbeat picks up and a million thoughts start to race through your mind. Should you tease him in return? What if he decides to come into your bunk? Red flags wave a warning in the back of your mind and you knew you were walking on a razor’s edge. You think he’s about to take a step towards you when, thankfully, a door slams nearby and Ettore vanishes into the shadows. You let out a deep breath, doubting your stupid plan to taunt him that was working way too easily. A ripple of unease flows through you. You could feel that he was like a volcano waiting to explode. What would you do when he did?

You decide to ignore him from now on to try to diffuse the tension you had built between you both. He needs to get a grip and, honestly, so did you. So, as much as you despise it, you release your frustration within “The Box” when it all becomes too much to bear. 

A few nights later, you are walking back to your bunk after visiting The Box. Still unsatisfied, you turn the corner and see Ettore scrubbing the floor in front of you, his back to you. He is shirtless again, dressed only in orange cargo pants. He doesn’t look around and you don’t think he’s heard your approach. You pause behind him, admiring the way his shoulder and back muscles ripple as he scrubs the floor. He has three tattoos, all black triangles; one on his right forearm, another on his left bicep, and finally, one on the right side of his neck. You assume they are symbolism for some type of gang. You’re staring, openly, almost hypnotized by the movement of his muscles. 

“I know you’re there,” he says suddenly and you jump out of your revere, heart leaping into your throat. He continues to mop the floor, not even bothering to turn around.

You feign nonchalance and start to walk by him, glancing down just as he is looking up at you.

“I can do you better than that box, you know,” he purrs at you with a cocky smirk. 

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at his words. Your heart pounds and you know you can’t give him any encouragement, so you give a noncommittal grunt before hurrying back to your bunk. When you lay in bed that night, you know, deep down, that if you stood there and watched him any longer, half naked on the floor, you might just be tempted to find out for yourself. 

The next day starts like any other. You’ve been assigned to organize the storage room; a redundant and mundane task, located in the bottom level of the ship. You’ve been at it for a couple of hours, in the middle of inventorying the stockpile of supplies, when you feel a presence from behind. You don’t know what tipped you off exactly because he hasn’t made a sound, but you turn to see him silently shutting the door behind him and locking it, staring at you with a predatory gaze.

“The fuck do you want?” you ask aggressively, firing up at once. Anger is your first line of defense as your heartbeat picks up, but the smallest thrill of fear laces up your spine. An alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind, a small voice is screaming a warning to get out of that room. You are quite alone down here in this part of the ship and you doubt anyone would hear you if you try to scream. This was it…you had pushed him too far and now the consequence was right in front of you, looking at you mercilessly. 

“I think you know what I want,” he almost growls, voice deep. “You have a choice, we can do this the easy way….or we can do this the hard way,” his gaze hardens as he stares at you.

“Fuck off,” you say defiantly back. Inside, you are cursing fluently. You knew this day would come, knew he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. He chuckles as he steps closer until he’s right in front of you, looking down.

“You wanna know what I think?” he says, and you really don’t care what he thinks but you know he’s about to tell you anyway so you don’t even bother responding. “I don’t know what you did to land here on this cursed spaceship, but I think, deep down, you’re just a good little girl, pretending to be bad, aren’t you?” He says this as if hoping to corrupt your innocence; you smirk to yourself, thinking he has no idea who he’s messing with.  

You raise your chin, looking him straight in the eyes and you just can’t help the words that escape from your mouth. “Well…this good little girl is only a bad girl for the right man,” you say with fire in your gaze, taunting him on purpose even though you know it’s a stupid thing to do. “And that sure as hell isn’t you.” 

You could feel the heat radiate off of him from the proximity of his body so close to yours. He smirks and his eyes darken dangerously as he takes the bait.

“Is that so?” he says easily. “You’ve been provoking me for weeks. You think I didn’t know exactly what you were doing all along? I saw you staring at me too. I think you want me as much as I want you.” His eyes seem to burn into you with desire, lust blowing out his pupil.

“It was just a stupid little game, Ettore. It didn’t mean anything, it’s not that serious,” you know you’re babbling as you try to remain calm by playing it off like you don’t know what he’s talking about. His nostrils flare as he sniffs out your lie and you suddenly feel like a mouse that has just wandered into the lion's den. “Besides, you know we can’t,” you say sternly, referring to the rules, trying to get him to see reason. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. And I don’t give a fuck about Dibs’ rules,” he says menacingly. 

Rage starts to come to your rescue as you realize he’s not going to listen to a word you say.

You level him with a hard glare. “I don’t fucking want you, Ettore,” you growl back at him.

Panic seizes you for a moment when he reaches for you suddenly and cups your face with his hand. His thumb runs over your cheek in an unexpected gentle caress before moving over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down. His eyes flick up to yours as lust surges through your core at his touch.

“Such a smart little mouth you have,” he says quietly as he takes a deep breath. “I won’t have a problem fucking the brat outta you.”   

He moves so fast you don’t even have time to blink as he lunges for you, spinning you around and smashing you against some cardboard boxes stacked against the wall nearby. His fingers have a tight grip on your hair as he pushes your face into the box, using his knees to kick your legs apart, unbalancing you, one hand grabs your left arm and twists it behind your back. He moves at such a lightning pace that it momentarily takes your breath away.

He pulls your head back from the box by your hair and bends your neck to the side so he can run his nose from your ear to your shoulder, groaning like an animal in heat as he savors your smell. Your heart hammers in your chest. Shockwaves roll over you at the speed of his assault and you can’t even form words yet, only whimper slightly from the pain of having your hair pulled. At the same time, wetness pools at your center. 

“I gave you an opportunity, didn’t I?” he whispers darkly in your ear. “It didn’t have to be like this, you stupid little cunt,” he grunts as you try to struggle with all your might to get away from him, but he’s just too big, too heavy, too strong to break free of his grasp.

Rage boils in your blood as you realize just how well and truly trapped you are. Deep down, you knew this would happen. You realize he saw an opportunity to get you alone and he took it.  You know what’s about to happen and you know you can’t stop it, but you aren’t going down without a fight. 

Your breathing is fast as he starts kissing your neck, biting down on your pulsepoint, feeling your heart race.

“Fuck you, Ettore,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Provocatively, he grinds his hard cock against your ass through your clothes. “Oh, you will,” he growls as he lets go of your hair to effectively pin your arms behind your back with one hand. With the other free hand, he starts exploring your body, running his hand over your breasts and squeezing until he trails down lower, dipping his fingers under the band of your pants. 

You truly lose it at this moment as you feel him reach for your core. You struggle and fight for all your worth and he's forced to stop his path to your center and hold onto you tighter to keep you from getting away. His fingers latch around your throat and he squeezes hard, immobilizing you easily as you struggle to take a breath. His body pushes you further into the boxes, leaning his weight on you.  

“Stop fighting me,” he loudly growls into your ear aggressively. “You stupid little bitch, I know I do things to you too, just the same as you do me,” he breathes harshly. “Look how your body responds to me,” your nipples are pebbled against your shirt and he could clearly feel them when he assaulted your front a moment ago. 

“And I bet, if I touched you right now, you’d be wet, wouldn’t you, love?” he licks the outer rim of your ear and releases his grip on your throat. As you gasp and suck in air, as his fingers reach below your panties and his fingers find your slippery core. You whimper and draw shallow breaths as he groans into your ear when he feels how wet your cunt is. 

He dips down to your opening and gathers some slick, bringing it up to circle your bud and you feel the fight slowly leave your body. It has been so long since a man touched you, you feel like a switch has been flipped, lust now running rampant through your veins, like a shot of ecstasy to your system. He feels you relax under his hand and loosens his hold on your wrists that are still pinned behind your back. You moan softly and lean into him.

“That’s what I thought, you little slut,” he whispers in your ear. You allow yourself to enjoy this moment, but you’ve already formulated a secondary plan and intend to make him pay for this too. You’re simply lulling him into a false sense of security right now. By loosening his hold, he’s actually done exactly what you wanted. You let him circle your bud for a few more times, before you tense, spinning around and shoving him away from you as hard as you can. You aren’t the only one who’s going to feel pain today as renewed rage pounds in your chest.

You leap at him and the fight for dominance ensues as you grapple with each other, falling onto the floor. Physically, you know you are no match for him, but taking your anger and frustration out on him just feels so good. You kick and punch and scratch and scream. He’s doing everything he can to block and contain your flurry of blows but he’s not hit back yet either. Even if he does, that’s nothing new to you; you still have plenty of scars from your step-father.

You’re on top at first, but you’re under no illusion that you’re “winning”, just simply letting the frustration out as you claw at his chest. He quickly decides he’s tired of being your punching bag and he flips you over and lays his full weight on top of you, pinning you to the floor. 

You wrap him in a bear hug on the floor, thinking that if he can’t lean away from you to punch you, you’re safe from any strong direct hits from him. You’re both breathing heavily, Ettore trapped between your legs and you try to kick him from your position but he grabs your hip and pinches harshly, causing you to yelp in pain. 

He wiggles free of your arms, pinning your hands above your head with one of his as he looks down at you, fury in his gaze.

“Are you fuckin’ done yet?” he taunts you, knowing you’re pinned now. 

You literally growl back at him like a rabid, wild animal and show him your teeth; maybe he’ll think you’re insane and he won’t want to continue this anymore. It doesn’t work...

He smirks instead. “There she is…you weren’t lying earlier about the bad girl thing were you? I got myself a right little she-devil, haven’t I?” He chuckles darkly, a menacing sound causing fear to tingle at the base of your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you tamed by the end.”

You don’t respond, distracted by his other hand that has traveled up your shirt, roving over your breasts. You try to buck him off but he’s just too heavy and you barely get him to budge. In alarm, you realize you’ve missed your chance to escape. He watches your face as he touches you and you glare back up into his eyes, hating feeling helpless like this. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he squeezes your breasts and then runs his warm hand down your ribs. 

Hatred and fury pound in your chest, but you’re caught off guard that he isn’t beating you to a pulp. It’s what you had come to expect from men, especially after the physical altercation you just had with him. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax a little at his touch and your breathing becomes a little more steady. After a few more moments, he notices the tension leave you and suddenly his lips find yours in a violent kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. He starts grinding his pelvis into your aching cunt and you moan into his kiss, hating yourself for liking this but you succumb to his attentions, unable to resist more. Animalistic lust and desire blooms from deep within, your head swirls from his kiss, your body aches for his touch.  

You surrender the fight. “Take your shirt off,” you say when you both come up for air from your kiss; he knows he has to let go of your hands in order to remove his clothes.

“Are you going to stop fighting me?” he asks and you nod. He smirks, “so you gonna be a good girl now?” 

“Shut up, Ettore, it's your dick I want, not you,” you growl back at him and his grin widens. 

He lets go of your hands and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You notice the red marks on his chest from where you clawed him earlier. You watch his abs contract with each panting breath, noticing his defined chest and lean muscles of his arms. You feel more wetness pool in your core as your eyes appreciate his body. 

You reach for the bottom of your shirt and surprise him by removing it yourself, your breasts pebbling in the cool air; you barely bothered wearing a bra anymore. He looks down hungrily at them, running his hands softly over your nipples. You arch your back and he immediately takes one in his mouth, the other rolling your nipples between his fingers. Your hands are in his hair as you grind your hips into his hard length. He bites down on the skin of your left breast, sucking a bruise onto the skin while massaging the other one firmly with his other hand. He moves upwards, kissing along your collarbone until he reaches your neck, biting, licking and sucking at all of your exposed skin. You rake your fingernails down his back, becoming impatient for more. 

He pulls away from your neck and sits up, reaching for your pants. You lift your hips so he can remove them completely. He admires your naked body, laying bare on the floor beneath him, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, your wet cunt open for him. From his position kneeling between your legs, he takes your knees and spreads them apart, opening your pussy more for his view, groaning deep in his chest as his eyes feast upon your body. Deciding to tease him a little, you reach down and start playing with your bud and he stares shamelessly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and watches you for a few moments. “Such a needy little slut aren’t you?” 

You moan and grind into your own hand, fingers dipping down to your entrance to gather some slick onto your fingers. You bring them up to your mouth to taste yourself, knowing that you’re about to drive him absolutely wild. Since he’s seen your “feral animal” wild-side, now you want to see his too. 

His mouth hangs open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing as he watches your lips close around your fingers as you taste yourself and moan. His restraint snaps in an instant.

He pulls down his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock and gives it a couple pumps, watching your face. Your eyes widened at the sight; his cock is bigger than you expected, long and thick, a pearl of his spend visible on the tip. Your eyes meet and you’re sure he can see the slight trepidation in yours as he smirks. 

“You can fuckin’ take it,” Ettore says confidently, as if this is supposed to reassure you. He doesn’t waste any more time as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You were wet and willing and ready for him but you cry aloud as he sheathes himself fully in one thrust, not caring to take things slow with you. You pant and arch your back as his large cock fills you so completely full, eyes popping a little at the intensity of the intrusion. The stretch burns more than you anticipated and you focus on breathing through the pain.  

He gives you a few shallow thrusts before mumbling, “Fuckin’ hell, your pussy is so fuckin’ tight - sorry if that hurt a little after all,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

He pauses for a moment as he watches your face wince at the pain. He doesn’t give you long though, knowing that he’s hurting you but can’t seem to control himself as his hips start to snap into yours at a steady pace. 

After a few thrusts, you’ve adjusted to his size and pleasure starts to course through your core. You begin to meet his thrusts with your hips. He seems to take that as a sign to speed up as he suddenly pounds into you, much harder, causing you to cry aloud not from pain, but from pleasure.

His hips snap into yours as he fucks you hard, brutally, wickedly, deliciously, and you groan as lightning races from your cunt into your chest. Pleasure starts to build deep inside as his thick cock continually rubs your g-spot. He grabs one leg and puts it over his shoulder and leans over you, changing the angle, driving you wild and your walls start to clench around him.

“Gonna cum for me already?” he pants, an amused smirk on his luscious lips.

“Fuck, Ettore,” you mewl as the pleasure starts to overwhelm your senses. It had been so long since you felt this good. “Harder,” you challenge him, as if he isn’t already fucking you hard enough.

He glances up at your face before withdrawing completely and you feel momentary emptiness at the void left behind as he pulls out from your aching pussy. Flipping you over on your stomach, bringing your ass back in the air as he kneels behind you. You prop yourself up on your elbows as your knees dig into the cold, hard floor; you know you’ll have bruises on your knees from this position. He thrusts back into your aching core with a guttural groan and you feel a stinging slap to your rear end. You cry aloud and mewl pathetically, then feel him yank on your hair from behind. He pulls you up so that your palms are now resting on the floor, your neck pulled back, held by his grip in your hair; he fucks you ruthlessly as he rides you from behind. His other hand grips your hip so hard you know you’ll have more bruises tomorrow.

You both are panting heavily as he lands another blow to your ass, harder this time, you’re positive a red handprint remains and you may even form yet another bruise with the strength of his slap. He doesn’t even bother to run his hand along the tender skin to soothe it, he just keeps thrusting with single-minded intensity. The slaps sting but in a pleasurable way as you feel your core become impossibly wetter each time he hits you.  

You reach a hand down to play with your pearl, your walls clenching around his thick cock as pleasure coils low in your belly.

The bites, the bruises, the ache around your throat from being choked, the pull of your hair on your scalp, the sore spot on your ass cheek from his repeated slaps, the drag of his thick cock inside your wet, tight pussy causes your mind to go blissfully blank, all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your eyes roll in your head and you idly wonder how much pain and how much pleasure your body could handle until it snaps. 

Ettore can feel your orgasm approach as your walls start to spasm around him. 

“Little slut, gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” he growls, increasing his tempo. 

You have the wherewithal to get out one request before it’s too late. You try to speak in between his brutal thrusts. “Please…Ettore,” you pant. “When you cum, pull out.” All of the women who had gotten pregnant through Dibs’ sick experiment ended up dying. You didn’t want that fate just yet.

He doesn’t respond, continuing his pace and your breathing becomes harsh as you approach the precipice of your orgasm. The coil snaps and your release rips through you, obliterating everything else, your vision goes white. You cry out his name as he continues to fuck you through your high. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts as he feels your cunt clench down on him. Your orgasm is still rolling through you but he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls out and paints your ass with his spend. 

He finally lets your hair go and you collapse onto the floor and he falls next to you. You both pant and breath harshly for a few minutes, not saying anything. As you come down from your high from your intense orgasm, reality sets in: part of you feels satisfied for the first time in a long while, the other part of you feels like you can’t believe you just let that happen to you. You wanted it but you didn’t want it; you didn’t know how to feel. You feel relief that he at least listened and pulled out. 

Finally, he sits up and starts looking for his clothes. You take one last deep breath and are about to do the same when you unexpectedly feel him clean his spend off of you with his shirt, making you jump a little. He’s a little rough with the wiping but the gesture is almost nice for Ettore. He throws your shirt and pants over to you and you both get dressed in silence. 

He helps you up off the floor and lifts your chin with his finger.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he warns, looking deep into your eyes. You nod in acquiescence, there is no way you’d ever tell anyone, but you give him the reassurance that he needs.

A smug smile plays on his lips. “So compliant now, I see. I told you I would fuck the brat outta you.” You scowl and try to pull away from him but he’s trapped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in closer and you think he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re mine now, mine to use whenever I want, my own little slut, you fuckin’ belong to me. Don’t forget it,” he squeezes your chin and gives you one last dark glare before opening the door and exiting the storage room, leaving you stunned. 

You watch him go and feel a little paralyzed. You feel as though you just opened Pandora’s box. 

What monster have you just unleashed?

>>> Part 2

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