#i was looking for something else and ended up with this instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rcmclachlan · 1 day

Text

fanclub dues (bucktommy, tommy & maddie friendship)

Buck's just pulling into the parking lot when the realization that he left his recertification paperwork on Tommy's kitchen counter hits him like another lightning strike, and he drops his head to the steering wheel with a whine. His cert expires today and absolutely has to be postmarked by noon or else Bobby's going to decapitate him, or worse: be really disappointed in him.

His first instinct is to call Tommy, because Tommy's starting a lovely stretch of 72 hours off, and if Buck called him he would absolutely drive the packet over.

Except Tommy's spent the last week reminding Buck to mail the stupid thing before the postmark deadline. If he calls and asks, Tommy won't say I told you so, but he will pause for a second like he's thinking about it before he tells Buck it's no problem. Which is in the exact same pantheon as Bobby's disappointment.

So, he does the next best thing.

"Actually, that works out, because I'm going to be in that area anyway," Maddie says. He can hear the rush of wind and traffic over the line. She must already be driving. "You know how we got on the waitlist for that kindergarten I was telling you about? Looks like a spot is going to open up next year and they asked me to come in for a tour."

Buck frowns. "You're already talking about kindergarten?"

"Jee's four, Buck," Maddie says long-sufferingly. "Kindergarten starts next year."

"That's insane, and also illegal. Tell that girl to stop growing or else she's getting arrested. I know a cop who would absolutely do it, no questions asked."

Maddie laughs, which makes him grin at his reflection in the rearview like an idiot. It always feels like he's won something when he manages to make her at least crack a smile, even when they were kids.

He thanks her profusely, texts her Tommy's address, and then rides that wave of joy right into the station, which continues to carry him through the first couple of hours of his shift.

Around 10:00, his phone chimes with a message. Just pulled up! Front of the house looks great! :-) :-) :-)

Buck smiles down at his phone. He helped plant the flower beds last weekend, and even though he's still finding bits of mulch in weird places because Tommy had pressed him back into the dirt and kissed him filthy in broad daylight in full view of his street, until their smiles got in the way, he can't argue with the end result. They do look good.

This little handoff probably will only take five minutes. Tommy still feels a little awkward around Maddie for reasons Buck cannot fathom for the life of him. Maddie is the kindest, coolest person on the planet, and she's so happy that Buck is happy and Buck is happy because of Tommy, so there shouldn't be any sort of weird vibe. But this is the first time Tommy's ever been in a relationship that made it to the stage where he gets to meet the family and he's so terrified of leaving a bad impression that it's translated into him acting like a robot whenever she's around.

It's maybe a little mean of him to send Maddie to Tommy's literal doorstep. He can just picture the deer-in-headlights look on Tommy's face when he opens the door, but Buck figures exposure therapy can only help. The more Tommy sees Maddie, the more he'll hopefully relax. Small moves.

Maddie will probably send a text in another few minutes about her ETA, but then the bells go off and Buck doesn't give it another thought until a few hours later when they're climbing into the truck to head back to the station.

Unearthing his phone, Buck is expecting a Looks like you're out on a call. I left your stuff on Bobby's desk. See you later!

He's not expecting a video.

Blinking, he checks the timestamp of the message—not twenty minutes ago—and feels the first nibbles of worry in his gut.

What if something happened at the station? What if Gerrard made an unexpected appearance, hoping to, like, challenge Bobby to fisticuffs to get his job back but found Maddie there instead? What if he says something to her, or tries to burn the building down while she's still inside? Maybe she took a video as proof before the ceiling caved in—

He nearly drops the phone trying to press play, and Chim slides in next to him just in time to see Maddie fill his screen.

But instead of evidence of their bitter ex-captain committing arson, it's a selfie video of her in a pair of sunglasses and a cap dancing and singing along to a song Buck doesn't recognize. He does recognize the kitchen behind her, though, because he'd eaten breakfast in it just this morning. There are two bottles of wine on the counter, one empty.

And after a moment, Buck realizes the sunglasses are Tommy's aviators and the pilot cap is the same one Buck accidentally stumbled upon in one of the upstairs closets and made Tommy wear a few nights ago.

But before he can process any of that, Tommy cha-chas his way into the background holding a plate of what looks like sandwiches. He's singing along too. Maddie turns around to look and starts laughing hysterically, the entire screen shaking like they're in the middle of a 9.1 earthquake, when Tommy starts hip thrusting.

Buck's jaw drops. "He said those dorky-ass dance moves were for my eyes only!"

"Wow, I never realized there was a patron saint of FOMO, but here I am sitting next to him. What an honor," Chim says with a laugh, but something in the video must click because his grin is suddenly swallowed by sheer outrage. "Wait, are they having a George Michael dance party without me? Maddie knows how much I love George!"

"What's your definition of dirty, baby, what do you consider pornography!" Maddie and Tommy shout gleefully at the camera.

Chim gasps. "Oh, divorce!"

"What was that about FOMO, Chim?" Hen asks sweetly, but she's grinning so wide at the video—even from her upside down vantage point—that the dig doesn't stick the landing.

Buck looks over at Eddie, who is watching the video serenely, like he's not shocked to see his cool friend full-on shimmying his chest while shoving a grilled cheese into his face.

"Are you not surprised by this at all?" Buck demands.

Eddie shrugs. "If you ever came to karaoke like we keep asking you to, you wouldn't be either. I don't know what you want me to say, Buck. Your man's a dweeb."

He's so annoyed that this is something Eddie's seen so many times before that it doesn't even warrant a reaction that Buck almost forgets to be upset about Maddie and the aforementioned dweeb day drinking and bonding without him. He's oh so glad to see Tommy got over his fear of impressing Maddie enough that he thinks he's allowed to do the fucking running man while in the same room with her.

"C-c-c-c-c-come on!" Tommy howls. Off screen, Maddie cackles and whoops like she's at a rodeo show.

Buck turns to Chimney and says grimly, "After this? You totally get me in the divorce."

Chim makes a face. "Can I contest that?"

"No," Buck says, swiping out of the video before he throws his phone into the street. Almost immediately it chimes with a new text. In a new group chat.

Faxed ur stuff bc ur bf still has a FAX MACHINE and CONNECTIONS at the dir!

Yes and arent uoy glad???1? EVan youre all set baby

BABY lmao gross Going to Jees school now tell u how it goes

When Bobby hauls himself into the front seat, he looks back at them and pauses. Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but by the dubious expression on Bobby's face, it's nothing good.

"Everything... okay?"

Buck shrugs. "Other than my niece being destined for a career of slinging burgers at In n' Out because my drunk sister and boyfriend are about to get her blackballed from the Los Angeles public school system? We're copasetic, Cap."

'Copasetic,' Eddie mouths, then starts snickering. Buck kicks his foot.

"Hey." Chim smacks him in the chest. "Don't diss fast food workers, they're the backbone of our society. You're just mad you're not cheating Jee out of an education with said sister and boyfriend."

"Aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm well-actualized enough to simply rise above the betrayal," Chimney says easily.

Hen rolls her eyes. "He's not. Between the two of you, we're going to be hearing about this for the next four years."

"Sorry, Maddie and Tommy are doing what?" Bobby asks slowly.

The corners of Chim's mouth twitch downward. "Dancing to I Want Your Sex. Without me, might I add."

Buck's head turns so fast he hears something pop in his neck. "It's called what?"

"Oh god," Hen mutters. Eddie looks like he's ready to start dozing off.

Buck's gearing up for a really good rant when his phone goes off again, and when he opens the message, it's a selfie of Maddie and Tommy pressed together in someone's backseat—hopefully an Uber's—and grinning so hard it almost looks a little painful.

Jealousy starts to rear its head like a snake, but before it has a chance to strike he clocks the name of the group chat.

The Official Evan Buckley Fan Club.

Be safe out htere! We love you!

"I'm just saying," Chim gripes to a visibly unsympathetic Hen, "Maddie wasn't even a George Michael fan until I made her listen to Hard Day!"

Buck turns to Eddie and kicks his foot again. "Want to join The Evan Buckley Fan Club?"

"Dude, I've been treasurer for like seven years," Eddie says without opening his eyes. "And I cast the deciding vote when Tommy ran for president at the end of last year."

Once upon a time a there lived boy in Hershey, Pennsylvania who never dared to conceive the idea that multiple people might someday love him enough to start a fan club over it.

"You over it yet?" Eddie asks.

Something warm and sweet wells inside him and he ducks his head around a pleased laugh. "Yeah, for now."

He does make a mental note to have a serious talk with Tommy about the proprietary nature of those hip thrusts, though.

#evan buckley you are so loved #it's always let maddie and tommy be friends o'clock around here #bucktommy #buckley siblings #118 firefam #911 abc #i wrote this directly in the tumblr text editor like a psychopath for some reason #typos ahoy!

293 notes · View notes

scealaiscoite · 23 hours

Text

⋆˚࿔ taking care of a tired lover 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “i think it’s about time you called it a night, baby.”

²⁾ “you’re going to bed, even if i have to carry you there myself.”

“no, no, forget about it. i’ll take care of it all, you just focus on getting some rest.”

³⁾ coaxing them, half-asleep, through the house to the bedroom with a tender touch and even softer tone

⁴⁾ “if there’s one thing i can promise you, it’s that there’s always going to be work to be done. you might as well face it rested, right?”

⁵⁾ slowly helping them undress and massaging their sore body as you go

⁶⁾ “yawning whilst trying to convince me you’re not tired tends to have the opposite effect.”

⁷⁾ “i know you’re comfortable, but you’re gonna be furious at the both of us tomorrow if i let you spend the night on the couch.”

⁸⁾ letting them collapse against your chest the second they make it through the door after a hellish day

⁹⁾ “it’s just me now. you don’t have to pretend anymore- just let me take care of you.”

¹⁰⁾ not being able to drag them away from their work, but them conceding to let you stand behind them and rub their stiff shoulders and back as they forge on

¹¹⁾ “try and eat a little for me. you’ll be better off for it.”

¹²⁾ “this is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me?”

¹³⁾ “you worked yourself to the bone trying to make sure everyone else was looked after- now let me do the same for you.”

¹⁴⁾ running them a hot bath and letting them decompress whilst you help them bathe

¹⁵⁾ walking in on them asleep at their desk, and arranging a cushion under their head and draping something over them to keep them warm

¹⁶⁾ “after this, you deserve a break. just the two of us out somewhere quiet for a week or two- what do you say, hm?”

¹⁷⁾ managing to negotiate them into a nap on the promise of waking them back up shortly to resume their tasks, and absolutely not following through on it

¹⁸⁾ bringing them food and a painkiller at their desk instead of fruitlessly trying to pull them away

¹⁹⁾ “you always take such good care of me. i’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favour.”

²⁰⁾ kissing away tears of tiredness and frustration

#prompts #hurt/comfort prompts #fluff prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #soft prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #hurt comfort prompts

224 notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 2 days

Text

Embers to Ice

Cassian x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 5 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 7 - TBD!

word count: 6k

content: [ explicit sexual content, dub-con, unprotected PIV, rough sex, rough oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, gagging, slapping, begging, degradation | mentions of infidelity, explicit language, emotional manipulation, alcohol ]

summary: When something pushes Cassian's anger over the edge, you receive an unexpected text from him. It ignites a fiery and intense encounter, blurring the lines between desire and pain. As his anger drives him to relentless passion, you're left to confront both the storm of emotions and the unsettling truth that follows.

author's note: we're coming up on the end here omgomg how exciting!!!! well.. maybe not super exciting for yall, these final two installments are a bit uhhhh......... anyway sorry for the bomb drop at the end teehee (no im not)

Cassian carved through the ice, his movements sharp, cutting, but automatic. His mind was far from focused on the drills. He was just here, skating because it was something to do, something to drown out the gnawing anger that had been festering for weeks. The rest of the team was trickling in, but there was no camaraderie in the air — none of the easy-going banter or brotherhood he once felt. The weight of their betrayal hung thick, unspoken, but suffocating.

Three weeks. Three weeks since he’d caught her at Ianthe’s party, caught all of them. Three weeks since everything came crashing down. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d dropped her off at her mom’s. The apartment felt too big without her, too empty. She wasn’t just his anymore. She was theirs too — all of them. Every interaction with his teammates felt like an insult, every laugh he’d heard them share like a knife between his ribs, twisting just enough to remind him they had all taken something from him.

Cassian’s gloved hands tightened around his stick as he skated another lap. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, could sense the tension rippling through the air. No one had addressed it, not directly. But it was there. Palpable.

He pushed forward, the sharp bite of his blades cutting into the ice, trying to shake the anger threatening to overtake him. But then the rink doors swung open, and Eris stepped onto the ice, his skates gliding effortlessly as if he owned the place.

Cassian barely glanced at him — until he caught a blur of red.

His gaze zeroed in on the red scrunchie, wrapped around the shaft of Eris’s hockey stick. It looked an awful lot like the one you wore to their games as a good luck charm. He wasn’t naive.

The world seemed to freeze around him, the noise of the rink dulling to a muted hum. The red fabric, twirling around with each movement Eris made, was like a flashing neon sign — mocking him, daring him to react. It wasn’t just a scrunchie. It was proof. Cassian’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on his stick. His pulse pounded in his ears, his heart slamming against his ribcage as his fury bubbled to the surface. He wanted to hit something. No. He wanted to hit him.

“Nice scrunchie, Eris.” The words slid from his mouth, low and cold, as they glided past each other.

Eris didn’t even glance at him, the bastard. Just smiled that infuriating smile that made him want to punch his teeth in, twirling his stick lazily in his hand. “What can I say?” Eris called back, loud enough for it to echo throughout the rink, for everyone else to hear. “I always leave with a souvenir.”

He could see the other guys trying to avoid his gaze, awkward and unsure, but none of them said anything. Not one of them. It was enough to make Cassian’s blood boil.

His chest heaved as he fought the urge to lash out, to take a swing at Eris right then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he let the anger simmer, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. The tension coiled tight within him like a live wire sparking just beneath his skin, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a vice.

Cassian led them all through the drills, but he barely registered any of it. Every glance at Eris, every flick of that red scrunchie, was a reminder of how everything had fallen apart. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You’re sitting at the small desk in your childhood bedroom, the dim glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains, staring blankly at a cup of coffee that’s long since gone cold. It’s been three days since you shared Eris’s company, the weight of your decisions settling like lead in your chest. This room, so familiar, used to feel so safe. Now, it just feels… too small, too suffocating.

Cassian is still back at the apartment, you assume. You haven’t been back there since the evening of the party. You can picture it: his clothes strewn carelessly in the closet, the dent in the couch where he always sat, the ring of your perfume still lingering in the air. The life you built together — the life you wrecked — is just there, untouched, waiting, while you sit here. Stuck.

You haven’t spoken in weeks. Not since the night he found out. Not since his eyes darkened with betrayal and he left you standing at your mother’s door, guilty. And the shame, the regret, the memories won’t let you go.

Especially not the ones of Eris. Three days ago, his hands were on you. Three days ago, you were tied up in his basement and tangled in his sheets, knowing you shouldn’t be but doing it anyway. He made you feel wanted, but the moment it was over, the emptiness came back. No matter how much you tried to bury it, it’s still there. The mess, the guilt, all of it crashing down on you like a punishment you can’t escape.

Your phone vibrates on the desk, pulling you out of your thoughts. You aren’t expecting anything, so when you see Cassian’s name light up the screen, it’s like a cold hand gripping your heart. Your fingers hesitate above the screen. It’s been weeks. Why now?

You tap the notification, and your breath catches in your throat when you read the message.

Come over?

Your mind reels. Is he reaching out for a conversation? Is this a second chance, or just another storm surge? You know better than to hope too much, Cassian doesn’t forgive easily. But you can’t help the flicker of something — hope, desperation, need — that sparks to life in your chest. Still, there’s dread pooling in your stomach. The anger in his eyes that night, when he’d caught you all, you haven’t been able to get it out of your head.

why ?

A long pause. You stare at the screen, pulse thrumming in your ears, until finally, the reply comes.

You’ll see.

“what do you mean ?” you respond. A minute passes, then two. Your stomach twists in knots as you watch the “typing” bubble flash and disappear, then reappear again.

I think you know what I mean.

You close your eyes, his words sinking in, but you can’t read the tone. You’ve never been more afraid of a message in your life.

cass, i don’t like fighting with you. can we talk ? please ?

His response is immediate. Who said anything about fighting?

You bite your lip, the uncertainty clawing at you. What does he want from you? An apology? Closure? Or something else entirely? Part of you wants to refuse, to put some more distance between you both before you get pulled back into the emotional chaos. But the other part, the one still clinging to the hope that things might not be as broken as they seem, presses on.

why now ?

It’s blunt, but you need to know. After weeks of nothing, after he’d shut you out completely, why now?

Does it matter?

Meet me, or don’t. Up to you.

The pit in your stomach deepens. The words are cold, and yet there’s something just underneath them, something unresolved and simmering just beneath the surface. You know this isn’t going to be easy, and that whatever happens tonight will leave you with more scars than you already have. But…

what time ?

9. Door will be open.

It’s 8 now. You stare at the screen, his final message sitting there like a weight pressing down on your chest. You should feel relieved that he’s giving you a chance, but instead, there’s only dread — and that flicker of hope that refuses to die. You set the phone down and let out a shaky breath. Cassian’s messages were as vague as they were unsettling, leaving you to stew in a mixture of dread and longing. The suddenness of his invite, the cold indifference in his words, the fact that you had no idea what would be waiting for you when you got there… You couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting was going to end badly, but you couldn’t turn away from it, either. Not from him.

Pushing back from the desk, you stood and wandered over to the small mirror above your dresser, staring at your reflection. Your eyes were tired, dark circles haunting your gaze from sleepless nights spent replaying every mistake you made. You didn’t know how to fix things. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you could fix things. But the need to try was too strong to ignore.

Why now? You’d asked him, and his answer hadn’t been comforting. What would you even say to him? No amount of rehearsing could prepare you for the real thing, and every potential conversation that played out in your head ended in disaster. The truth was, you didn’t have the right words, didn’t know how to explain why you’d done what you had. Worse, you didn’t even know if he’d listen. He very well may have been calling you over to come get your things.

As you stood in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear, you rubbed at the tightness in your chest, struggling to steady your breath. But the anxiety was relentless, spiking every time the thought of facing him crept back in. Cassian’s anger had always been a force to reckon with, and after everything you’d done, you didn’t want to imagine it directed at you.

Maybe this is what I deserve, you thought bitterly. Maybe this meeting wasn’t about closure or second chances. Maybe it was just another consequence of your actions.

Those words echoed in your mind as you stood in front of the door. Your door. His door. Just like he said, it was unlocked, the latch clicking open with a slight push. The quiet inside felt oppressive, thick. You hesitated on the threshold, half-tempted to turn around and leave, but the soft hum of the TV in the living room drew you in.

And there he was — Cassian, sitting in the dim light, his arms crossed, his broad shoulders tense. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as glanced your way, but the air in the room shifted the moment you stepped inside. The space between you felt tense, like something fragile waiting to shatter.

You closed the door behind with a soft click, the sound almost deafening in the silence that followed.

“You came,” Cassian said, his voice low, emotionless. He didn’t bother looking at you, his gaze fixed ahead on the TV, but you knew he wasn’t watching. You could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Yeah.” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

He stayed silent for a long moment. You were about to say something when he stood from the couch. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there. But when he finally turned to face you, it was like a punch to the gut. You could see it — the pain. The shadows under his eyes were darker than you remembered, his normally sharp features softened with exhaustion. Cassian had lost just as much sleep as you had, maybe more. And of course, he had. You’d wrecked everything between you in the worst way possible. You’d torn him apart.

He took a slow step toward you, his gaze heavy, intense. There was no softness in his eyes, no hint of the Cassian who used to hold you close after every game, who used to make you laugh when no one else could. This version of him… he was something else. The anger, the betrayal, it still lingered in the air around him, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud.

He stopped when he was close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of whiskey already on his breath. “You want a drink?” he asked, his voice rough but casual, like you were just two old friends catching up.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m good.” I don’t want to pretend everything’s fine, you wanted to say. You wanted to talk, to finally get everything out in the open.

He sucked his teeth, a sound that almost felt like a scoff, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ahh, come on,” he said, moving past you to the kitchen. You heard the clink of glass as he pulled two tumblers down from the shelf, the dull slosh of whiskey as he poured. “One drink,” he added, like it was a command rather than an offer.

You watched him silently, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. He poured you each a glass, and by the time he turned back to you, there was something sharper in his gaze, something that made your skin prickle. Cassian walked back to where you stood, barely a few paces past the threshold, pressing one of the glasses into your hand without waiting for you to protest. His fingers brushed yours as he handed it over, the contact sending a wave of unease through you.

He tipped his own glass to his lips, throwing back the whiskey in one smooth motion. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting.

You stared down at the amber liquid in your hand, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. Just one drink. It wasn’t going to change anything. With a quiet breath, you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip, the sharp burn of the whiskey flooding your senses.

Cassian’s expression didn’t change as he watched you, the empty glass still in his hand. “Good,” he muttered under his breath, setting his glass down on the kitchen island with a clink that echoed in the stillness.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, closing the small gap between you, his presence overwhelming. The heat from his body made your skin tingle, and when his hand reached out to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your breath hitched. His touch was too familiar, too careful for the tension that buzzed between you. It sent a jolt through you, a reminder of all the nights you’d spent in this very apartment, tangled up with him, and how far away that felt now.

“Cass, I–” you started, your voice trembling, but he didn’t let you finish.

He shushed you, and his fingers slid down to your jaw, holding you there as his thumb brushed over your cheek. His lips were so close to yours now, close enough that you could feel his breath puff against your skin. Your heart raced in your chest, your mind screaming at you to pull back, to stop this before it started.

“Please, Cass, we need to talk,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I–”

“I didn’t bring you here to talk,” he said, his voice low, the words brushing your lips as he spoke. You knew what he wanted, and the sight of his eyes darkening only confirmed it. You tried to push your free hand against his chest, a feeble attempt to put some distance between you.

But he didn’t stop. His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss hard, demanding, and it caught you off guard, sending a shockwave through your body. You gasped against his lips, your hands instinctively pressing against his chest, glass of whiskey and all, trying to push him away. But he was relentless, his hand snaking around your waist and pulling you closer, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that made your knees weak.

“Cassian, don’t,” you managed to get out between breaths, your hands pushing harder against his chest. For a moment, he hesitated, his grip loosening just enough for you to break the kiss and pull back slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

“I–” you started again, but the words felt useless now. He was looking at you with such intensity, his chest rising and falling with the same ragged breaths, and for a second, you could see the raw pain behind his anger. He was hurting — just as much as you were, likely more. And in that moment, you realized that talking wasn’t going to fix this. Words wouldn’t heal the damage you’d done. But you would still try, damn it.

Cassian’s eyes flicked down to your lips, and before you could think, his mouth was on you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, but still full of that same bitterness, that same unresolved anger. His hands moved down your body, gripping your hips as he backed you against the door. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, to try to make him talk. But his touch, his toned muscles pressing against you, it all clouded your thoughts until the only thing left was him.

You could feel his frustration in every movement, in the way his lips pressed harder against yours, in the way his hands gripped you like he was afraid you’d slip away. And maybe that was what this was — a way to hold on to something that had already slipped through his fingers.

He broke the kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy. “Tell me to stop,” he muttered, his voice rough and ragged. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because even though your mind was screaming at you to stop this, to pull back and speak on the situation like adults, your body — your body and heart — they’d already made their decision.

Instead of answering, you kissed him again, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The whiskey glass slipped from your grip, landing with a heavy thud as the amber liquid pooled across the hardwood floor. Surprisingly, the glass hadn’t shattered. He responded immediately, his hands sliding under your shirt, his touch sending a rush of heat through you that made your head spin. His fingers gripped your skin, nothing gentle about it. His mouth was on yours again, hard and demanding, and any attempt at control you had slipped further with each frantic kiss.

His fingers dug back into your hips, and he pulled you toward him. You tried to catch your breath, but Cassian didn’t give you the chance. His hand slipped between your legs, pressing roughly against the front of your jeans, the friction sending a jolt of sensation through your body that made you gasp.

“Cass–” you started, but the words died on your lips as his fingers worked your button open with a quick, practiced motion. The next thing you knew, his hand was inside, sliding past the fabric of your underwear. His fingers found you immediately, slipping through your wetness with a precision that had your back arching involuntarily. But this wasn’t the way he used to touch you — not with the slow, teasing strokes meant to drive you crazy. This was something else, something far more aggressive.

“Missed me?” Cassian rasped against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Missed this?”

Two of his fingers plunged inside you without warning, stretching you, moving in fast, unforgiving strokes. You let out a choked gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he fingered you hard, each thrust of his fingers sending shockwaves through you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was as if he was trying to remind you — this is mine. You were mine.

“Fuck,” he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, huh? How easy you’d fall right back into it.” His fingers pumped inside you, deeper, harder, each movement making it clear that this was about more than making you feel good. This was something he needed.

With a whimper, your head fell back against the door, your mind spinning with the sensation, the way his fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble. It was so much, so fast. The push and pull between your desire and the way he was handling you was dizzying. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat to his lips.

“Did you think of me while you let them fuck you?” he hissed, voice dripping with venom as his palm pressed roughly against your clit. “Did you miss my fingers when you spread your legs for them?”

You moaned despite yourself, the push and pull of your desire and guilt twisting inside you. He bit down on the tender skin of your neck, his fingers still driving into you with that relentless pace. “Cass, please…” You barely managed to choke the words out, your body reacting to the brutal pace of his fingers even as your mind struggled to keep up.

“Please what?” he mocked, his voice low and full of heat. “Please, Cassian? Please don’t stop, Cassian? I’m desperate for something to fill my pathetic fucking hole, Cassian? You want more, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, Cassian pulled his hand back abruptly, removing his fingers from you with a sharpness that left you gasping, your legs unsteady.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, and you did without thinking, instinct taking over. He pressed his fingers down against your tongue, and you almost gagged at the sudden pressure. You tasted yourself on them, sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice cold as he watched you. “You take it so well.”

He pulled his fingers from your lips and was already moving. His hand gripped the back of your neck, guiding you downward, pushing you to your knees in front of him. You blinked up at him, breathless, the weight of what was happening sinking in. But the look in his eyes, the intensity, the fury… it left you speechless.

Cassian wasted no time. He tugged at his belt, yanking his pants down just enough to free himself. “Take that shit off,” he muttered, nodding toward your shirt and bra. “You wanna make it up to me, right?” he said, his voice rough. “Go ahead. Show me. Let me feel how sorry you are.”

Before you could brace yourself, his hand was in your hair, and he was guiding his cock past your lips. He was thick and hard, and the taste of him was almost sweet as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth, his hips jerking forward with a force that made your eyes water.

“Take it,” he growled, holding you in place as he thrust into your mouth, the motion brutal. “Of course you’d take it so easily, so sweetly. Look at you. Look at those perfect fucking tits.”

You tried to adjust to the sensation, to put on a show for him as you played with your breasts, massaging and pinching and squeezing. His hand tightened in your hair, holding your head still as he fucked your mouth with a punishing rhythm. His breathing grew heavier, each thrust more forceful than the last.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tipping back slightly as he buried himself deeper, the sound of your gagging making his cock twitch against your throat. “You’ve always been so fucking good at this, goddamn.” His hips kept moving, faster, harder, his grip unrelenting as he used you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your jaw aching as he pushed you to the limit, fucking your face like it was the only thing that mattered. And maybe right now, it was. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath the surface, the way his need for control dominated every movement. And even though you knew this wasn’t how tonight should have gone, the heat building in your gut betrayed you.

Finally, with one last thrust, he pulled back, his breathing heavy and labored as he looked down at you. You gasped for air, wiping at your mouth, your body trembling. Without a word, Cassian lifted you to your feet, his hands rough and commanding. He pushed you toward the couch, and you landed with a quiet “oomph,” your body barely having time to register what was happening before his hands were on you again.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured as he pulled your jeans and underwear down with quick, rough motions, leaving your heat bare and exposed to him. You could hear him behind you, kicking his own jeans off, and feel the heat of his body as he lined himself up. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind reeling with the intensity of it all. “Tell me you don’t need this.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say anything, but all that came out was a shaky gasp as he slammed himself into you, filling you in one hard thrust. You cried out, your hands scrambling to brace yourself against the back of the couch as he started moving immediately, his pace brutal and unforgiving.

“That’s right,” he snarled, his grip on your hips bruising as he thrust into you with a force that made your legs shake. “You take it so well. Just like always.” There was nothing soft about it, each thrust slammed you into the couch, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as Cassian fucked you harder, faster, the anger pouring out of him in every movement. This wasn’t love or tenderness. This was raw, angry, and so intense it left you gasping for air.

“Did any of them fuck you like this? Did Eris fuck you like this?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned over you, his hips never slowing. “Did you take him as sweetly as you’re taking me? Were you this pretty for him, this complacent?”

“Cass, please…” you cried out. Was that all you could think to say to him?

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he bit out, his fingers digging into your skin. “I know you. You’re mine. You always have been, and you always will be.”

His words cut through you, the intensity, the fury in his voice mixing with the pleasure that had your body on the edge of unraveling. And despite everything, despite the pain, the anger, the confusion — you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, the way the pleasure kept building, threatening to spill over.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he muttered, still fucking into you with no sign of slowing down. “Of course you are. You can’t help yourself. Not with me. You never could.”

His grip tightened, his movements steady as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You couldn’t help but chase that high, pushing your hips back against his, responding to every brutal thrust, every mocking word.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Come on.”

And with that, your body shattered, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you came, your mind going blank, your legs shaking beneath you. Cassian yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground, but he never slowed his pace, and his cock was still buried deep inside you. He didn’t stop. If anything, the pace he set before only grew more intense at the feel of your muscles contracting around him. The pressure of his hips slamming into yours, the harsh grip of his hands, it was all too much, and yet… not enough.

“You think I’m done with you?” His voice was a low, dark rumble against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Before you could protest, he leaned his body over yours and snaked his arm to your front, finding your clit with practiced precision. You gasped, your body jerking in response, your oversensitive nerves already on the edge of snapping again. He wasn’t giving you a chance to recover, wasn’t letting you escape the relentless pace he set.

“Did Rhysand fuck you like this?” he snarled, his fingers circling your clit faster now, drawing another moan from deep within you. “Did he make you scream? Bet he didn’t make you come this hard, did he?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to speak, but Cassian clamped a hand over your mouth, straightening up as he used his grip to drive you back onto his cock again and again. Each thrust hit that spot deep inside you, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You could barely think, let alone find the words.

“No answer?” he mocked, his voice rough and dripping with arrogance. “Figures. I bet you happily spread your legs for him, just hoping he’d fuck you half as good as I do.”

You whimpered, your legs trembling beneath you as the pleasure built again, unable to do anything but take the fucking he gave you. His fingers pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrust into you with bruising force. You knew you’d be unbelievably sore in the morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when you felt yourself spiraling, hurtling toward release once more, and there was nothing to be done to stop it.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you? Y’know how I can tell?” he muttered darkly, leaning in closer. “I know your pussy. I know when it feels good, I know when it wants to be stuffed full of cock. I know when it wants to come just by how it squeezes my fucking dick.”

You cried out, the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you, his fingers merciless on your clit, pushing you closer and closer. His hand over your mouth did next to nothing to muffle the depraved sounds escaping you.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he grunted. “I want you to come for me. I want you to scream my name while you come on my cock.”

And you did. He moved his hand just as your orgasm ripped through you, his name spilling from your lips again and again. Every muscle in your body went taut, the intensity making you convulse. You would have collapsed if he weren’t holding you so tightly, his grip bruising, keeping you upright as he rode you through your second orgasm.

But he still wasn’t done.

He pulled out of you abruptly, leaving you feeling empty and aching despite having finished twice. You blush, embarrassed at the thought. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he spun you around, his eyes dark and wild with hunger as he looked down at you. “Get on your knees.”

You clambered off the couch and dropped to your knees for him again, your body and mind too overwhelmed to do anything but obey. Cassian stood over you, his chest heaving, his cock still rock-hard and slick with your arousal. He grabbed your hair, pulling your head back as he shoved himself back into your mouth.

“Did Azriel fuck your throat like this?” he demanded, thrusting into your mouth with a brutal rhythm that had you gagging, tears streaming down your cheeks this time. “Did he make you choke on it? Bet he didn’t. Bet you let him take you nice and slow.”

You thought back to that day, to how Azriel had asked you if Cassian was too gentle while he fucked you stupid. But you couldn’t think about it for very long. Cassian slapped your cheek just a little harder than necessary, his cock still down your throat. “No one makes you choke like I do, huh?” he groaned, his cock twitching against your throat. “Not Tarquin, not Helion, and definitely not fucking Eris.”

He pulled out then, leaving you coughing and gasping for air as he turned you around and shoved you to the ground. “This is what you need,” he panted, driving into you with unmatched force, your cheek brushing against the plush area rug. “I bet Helion and Tarquin didn’t give it to you like this.” He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “Did Helion make you beg for it? Did Tarquin fuck you hard enough to make you scream like this?”

You moaned, the pleasure building up again, your body responding to every brutal thrust, every filthy word that left his lips.

“Of course not,” Cassian sneered. “He couldn’t. None of them can. Not. Like. Me.” He punctuated the words with particularly deep thrusts that had you trying to pull your hips away from him. A fruitless effort, his hands yanking you back with a laugh.

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing in tight, small circles that had you gasping, your body on the verge of breaking for a third time. You were shaking, face against the rug, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

“Come again,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I’m not stopping until you do, so fucking hurry up.”

You felt yourself unraveling, the pleasure too intense, too overwhelming. His name tumbled from your lips again, followed by an incoherent string of curses as you teetered on the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his grip on you tightening as his rhythm finally began to falter. “Come for me. Let me hear you scream.”

And scream you did. The pleasure ripped through you, your body shuddering violently as you came again, your vision going white, your mind completely blank. Cassian followed soon after, his own release tearing through him as he groaned, spilling inside you with one final, brutal thrust.

“Tell me,” he whispered roughly as he pulled out of you, turning you onto your back so he could look down at you. “Tell me if Eris made you come like that. Did he fuck you like I just did?”

You shook your head weakly, your body too spent to do anything but breathe, your legs still shaking from the intensity of it all.

Cassian stood up, already pulling on his boxer briefs and jeans with calm efficiency, as if nothing had happened. You lay there for a moment, trembling, your mind still foggy. Slowly, you fumbled for your clothes, pulling them back on in silence, your body aching and spent.

As you zipped up your jeans, still breathless and shaken, you looked over at him. He was slipping his shirt back on, the casualness of his movements making your stomach twist.

“Cass… what are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaky, confused. “I thought we–”

He cut you off coldly. “I told you,” he said, pulling his shirt down over himself. “I didn’t ask you to come over here to talk. I’m heading out, but you can stay here tonight.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, making your heart clench. Your hands trembled as you adjusted your shirt, a gnawing dread already settling deep in your gut.

Cassian zipped up his jeans, then leaned down, his voice soft but biting. “No one will ever fuck you the way I do,” he said, voice full of an almost cruel satisfaction. “You’ll spend the rest of your life chasing this. Chasing me.”

As you straightened up, zipping your own jeans, Cassian continued. “No one else will ever be enough,” he said, “and you’ll have to live with that.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you adjusted your shirt. When you looked up, you saw him halfway to the door, fully dressed now. But he turned back, a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes. “Oh,” he added casually, like an afterthought. Like his next words wouldn’t hit you like a punch to the gut, like a knife twisted deep into your chest. “You’ll also have to live with knowing that you sucked me off after I fucked Elain raw. Right here. On this couch. She left right before you got here.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@blessthepizzaman @book-obsessed124 @celear @girl-math-aint-mathing @halo-hanging

@julesvanslutta @lilah-asteria @meeperthejeeper @mellowmusings @paleidiot

@secretlyhers @starlightazriel @scarsandallaz @uncxmfxrtablex @xxemmarldxx

#velarisdusk hockey au #acotar #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian x reader smut #cassian smut #acotar smut #acotar reader insert #hockey au #acotar hockey au

143 notes · View notes

supernovafics · 2 days

Text

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k words

warnings: explicit language, a bit of violence (kinda?) (only mentioned and barely even described), some angst

summary: you don’t know why you avoid telling everyone that you and steve are “broken up,” but you do. and you don’t realize how much of a bad idea that is until way too late

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | ❝𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕❞

Fall Semester 2016

“Who’s the guy again?”

“I met him at the library. He asked to borrow my laptop charger and then when he was handing it back he asked for my number, and he texted asking to hang out,” You quickly explained as you slipped on your jacket and then turned to look at Eddie, who was sitting at your desk.

You weren’t particularly excited about the date, but you were excited to do something that you hadn’t done in a long time, and the smallest part of you could admit that you were doing this to try and be completely over Eddie. Your feelings being pushed and buried away were one thing, but if you were actually able to date someone else that had to mean that there definitely wasn’t anything else there. At least, that was what your mind told you, and it sounded somewhat logical.

“If it sucks and you wanna get out of it, just call me,” Eddie told you.

“Robin already has that job,” You said. “We have a code word and everything.”

He laughed a little. “What’s the code word?”

“Dolphin.”

“That’s very random.”

“Yes, and that makes it a more believable code word.”

“Okay, makes sense,” He nodded. “Anyway, if she somehow ends up not answering, I will.”

You doubted that would happen— you hadn’t known Robin for that long, but you already knew that she was very reliable. Still, though, you nodded at Eddie’s words because you liked how much he cared. It didn’t necessarily surprise you, but it still warmed your heart all the same. “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

It was the book that was making you cry right then. Nothing else.

And maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the easiest explanation.

You reread the last page a few more times before finally closing the book and setting it on your desk. It was the same book that you’d been reading in Mexico with Steve a few days ago.

He was right about the ending— the son died, and it happened right after he and the dad finally got in a good place. Of course, he’d been right.

A part of you wanted to text him and tell him that, but you didn’t. Instead, you kept silently crying— trying to remember the last time a book made you this emotional, but deep down knowing that it really wasn’t just the book.

You didn’t get the chance to force yourself to face the exact reasoning behind your tears before there was a knock on your slightly cracked open door and Robin was walking in a second later.

“Hey, I have two things I need to tell you. One is a question from Talia, who is too lazy to get out of bed right now, and the other is very fun news,” She stopped when she noticed you crying. “Woah, shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I just finished reading this book and the ending was pretty sad,” You answered, haphazardly pushing your tears away with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing. “What’s up, though?”

“Is Steve coming to game night on Monday? Talia wants to decide on teams now because she doesn’t want to get stuck with Eddie again.”

“Oh, um, me and him broke up…” The words felt so weird coming from your lips and you suddenly wondered if it had been stupid to not tell her and everyone else sooner. Instead, over the last few days, you simply didn’t talk about him because the timing never felt right enough to say what you should’ve said.

“Wait, what?” The confused look on Robin's face was easy to read. “Is that why you’re actually crying right now?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, it was just about the book. The Steve thing doesn’t even matter to me.”

“So, what happened? And when? Was it the trip? Did he hurt you? Do I need to kill him?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at how fast she was talking as she sat down at the foot of your bed. You turned to face her. “No, you don’t need to kill him, and yes, it happened right when we got back. We just realized that we want different things.” You shrugged halfheartedly. “Sorry, it took me so long to tell you; I know it’s only been a few days, but still. I just didn’t really wanna think about it, I guess.”

“It’s fine, that makes sense,” She assured you. “I know you and him weren’t dating for long but you two were really cute together.”

Hearing her say that, pulled at something in you for a second, but then you remembered that that just meant that you and Steve had been really good actors, pretenders, liars.

“Oh, what was the other thing you wanted to tell me?” You asked, shifting the subject. “You said fun news?”

Robin nodded. “Oh, yeah, I just found out about this party tonight at this girl’s lake house that’s an hour away. You wanna come?”

“I’m not really in a party mood,” You answered after the briefest moment of hesitation. It probably would’ve been good to get out of the apartment and actually do something that didn’t involve lounging on the couch in the living room, like you’d been doing since you got back from Mexico, but you couldn’t imagine leaving the confines of your room right then. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s understandable,” Robin told you. “I know you said that you’re fine about the breakup, but is there anything you want right now? We can watch a shitty movie, and Vickie will probably be okay with you having the last of her mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

You shook your head at her suggestions. “No, I’m okay, honestly. But, thanks, though.”

She smiled at you. “Of course, no problem. What are friends for if not someone to do cliche breakup stuff with? We could also burn any pictures you have of Steve, or throw eggs at his car, or key it?”

You laughed at that. “Great ideas, but hard no to all of them.”

“Okay, well, once you get to the anger stage of your grief, I’ll happily revisit any of those ideas with you.”

“There are no stages and there is no grief,” You told her as she got up from your bed. “I’m completely okay.”

“You’re voluntarily staying in on a Saturday night. I don’t know if I would call that “completely okay.””

“This is very normal behavior for me.”

She considered your words for a second. “Okay, yeah, maybe that’s true.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was the first time that the silence within the apartment felt okay. It actually wasn’t completely silent, you were watching a movie on the couch, but you were alone and felt entirely fine with that.

You could feel yourself slowly falling asleep— head against one of the throw pillows and blanket pulled over you and it didn’t even really matter to you that it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet— when there was a knock on the door.

Weirdly enough, your immediate thought was that it was Steve, mainly because you knew that everyone else who could’ve been at the door right then was at a party an hour away.

Instead, though, when you opened the door with your blanket still wrapped around you, it was Eddie standing there.

“Hey, I assumed you went with everyone to that lake house thing,” You said, pushing the door open further to let him in.

“Robin mentioned it to me, but I had already planned on meeting up with a couple people from one of my classes at some bar,” He responded and you nodded as you closed the door behind him.

You looked at him for a second. There was something weird about his demeanor right then. It seemed like something was wrong, and that quickly worried you because you couldn’t easily tell what that something was.

“Is everything okay?”

He shook his head, and for a few moments that was the only response you got, but then he was saying, “Not really.”

“You’re being so–” You stopped mid-sentence when you finally noticed his right hand, how red and bruised it was. “Oh, shit, what the hell happened to your hand?”

“It looks worse than it feels,” He said, giving you a small smile. “Okay, actually, it feels pretty bad too.”

You dropped your blanket on the couch and then went over to the kitchen, grabbing one of the few small hand towels that sat next to the stove and then pulling some ice out of the freezer.

“Come here,” You told him as you put the ice in the towel and made some sort of makeshift ice pack. Eddie joined you in the kitchen and you grabbed his bruised hand, softly placing the towel on top of it. You looked up at him. “What happened?”

He was quiet for way too long; things became almost unbearably quiet. You lightly nudged him with your foot. “Eddie.”

He broke your gaze, looking down instead. “Fuck, it really sucks that I have to tell you this. I’m sorry.”

Hearing him say that only confused you further. “Tell me what?”

“I also saw Steve at the bar I was at…” Eddie started and then trailed off for a second. The look on his face made it seem as if the next thing he was about to say to you was going to be the most devastating thing ever. “And he was making out with some girl.”

“Oh,” Was all you said at first because you didn’t really understand why Eddie was telling you that right then and why he made it sound like the biggest deal in the world. And then, after the briefest of seconds, you were quickly realizing. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie told you, thinking that your “oh” was a sad one. “I wish I did a lot more than just punch him, but the security at that place is actually good so they immediately threw me out.”

Given what you two were currently doing in your kitchen, you should’ve expected Eddie to say that, but it still surprised you so much that you could feel your eyes widen. “What? You punched him?”

“Of course I did,” Eddie said, like it had been an obvious choice. “I saw him cheating on you.”

You dropped your hands from his and immediately covered your face. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you did that.”

“Please don’t try to defend him right now. I know you really like him, probably even love him, but what he did is so fucked up.”

You were shaking your head and kept your hands covering your face as you said, “He didn’t cheat on me.”

“I’m sorry,” You heard Eddie say. “But, I promise you I know what I saw. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t a thousand percent sure. I also wouldn’t have punched him if I wasn’t sure.”

You could’ve simply told him that you and Steve were broken up just like you told Robin earlier, but you suddenly felt tired of lying, and for once, telling the truth genuinely felt easier.

You dropped your hands from your face and looked at Eddie. “He didn’t cheat on me because we're not together. We were never really together.”

It surprisingly felt like so much of a relief to say it out loud, to finally be honest, so you kept going. “It was all fake; the entire relationship. And I’m so sorry for lying to you and to everyone. This entire thing ended up being so stupid and the worst idea ever. But, I don’t know, at first I thought it could be kinda good. And Steve thought so too; he was the one to suggest it actually, and he also had his own reasons for wanting to do this fake dating thing. I figured this could be the best way to do something about my feelings for you without outwardly admitting how I felt and potentially fucking up our friendship in the process, and I wouldn’t have to live in the unknown anymore like I’ve been since freshman year. And just for a second it seemed like it actually was working, and maybe you did feel something back. But then we had that conversation on your fire escape and I knew then that you’d never see me as anything more than as your best friend. It kinda hurt finally realizing that, but eventually it felt okay, though.”

You let out a breath and inwardly felt as if the biggest weight had just been lifted off of your shoulders.

“You liked me?” That wasn’t exactly what you expected to hear Eddie say in response to your word vomit, but it made sense; it was the big “why” behind everything you did for the last month.

“Yeah, sorry, I guess I kinda glossed over that part in my super long-winded explanation,” You said, a sudden shyness hit you and you looked away from him. “I did. I was stupidly in love for a really long time. I finally got over it after we had that conversation, though. But, I still had to fulfill my side of the deal I had with Steve, so I did that in Mexico and when we came back, that was it. Life was back to normal. But I was a fucking idiot and didn’t tell you that me and him were “broken up,” so here we are now.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, a soft look on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t know how you felt. I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.”

“No, please don’t be sorry. This is all on me. I did all of this complicated shit instead of simply talking to you about everything,” You said, leaning back against the counter. “Because you were so right that day, we are just meant to be best friends. That's the way that we’re supposed to be in each other’s lives. I get that now.”

He got quiet again, probably still processing everything that you had just told him, which you had to admit was a lot.

“Are we okay?” You asked when the silence started becoming too much to bear. “Did this fuck everything up like I thought it would?”

Eddie shook his head at your questions. “Of course not. You could never fuck things up between us, and I feel really bad that you ever thought that you could, and I also wish that I had felt the same way about you… I do love you. It’s just…”

The smallest part of you expected to feel hurt finally hearing the rejection, but surprisingly you didn’t. “Just not in that way. I know. It’s okay. Please don’t feel bad. I know that we shouldn’t be together. I’ve accepted that,” You told him. “And I really wanna say that we should just forget this entire conversation ever happened because it would make things a lot easier and I’d also feel a lot less embarrassed if we did, but I don’t think we should do that. This may sound weird, but it actually feels kind of good having the truth out in the open.”

“Okay,” He said with a nod.

You looked back down at his hand and the towel covering it.

“How’s it feeling?” You asked, slightly shifting the subject.

“Better, kinda. The ice feels good,” He answered and then let out something that sounded like a breath of a laugh and a scoff in disbelief as he shook his head. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I punched him.”

“Me neither. But thank you for defending my honor, I guess?”

He smiled at you; a genuine smile that let you know that things were actually okay between you two. “Anytime.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“So, everything with Steve was fake,” Eddie said when you two were settled on the couch, the movie you had put on earlier still playing. His words sounded slightly like a question, but also like he was still just trying to make sense of everything that you had previously told him.

“Yes, and let’s wait at least a month before we start joking about this. I need to let my poor bruised ego heal first,” You responded, dramatically pressing your hands to your heart, a small smile on your face.

Eddie laughed a bit. “Deal.”

And you expected that to be that. Everything was out in the open and everything was fine. You still had to tell everyone else the truth, but you knew that would end up being okay too. And once you did tell everyone, everything could all be put in the past and you could finally move on from it. There wouldn’t be anything lingering or festering; no “what ifs” or whatever else.

“Can I ask something?” Eddie asked, voice getting soft again, and you nodded in response, unsure where he was going to go with his question. “Was it hard keeping how you felt a secret? I’m trying to think about if the roles were reversed, and I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep it from you.”

“Honestly, sometimes it was hard, but also not really. And I know that’s kind of a contradictory answer, but it’s true,” You answered, somehow finding it so easy to be honest now. “For the most part, my feelings were shoved to the side and I pretended that they weren’t there. Like, when you were dating Chrissy, because I obviously didn’t wanna get between what you two had, and when you two broke up, because I knew that you weren’t ready for anything new. They still lingered deep down, though. And it was always random moments when I would get reminded that they were still there. But, keeping our friendship intact always felt more important than admitting anything because I love our friendship.”

He nodded understandingly. “I love it too.”

“Okay, this is kind of random, but do you remember that frat party we went to freshman year right before winter break?” You asked, and before he could say anything in response, you continued, forcing yourself to say what you had never said out loud before. “We were both stupidly drunk, and at one point— I think it was right before we were about to leave— you got, like, pushed into me by some random person, and we were standing really close, and then we, uh, kissed.”

The surprised look on his face was entirely expected. “I vaguely remember the party. But, I don’t remember the kiss, though. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. When we talked about the party the day after, you basically said that it was all kind of a blur to you, so that’s what I figured. I wasn't entirely sure if you didn’t remember it, so a part of me had wanted to ask back then, but in that moment I thought it was just easier to let it go.”

It was almost startling how honest you were being with him right then— saying things that you didn’t think you’d ever admit out loud— and how perfectly okay it all felt. And weirdly enough, this also felt like the most honest you’d ever been with yourself too.

“Thinking about it now,” You continued. “That probably should’ve been the moment that I let myself get over you. Because I could’ve told you about the kiss right then and there, but I didn’t want whatever your response would be— whether it be a rejection or whatever else— to change anything between us. And it was the same thing when we came back from break, and I was so close to admitting everything to you, but you told me that you and Chrissy were together first. I probably should’ve still told you then. And maybe I never did because deep down I always knew that nothing should change between us. I don’t know… A part of me is still trying to make it all make sense. But then, at the same time, I've been trying to avoid it all and not think about it.” You sighed. “The last couple of weeks have been pretty weird and confusing.”

“Maybe it’s not supposed to easily make sense, or make sense at all. And I know that’s probably a shit response, but…” Eddie trailed off and then shrugged after a moment.

“No, I get what you mean,” You said, nodding at his words, and then you thought about something. “Honestly, the only thing that has ever really made sense with us is this. Watching movies together, listening to music, talking about unserious things, and also talking about the most serious things ever; stuff I never thought to tell anyone else.” You smiled at him. “Oh, and getting stuck in elevators together too.”

He smiled back at you before saying, “The elevator thing sadly only happened once.”

“We can try to recreate it one day.”

“Great idea,” Eddie responded with a nod. “The elevator in that building is still probably shitty.”

“So true. And if not, we can just start jumping in it and that’ll probably do the job.”

“Or it will kill us.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and Eddie laughed too and then winced as he readjusted the towel on his hand.

That was what made you finally think about Steve. Was he even okay?

And then you immediately felt like shit for not considering that question sooner.

You abruptly got up from the couch and headed into your room before Eddie could question you. You grabbed the Advil bottle from your bathroom and then tossed it over to him when you walked back out into the living room.

“For the pain. Take two of these and try to go to sleep. You can even take my bed if you wanna,” You told him and then headed to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer. “I'm gonna go check on Steve. And yes, I’m stealing your van.”

Eddie pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and handed them over to you. There was an amused look on his face. “When’s the last time you drove?”

“Don’t question my driving skills right now, Munson,” You said as you slipped the keys into the pocket of the sweatpants you were wearing and then grabbed the first zip-up hoodie you saw hanging on one of the hooks by the door. “Goodnight.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t until you were standing outside the door of Steve’s apartment that you realized that maybe he wasn’t even here. He’d been on a date, or at least, with someone when Eddie saw him, so there was a chance that he was still with her.

Still, though, you knocked. And, surprisingly enough, he answered.

His face— more specifically, his left eye— looked bad; very bruised, and already settled into the dark red and purplish color that it would probably be for the next few days.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” You said, immediately handing over the frozen peas you had in your hand; they obviously weren’t as cold as they were before the twenty-minute drive to get here, but they still felt good enough. “All of this is my fault. It completely slipped my mind to tell Eddie that we “broke up.” I didn’t tell anyone, actually, except for Robin, but that was just today. I’m really sorry. The last few days have been weird.”

Steve gave you a small smile that felt entirely undeserved and he pushed the door open further so that you could walk into his apartment. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head. “It’s really not. You have a black eye because of me being an idiot.”

“This would be the part where I’d say that you should see the other guy to prove that this isn’t as bad as it looks, but you’ve already seen him, so that doesn’t really work in this situation,” Steve told you jokingly and you shook your head, giving him a small smile back. You still felt like shit, but at least he didn’t seem to hate you for causing all of this. “How did you get here?”

“I drove Eddie’s van. He came to my place after it happened,” You said and Steve nodded understandingly. “You’re right, though. His hand looks worse than your eye.” You weren’t entirely sure if that was even true— in all honesty, their injuries probably looked about the same on the bad scale— but it felt like the right thing to say at this moment. “I told him everything, by the way. About our whole relationship being fake and me doing it because I had feelings for him.”

Steve looked as if he didn’t expect to hear you say that. “How did that go?”

“Surprisingly good,” You answered honestly. He gave you an almost congratulatory-looking smile in response and you quickly shook your head. “No, not good in that way. He doesn’t feel that way about me. And I knew that. There was this conversation that I had with him before all of this that kind of solidified that for me. It wasn’t some huge moment where he outwardly said that he didn’t like me, but it gave me the push I needed to finally accept that me and him are only meant to be friends. I don’t even feel any other way about him now.” You let out a sigh before letting out a different part of the truth. “I kinda lied to you in Mexico and the days leading up to it. I knew the truth about everything then, but I felt too embarrassed to tell you and I also just really didn’t want to think about it.”

“Shit, I’m sorry this didn’t work for you,” He sounded so genuine about it and gave you a sad look that reminded you of exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

You shook your head. “Don’t do that. Please don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I was the one that kept telling you from the beginning that this was gonna work so now I feel kinda bad that it didn’t.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true but it doesn’t matter now,” You told him. “And just because this didn’t work for me doesn’t mean that I regret it— I honestly don’t regret it. It was dumb and a waste of time for me, but still, I don’t really regret it. Also, you got what you wanted out of this, right?”

Steve nodded after a second. “Yeah, I actually talked to my mom yesterday and she asked about you and I told her that we broke up.”

“Did you make me a cheater?”

“Yeah, and I think she actually feels bad. But, we’ll see in a week or two if she brings up the Hamptons,” He answered. “I kind of doubt that she will, though. I tried to seem really upset about everything.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for that phone call. I would’ve loved to see your acting skills.”

He smiled at your joking words. “They were fantastic.”

“Good,” You responded. “So, no finding your future wife this summer?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Congratulations,” You told him. “And you’re welcome for me being the greatest girlfriend during the Mexico trip.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you since I do have a black eye now because of you.”

You could tell he was joking, but you still decided to play into it. “Wow, so, you are mad at me for that!”

He playfully rolled his eyes at you. “I was kidding.”

“It’s okay to be mad at me. It would be deserved, honestly. And I’d completely understand if you hate me now. You should hate me.”

He gave you a serious look, but there was still the smallest smile on his face. “Stop.”

You held up your hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I did just give you a bag of sort of frozen peas to help with your eye, so I feel like you can’t be that mad at me, anyway.”

“And I will cherish this bag of peas for the rest of my life,” He told you as he placed them over his bruised eye and you could only laugh at that.

A comfortable silence lingered for a second, and it was what let you know that this should probably be it. It had barely been ten minutes, but you’d done everything that you felt as if you needed to do— you checked on him, made sure he was okay, and told him the truth— there was nothing else to do.

But, instead of saying something equivalent to the simple “Goodbye” that should’ve left your lips right then, you said, “Can I stay for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve answered with a nod.

“You got throw pillows,” You pointed out as you sat on his couch. You grabbed one of the two gray pillows and placed it in your lap.

“Yeah, somebody once told me that my couch looked sad and lonely,” He said and that made you smile.

“Still no curtains, though,” You responded, gesturing to the windows.

“One day I’ll get around to it.”

You gave him a quick nod. “Got it.”

Steve put on a show that you both had seen before and things were quiet for a bit as you rewatched the familiar episode.

“Oh, you were sadly right, by the way,” You abruptly said, turning to look at him. “I finished the book and the son did die.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. When we got back I wanted to find out what happened, so I finished reading it.”

Hearing that surprised you, and it also made you inwardly smile. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Steve nodded and then gave you a certain look. “You cried at the end, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I really didn’t think that he would die,” You answered. “And shut up, don’t judge me about it.”

“I promise I wasn’t gonna.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Scouts honor.”

“And now I’m supposed to believe you were a boy scout?” You joked. “You don’t seem outdoorsy enough for that.”

“Ouch, I feel offended.”

You laughed as you turned your attention back to the TV. You noticed that the show playing was the same one that you and him had been watching before the power outage; a night that felt like forever ago.

This moment felt like the exact opposite of that one. You remembered how weird things initially felt then between you two, or maybe that awkwardness had been entirely in your head. Either way, the main thing that was different here was that in that previous moment, you’d been stuck with him because of the storm and power outage, and in this moment, you weren’t stuck.

It was then that you were hit with the thought of, What the hell were you doing here right now?

You two weren’t even really friends, you remembered. You reminded yourself of what Steve said that night a few days ago and what you two both agreed on from the beginning— going your separate ways once all of this was done and over.

Everything that had happened this past month was fake. And even though you’d been able to recognize that, you had still let a part of you miss it; let yourself miss something that you knew you’d never be able to get back. For the past few days, you thought it was okay to let the smallest part of you feel that way— miss the faking and the pretending and the brief friendship that developed because of all of that. But maybe it wasn’t okay. Maybe it was only making things worse and more complicated.

“Actually, I should go,” You abruptly stood up from the couch, placing the pillow back in the spot you picked it up from. You turned to look at Steve and forced a small smile that you hoped didn’t look that way. “This isn’t following the ‘going our separate ways’ rule.”

He gave you a confused look for a second, and then he was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I was kinda joking about it before, but I really am sorry about all of this,” You said as you walked over to his door, turning to look at him before pulling it open.

He shook his head. “Don’t be.”

You decided against saying anything else right then and instead smiled at him one final time before forcing yourself to leave.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff

101 notes · View notes

karlachismylife · 21 hours

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'er instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'her 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

131 notes · View notes

earthchica · 20 hours

Text

Try Again

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: you making your ex-boyfriend, Terry, jealous at a party.

warning: explicit smut (18+), jealousy, breakup to makeup, made-up characters, use of the n-word, spanking kink, choking, unprotected rough sex, dirty talking, creampie, slight daddy kink, foreplay, pet names (baby girl, baby)

note: That's right back with another Terry fic. Oh...lord, this man got me😍....anyway...I hope y'all enjoy it. There might be some errors.

Your relationship with Terry started lowkey chill and then became deeper than love.

However, as time passed, it became increasingly clear that you two wanted different things, ultimately resulting in a breakup.

It's been a long and agonizing three months, and instead of feeling better, the ache in your heart has only got worse.

Your yearning for him consumed you. You missed his smile, tender kisses, his cooking, and, oh, his warm hugs.

You missed everything about him and always wondered if it was the right decision to end the relationship.

Neither of you genuinely fought to save it; you just gave up too quickly.

You sat by the window, sighing, while drinking a warm cup of tea to comfort yourself.

The melancholy melody of music played softly in the background, adding to the reflective atmosphere.

Your phone vibrated, and you quickly reached for it to see who it was.

The caller was Aria; she and her boyfriend, Lance, are mutual friends between you and Terry.

She texted to express how much she missed you and extended an invitation to her house party.

You texted her that you also missed her and had to think about coming to the party.

She sent multiple texts in response, pleading and desperately urging you to come.

You agreed to attend and couldn't resist texting to ask whether Terry would be there.

Of course, she responded with a simple "Yes," confirming your question.

Then, you inquired if he was bringing someone else, and she replied, "Not sure."

You hoped he wasn't because the idea of him being with another girl was something you couldn't handle.

When you arrived at Aria and Lance's house, the vibrant party sounds greeted you.

The music reverberated through the air, and the energetic movements of the guests on the dance floor painted a vibe.

You looked at yourself in front of a small mirror near the entrance, fixing the sexy freakum dress that accentuated your curves and your silk-pressed hair that cascaded down your shoulders.

You paused to take a deep breath before stepping into the big living room.

As you walked by, a few men cast admiring glances in your direction.

Your eyes landed on Aria, and with a rush of excitement, you made a beeline for her, enveloping her in a warm, tight hug.

It had been far too long since you last saw her. After the breakup with Terry, you distanced yourself away from your friend.

"Oh my god {….......} you look so good." She gracefully twirls you around, evoking hearty giggles as you playfully showcase your figure.

"Thank you. You look so good, too, girl. And are you glowing? I see someone getting some good dick, huh?" You asked, observing her, which elicited a giggle from her.

"You know it, boo! That man knows how to put it on me. Ugh, I miss this...I miss you...come on, let's talk," Aria states, taking hold of your arm.

As you and Aria chatted comfortably on the couch, enjoying a great time, you noticed Terry conversing with Lance and a few other guys.

You were about to avert your gaze when a young, petite woman with a caramel-brown complexion, and long, luscious 4A curls approached Terry.

You tried your best to read her lips, she gracefully asked Terry if he wanted to dance, and his friends encouraged him to dance with her.

The surge of jealousy bubbled up within you, causing a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Despite taking a deep breath and turning back to Aria who was rambling about something.

You couldn't resist looking back at them and locked eyes with Terry. averted your gaze, but from the corner of your eye.

You noticed him striding towards you, and a sense of panic grew.

Aria was quick to sense your unease. "You good, sis?" she asked, and you nodded.

You tried to ignore his approach, but you heard his sexy, deep voice, and you almost lost.

"Hey," he greeted with his charming smile. You couldn't fathom why he had abandoned the girl on the dance floor to approach you.

You just gave him a nod.

Aria left, giving you and Terry some privacy to talk, and went to Lance.

Terry's imposing figure loomed larger than you remembered, his taut muscles accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt.

Feeling uneasy and irritated, you averted your gaze, fixating on your hands instead of meeting his eyes.

"You ain't gonna say hi to me?" Terry leaned in with a mischievous grin, his teasing tone lacing the air as he settled next to you on the couch.

"Why should I?" you replied, looking everywhere but him. His pretty grayish-blue eyes were unwavering and completely focused on you.

He was wondering what was swirling around in that pretty little head of yours.

"What?" you asked, eyes finally meeting his with confusion and curiosity.

A smirk graced his lips before he began to speak.

"You look gorgeous," he said, his words dripping with insincerity, igniting anger within you.

How dare he come over here looking fine as hell, complimenting you, and shit.

When he was just dancing with another bitch?

"Terry, don’t. Why are you over here? Where's your little girlfriend?" you asked with slight irritation and bitterness.

Terry smirked again, about to say something, but his sentence was abruptly halted by the sudden approach of a tall, strikingly handsome, dark-skinned man.

"Hey," He greeted, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours as he introduced himself.

"I’m Jackson. Sorry...to interrupt...are you two together?" he asked, his eyes filled with hope, silently pleading for my response to be a no.

You noticed Terry's annoyance with Jackson’s presence and couldn't help but devise a mischievous plan in your mind.

You responded, "No," with a playful smile before locking eyes with Terry, who wore a disapproving frown.

Jackson nodded with a charming grin and asked if you wanted to dance.

"I'd love to, Jackson," you replied with a smile, intertwining your fingers with his and strolling gracefully toward the dance floor.

You couldn't help but feel Terry's burning gaze boring into the back of your head.

The next song starts to play—it was Beyonce. Jackson pulls you close to him. Wrap your arms around his neck as you dance against each other, hips moving in sync.

As the music played loud in the background, Jackson leaned in and whispered a flirtatious remark into your ear.

You turned in Jackson's strong embrace, feeling the warmth of his body as your ass pressed firmly against his crotch.

You slung one arm around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jackson's lips delicately grazed against your dark-brown skin.

You could tell that Terry noticed and was unable to handle that. He abruptly stood up, causing a few nearby to startle.

Terry strode purposefully toward the two of you, and the crowd instinctively parted as they saw the intense, angry expression etched on his face.

The tension was palpable as he came to a halt in front of both of you, emitting a low, menacing snarl as a warning to back off. Jackson swiftly positioned himself in front of you.

As he stood there, nearly matching Terry's height, the atmosphere grew tense, and it was unsettling to witness the fight between the two formidable men.

"Let's go," Terry says to you, reaching out to grab your arm, but Jackson intervenes and pushes him away before he can.

"Hold on, bruh," Jackson exclaimed, his voice irritated.

"She doesn't have to go anywhere with you. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Terry clenched his fists, ready to swing on bra. You quickly stepped between them to prevent the situation from escalating.

"Stop, let's go, Terry. Jackson...thank you for the dance," you said, gently guiding Terry into a secluded room.

Terry was pacing back and forth, struggling to calm down. You tried to capture his attention by repeatedly calling his name, but he ignored you.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you asked, annoyance evident in your tone. He immediately halted his pacing and fixed his gaze on you.

"What is my problem? No, what the fuck is your problem? Huh," Terry asked with his deep voice.

"Dancing with that muthafucka when I'm sitting right in front of you." He yelled, frustratingly pointing.

"First of all...The last time I checked, I was single and could dance with whoever the fuck. And second of all, why do you even fucking care, huh? Weren't you dancing with another bitch?" You pressed, crossing your arms tightly in front of your chest.

"I barely dance with the fucking girl, you went out of your way to grind and let the nigga kiss you on and shit just to get a reaction out of me."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of defeat, realizing he had figured you out. You shouldn't be surprised with his ex-marine ass.

"You know what...fuck you. I'm out of here, " You were about to walk away, but Terry firmly grasped your arm to prevent you from leaving.

"Nah...you ain't fucking running like you always do. We're going to talk," Terry's voice echoed through the room.

"There's nothing to talk about, Terry. Now let me go," You yelled, straining to break free from his grasp, but his strength was overpowering.

"Don't you get it? I can't; not again," He stated intensely, causing you to stop comprehending his intended message abruptly.

"I tried to move on, I tried to get you out of my fucking head, baby girl....but..." He began but paused to gather his thoughts.

"But what? Terry," you said, shifting your gaze back and forth between his eyes, feeling his tight grip on your arm gradually loosen.

"I still love you, and I want you back." Terry's eyes bore into yours, a complex blend of love and frustration evident in his gaze. You pressed your lips against his lips without a word.

"I still love you too, Terry. I miss you so damn much. I'm sorry" You said, pulling away from the intense, passionate kiss.

"I miss you too, baby. Let's get out of here...so we can properly talk." He said, taking your hand gently and guiding you out of the room.

The warmth of his touch sends a comforting sensation through your body.

You exchanged byes with Aria and Lance, noticing their happy, knowing look as you both left the party.

As you both arrived at his place, the atmosphere was charged with sexual tension.

You two were supposed to talk, but the words faded into the background as the air crackled with the electricity of desire, and want.

You both were kissing, tongues dancing with each other while practically ripping each other's clothes off.

Terry's hold was firm as he lifted you to the edge of the bed. His body shifts between your legs.

He tilts his head to kiss you once more, his caress exuding a bit of roughness and fervor.

Terry moves to begin kissing your neck while slowly grasping your plump breasts and squeezing them.

You loved the way his thickness was touching the inner of your thigh.

Terry flipped you swiftly on your stomach to get a better view of your ass. You gasped, felt the sting of a sudden slap to your ass.

You turned your head to look at him, and his face lit up with a wide, mischievous grin.

"You thought you were off the hook, huh?" He asked, waiting for an answer.

You were on the verge of speaking, but all that came out was a groan as he landed another stinging slap to your ass.

"Daddy!" You whined, looking back at him.

"No...I gotta give you a little punishment after that little stunt," He says, sliding the tip of his dick up and down the wet slit of your pussy to tease you.

"Daddy, please. I'm sorry it will never happen again...I promise," you cried desperately.

"You bet your ass it ain't. Cause all kill a muthafucka." He says, stopping for a second before giving you a few stinging slaps on your ass.

"You're mine, baby! No one else, you got that?" His deep, husky voice reverberated as he leaned in and softly whispered into your ear.

"I'm yours, Daddy. I'm all yours. Please," You agreed, looking into his eyes.

He smiled before kissing you and roughly thrusting his dick inside of you.

You both shared a moan; he let go of your neck to grab at your hips while you held onto the sheets for dear life while he began with a few slow thrusted.

Terry chucked at your speechless whines, practically begging him to go faster.

"Come on, baby girl. Use your words for me.” his deep voice teases as his hips continue their slow thrusts.

"Faster, please. N-Need you to go faster, Need you to fuck me like you miss this pussy," You huffed out the words finally.

You suddenly felt the touch of his hand on your back to arch a little before his thrust got quicker.

"I do miss this pussy, this sweet tight pussy. Like this, baby girl?" He asked in his deep, rumbling voice.

"Yes, daddy. Just like that…oh fuck" you nodded with a moan as the slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the room.

Fuck, you missed this; you missed his delicious dick, missed feeling every inch of his dick hitting your sweet spot.

Terry slapped your ass a few times before grabbing a hand full of it to thrust in a slight angle.

You look back at him with deep pleasure expressed on your face as you grasp his wrist to thrust into him, which he always used to like a lot.

"Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Swear this sweet pussy was only made for me." He grunts, giving your ass another slap before getting on the bed in the spoon position, with you slightly facing him.

Terry kisses you, continuing to thrust hard into you while holding your neck.

You cried muffledly into the kiss, feeling him slap your cunt before rubbing circles over your clit.

His thrusts grow sloppier, losing himself to the great pleasure he’s feeling.

Terry missed you, your eyes, your smile, and the intimate moment you two had.

"I fucking love you, girl. Gonna fill up this pretty pussy...would you like that, baby" He asked, looking into your eyes intensely.

"Yes...I want it; I want to feel it all, Daddy. Fill me up," you moaned with a nod.

Terry picked up the paces again, balls hit your cunt hard, which ultimately sends you over the edge.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" You cried, orgasming so hard. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, climax rushed over your body with a jolt.

"Shhh...I got you, baby," He says, pulling out for a second to move you to ride him, thrusting back inside to catch his own release.

You managed to calm down a bit from your high and assist Terry in getting his release.

You bite your lip, matching the rhythm of his thrust. Your pussy slightly gripped him tightly like a glove, which drove him crazy.

"Fuck...baby girl...that's it....help your daddy....just like that," Terry grunts, eyes rolling in the back of his head while gripping your waist for dear life.

"Mmm...I'm the only one that makes you feel like this, right, Daddy" You asked, leveling yourself on his chest as you bounce on his dick faster.

"Fuck...yes baby....the only one...you're so good to me...fuck, I'm gonna...." He grunts, feeling him fill you up with the hot spurts of his cum.

His breath jerks and lifts you a little to pull out and watch his cum drip from your pussy.

"Didn't I tell you I was gonna fill you up, baby?" he asked weary, smugly, and you nodded in response.

After Terry cleaned you up, you were lying beside each other, staring into each other's eyes.

"Hey, I know we have a lot of shit to figure out, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it work again," he said, caressing your face.

A warm smile spreads across your face; you love this man with every fiber of your being.

His ability to transition from a lustfully filthy tone to an irresistibly tender, gentle tone was incredible.

"Me too, Terry," you said, and he smiled, pulling you into a kiss filled with hope and love.

#rebel ridge #aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #black fem reader #black!fem!reader #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black!reader

94 notes · View notes

blackenedsnow · 2 days

Note

Heyy, if you’re comfortable doing so could I please get some Beetlejuice x fem!reader who’s a single mom? Just pretty much him being soft and comforting letting her know she’s doing a good job etc? Thank you in advance 💕💕💕 can be a proper fic or headcanons I’ll let you decide xx

beyond it

WARNING: References to the stress of single motherhood

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Single Mother! Reader

NOTE: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you so much for the request 💕💕

SUMMARY: Beetlejuice surprises you by being a source of comfort, helping you see that you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.

It was late—too late for you to still be up. But as a single mom, you didn’t have the luxury of falling into bed as soon as the day ended. No, there were dishes to clean, laundry to fold, and tomorrow to worry about. And of course, your child had woken up twice already, needing reassurance from a nightmare.

You were running on fumes, slumped on the couch, your face buried in your hands. It felt like all you ever did was work. Just when you thought you could finally close your eyes and sleep, your thoughts picked up again—worrying about what needed to be done tomorrow, whether you were doing enough, whether your child was okay.

“Hey, dollface, rough night?”

This fucking guy.

That voice—raspy, familiar—cut through the fog of exhaustion like nails on a chalkboard. Beetlejuice. You didn’t bother looking up. He was probably lounging in his usual spot, perched on the armrest of your couch with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"Go away, BJ," you muttered half-heartedly. "Not tonight."

The ghoul groaned dramatically. "Aw, come on! And here I thought we were past the whole 'piss off, Beej' stage of our relationship." You felt a cold presence next to you, then his hand—decaying yet surprisingly gentle—lightly brushed your shoulder. "I mean, after all the times I’ve stuck around, don’t I get any appreciation?"

You exhaled sharply, finally lifting your head. "Appreciation? For what, exactly?"

"For being a goddamn delight, babes!" Beetlejuice beamed, leaning back against the couch and spreading his arms wide. "For hanging around when no one else does. Gotta say, not a lot of folks could handle a single mom with your level of stress."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the tiny smile tugging at your lips. "If by 'hanging around,' you mean constantly being a nuisance, then yeah, sure."

Beetlejuice chuckled, his voice rough yet oddly soothing. His eyes, usually wild and manic, softened just a bit as they focused on you. “Ah, you love it. Don’t lie, babe.”

You shook your head, sinking deeper into the couch. "I’m just… tired, Beej. I'm really tired."

For once, he didn’t launch into another sarcastic quip. Instead, Beetlejuice shifted closer, his body language relaxed but attentive. “Yeah, I know. I can see it. You’ve been runnin' yourself ragged for, what, weeks? Months?”

Your eyes welled up, but you quickly blinked the tears away. “I just… I feel like I’m not doing enough. There’s always something I’m missing, something I should be doing better.”

Beetlejuice’s hand rested fully on your shoulder now, his touch surprisingly solid. "Oh, come on, you're killing it out here, babe. You think your kid’s got it bad? They've got you. And lemme tell ya, you’re doing a hell of a job. Better than most."

You glanced over at him, surprised by his sincerity. "Really? You think so?"

“Are you kidding? Babe, I see it. I see you juggling work, taking care of the kid, making sure they're happy. And yeah, it’s messy and chaotic, but guess what? They're fine. They're happy, ‘cause you’re busting your ass for 'em.” He leaned in a little closer, his expression for once free of mischief. “You’re doin' more than enough."

His words hit you hard, in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know why, but hearing it from Beetlejuice—someone who you never thought would care about anything—meant something. It eased the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest all day.

“I just don’t want to mess them up,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “They deserve better than… than this.”

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, sweetheart." Beetlejuice’s voice softened. He slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “They've got you, and that’s more than enough. You’re not perfect—who the hell is?—but you're trying. And that's what matters. Trust me, when they grow up, they're gonna see that.”

You allowed yourself to lean into him, resting your head against his chest. His suit smelled like a mix of dirt and decay, but there was something oddly comforting about the way he held you, like he was actually trying to be there for you, to support you in his own weird way.

“Hey, tell you what,” he said, his voice low. “Next time you feel like crap, I’ll stick around. We’ll cause some shit together, huh? Might help take the edge off.”

You chuckled softly, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

Beetlejuice grinned, but it wasn’t the mischievous, cocky smirk you were used to. It was softer, almost tender. “You’re doin' good, doll. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time since he’d shown up in your life, you realized how much you appreciated him. Not just as the obnoxious ghost who wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, but as someone who—despite his crude humor and questionable ethics—actually cared. Maybe not in the typical way, but in a way that mattered.

"Thanks, Beej," you whispered, closing your eyes as you let the exhaustion finally catch up to you. "I mean it."

Beetlejuice stayed quiet for a moment, just holding you close. "Anytime, babe. Anytime."

#beetlejuice #keatlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #keatlejuice x reader #beetlejuice movie #x reader #oneshot #ask #request #fanfic

61 notes · View notes

brokenmenswhore · 18 hours

Note

I'm so glad you've come back with betrothals and brothels, I love that fic! Also I'm so curious about how it's gonna end up bc basically everyone is in love with mc I love that so much 😭 now that your requests are open again, can I ask you something where Aegon and fem!reader are in love but also betrothed to different people and they secretly see each other at night (not only they're in love but pretty horny as well). When they meet for their final night together it's so sad and beautiful and the next day during Aegon's wedding he decides to just marry fem!reader instead (I mean he's king after all??) who of course is present at the ceremony and they're happy and well in the years to come (I'm sorry I can't deal with sad ending at least in fiction I need things to go well 😭)

i love happy ending fics especially with aegon because he deserves all the happiness in the world <3

the one | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: light smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

“Being sneaky is not my strongest trait, Aegon, sometimes it takes longer than expected.”

“You were supposed to be here last hour, I missed you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could.”

“Well I’d hope not,” Aegon teased, frantically pulling your clothes off of your body and tossing them aside, a few garments landing on the wine lining the cellar walls.

You moaned when Aegon connected his lips to your neck, sucking the sweet spot he knew you could cover easily with your hair as you tilted your head back in pleasure.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, “thought we were going to take it easy tonight? It is our last night together.”

“I hate it when you put it like that,” Aegon sighed, pulling slightly away from you.

You and Aegon had been at this for a while. Since only shortly after you had met, you and Aegon had been in love. Desperate, secretive, lustful love.

You had both hoped your parents would betroth you to one another, but life was cruel. Your father promised your hand to a lord in the Riverlands, and Aegon was promised to his own sister.

No betrothal could stop you from meeting one another in secret, especially late at night.

“It is the truth, you and I both know we cannot continue this after we are wed.”

“The thought of you married to someone else makes me want to vomit,” Aegon said, “you aren’t anyone else’s. You’re mine.”

“I know.”

Aegon sighed and dropped his head, but you caught his chin and tilted his head back upward. “We still have tonight, yeah?” you said.

Aegon nodded his head and immediately leaned in to kiss you, wasting no more time. He unclothed himself as best as he could without breaking away from you.

He backed you up until your back hit a shelf of wine, and a few bottles fell with a cacophony of glass breaking against the ground.

“Aegon!” you jumped, startled by the noise, but he wasn’t phased.

“Oops,” he said, nonchalant, working to kiss you again.

“Aeg, we can’t just leave this here,” you struggled out between kisses, “it- Aegon- if you step on glass it’s not my fault.”

Aegon pulled away and looked into your eyes. “Do you ever shut up?”

“No, but that’s what you love about me,” you smiled.

“Correct,” Aegon responded, “so I say this with love. Shut up and let me fuck you.”

“But there’s glass everyw-“

“Shut up,” Aegon repeated, quieting you himself with a demanding, hard kiss.

Your body instinctively gave in as you lifted a leg up to wrap around Aegon’s waist.

Aegon began to press himself into you, grinding his hips lightly and pushing you more and more into the corks of the wine bottles.

“Fuck, Aegon, we gotta adjust,” you spoke.

“You’re killing me,” Aegon complained.

“Aeg, I’m literally backed against bottles of wine and there’s glass everywhere. How do you think we’re gonna fuck like this?”

Aegon bent down to scoop you up from under your legs. You wrapped your body around him as he walked around the glass, finding a clear spot and slowly lowering your bodies onto the ground. He made sure your back was gentle as it hit the floor, and you clung to him for dear life until you felt grounded.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you smiled.

“Good,” he replied, “now shut up.”

He kissed you again, running a hand down the side of your body and eliciting goosebumps. He moved his hand lower and lower until it reached your core.

You gasped as he began to touch you, your back arching off the ground as he rubbed circles on your clit for a moment before moving further down to insert two fingers into you.

While Aegon was usually rough and needy, the moment his fingers were inside of you, he slowed completely, savoring every single breath and gasp from your mouth as he pumped his fingers in and out.

The newer, slower pace was new for you, and it made your moans drawn out.

Aegon smiled and groaned as he watched your face contort. “You’re enjoying this, huh?”

You nodded your head, and your confirmation only added to Aegon’s own arousal. “Yes, but, w-why are you going so slow?” you struggled out.

“If I only get you one more time, I’m gonna make it last.”

You rested your head back down against the floor, allowing your senses to become consumed by the pleasure Aegon was giving you.

He leaned down and kissed your neck again as you squirmed under him.

Though he was moving slow, the pleasure was still intense, as was anything Aegon did. You were so in love with him, and so attracted to him, that any touch from him drove you crazy.

“Aeg, I-“

“Let go for me,” Aegon whispered in your ear.

You immediately came, his words sending you over the edge. He kept his fingers still inside of you as you came, as he always did. He loved tasting you on his fingers when he pulled them out of you, knowing that the sweetness came exclusively from what he could do to you.

You were out of breath, but Aegon was not prepared to waste a single moment.

He reconnected his lips to yours, and despite your newfound tiredness, you pulled him closer.

He gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining it up with your soaked entrance. “You need me?”

“I always need you, Aegon, you’ll always be the one.”

Aegon slowly inserted himself into you, causing you to let out a soft, long sigh.

He pressed his forehead to yours, and you both watched your bodies disconnect and connect as he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

He looked up at you, and despite the close proximity, you still felt like he was looking straight into your soul.

“I love you so much,” Aegon said, shaky and breathing heavy.

“I love you too,” you said, holding his face in your hands and leaning upward to kiss him.

────── ☾ ──────

You sat in the pew, leg shaking as you tried to restrain from crying or screaming or lashing out and storming off.

“I cannot believe you are truly making me do this,” Aegon whispered to his brother, who stood directly behind him as he waited at the alter for the ceremony to start.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. As much as it pained you to look, he was much too handsome. His head was adorned with a prince’s crown, and he was dressed in all black, which contrasted his near-white hair perfectly.

You wished it was you waiting to walk down the aisle toward him. Anyone would be lucky to stand at the alter with him and hold his hand.

Aegon’s eyes scanned the room until they met yours. Even with you sitting, he could see how beautiful you looked. Beautiful and sad, just like him.

The piano’s first few notes began, and the room quieted and stood as everyone prepared for the bride’s entrance. Your body turned toward the end of the aisle, but your head didn’t. You stayed fixed on Aegon.

Heleana began to walk down the aisle, her mother by her side. Though you resented her for what she would now become, she truly looked beautiful, and you held no true ill will toward her. This was not her choice either.

Aegon looked at his bride, and then to you.

You suddenly became very aware of your staring at him, and you didn’t want to ruin the day. You forced yourself to look away, and you dropped your head, taking a deep breath to remain calm.

You stared at the floor and listened to the piano until you heard Aegon.

“Stop.”

You instantly lifted your head and turned toward the source of the noise, and he was already looking straight at you.

He swallowed hard in nervousness. “I cannot do this.”

You and Aegon could not break eye contact if you tried. Aegon took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn and address the room. “My sister is very special to me, but that is how she should stay: my sister. She is not the one I will wed today.”

Your eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion. There was no way he was actually doing this. Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were nervous, excited, overwhelmed- every emotion all at once.

“I have decided to marry the one I love,” he announced, “if she will have me.”

Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t help but smile to show your acceptance.

Aegon continued: “I am the King, after all.”

You took a deep breath as Aegon gestured for you to come toward him. You shifted through the pew and into the aisle, turning to Heleana.

“Do not worry,” Heleana whispered, “you are saving me as much as you’re saving him.”

You gave Heleana a hug and she handed you her bouquet of flowers. Her mother protested, but you could not hear. You could only focus on Aegon.

You turned to face him and began to walk down the aisle, the biggest smile on your face as you made your way across from him.

You handed your bouquet to the woman standing nearest to you, and put your hands in his.

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon targaryen drabble #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen one shot #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen imagines #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #house of the dragon #asks

86 notes · View notes

thepersonperson · 1 day

Text

Thoughts on JJK's ending and my Dream/Delusion Theory being wrong.

Original Theory

Follow-Up on Characters Feeling OOC

(Written using TCBscans. Click images for captions/citaitons.)

Preface

I want to say that this ending could’ve worked if it were given more time. The majority of my complaints are the rushing which I mostly blame exploitation at the hands of the manga industry and predatory contracts.

Here are my original thoughts on JJK 268 when it released and JJK 269 when it released. I've basically reverted to those opinions.

Examining JJK 268–271 as Presented

When the last chapter of Umineko came out, its author Ryukishi07 very much spat in the faces of fans. He mocked them mercilessly and it was glorious. Every single criticism he lobbed at them was warranted because he targeted the fans that refused to see the love he put into his work or engage with the story on its terms.

“Without love, it cannot be seen.”

Ryukishi gave you all the tools to solve the mystery. He told you exactly how to do it. And yet some weren’t satisfied. They wanted everything neatly handed to them in a bow. Ryukishi denied them that simple ending in favor of sticking to his vision and rewarding the fans that accepted Umineko for what it was.

I have my own issues with the ending, but none of my complaints are related to that. I can also say with confidence what happens is completely in character, it’s just not something I personally vibe with.

When I read JJK 268–271 I feel that same creator frustration. I see Gege’s fatigue with fans who care only about the surface level presentation and nothing else. There’s been so much fun setups and follow throughs. So many subtle characterizations and symbolism that goes unnoticed by those who are unwilling to see the love Gege puts into his craft.

“JJK fans can’t read.” This is a fandom joke that is very true. A massive part of the fanbase ignores subtlety and gets upset or confused by Gege following through on it. The entire Sukuna battle was like that. You could pick out all the reasoning behind their actions if you paid close attention.

But then we get JJK 269 where Gege does something he's never done before—over-explain everything bluntly in a way that adds more plot holes and hinders character development. It feels like Gege is going “You don’t understand what I put down? Ok fine! Here are the answers!” It feels like getting to tell those fans off was more important than everything else.

Instead of doing a Ryukishi where he tears into uncharitable critics and rewards those who gave him a chance, Gege just abandons it all and makes an ending that won’t fully satisfy anyone.

With my theory, I decided to look past everything I hated. I decided to trust that if a mistake was made, Gege would call it out like usual. I decided to trust that the inconsistent locations were intentional because Gege has not once ever flubbed them. I decided to trust the clever set up and follow through that’s always been there, even when Gege’s health problems were at their worst.

I decided to look at Gege’s work with love and my heart was trampled for it. My post now serves as glaring proof the ending is botched and nothing makes sense. All the plotholes I found solutions for are bigger than ever. JJK 269 in its entirety is utterly pointless narratively. It could’ve been spent on political fallout, grief, or villain backstories, but instead it reads like a defensive Reddit post.

JJK 271 isn't Satisfying

JJK 271 made everything about JJK 269 worse and then added some more nonsense. Sukuna’s last appearance really sucked for me. I found his entire interaction with Mahito to be grossly OOC.

Mahito is a character who finds humans disgusting and doesn’t care about their opinions or what they do. They also don’t like Sukuna. When Jogo believes that the age of curses needs Sukuna to work, Mahito says they can surpass him. The very idea that Mahito would be upset by Sukuna becoming more human goes against their entire established character.

And more continuity errors!

This conversation is actually their 4th. Here are the other 3:

Sukuna warning Mahito not to touch him.

Sukuna punishing Mahito for touching him.

And Mahito telling Sukuna to shut up and watch him be even better.

Their relationship was antagonistic and Mahito desired a world without Sukuna. Why would Sukuna be with them in the afterlife?

And if Sukuna was going to change his mind it should’ve been with someone he cared about. Jogo and Gojo would’ve been great candidates. Or you know…it could’ve been Uraume themself. In the way Yuji voiced his feelings to Megumi and reached out to him, Sukuna could’ve done the same with Uraume. It could’ve been a thing that expanded more on their relationship and how it came to be. But Uraume doesn’t even get to voice how they feel about anything.

What we get is Sukuna talking to someone he doesn’t like about his emotional issues he has been suppressing and then deciding to live for a person whose history we know nothing of.

I knew him being an unwanted child screwed him up. But that kind of stuff takes a long, long time to unpack. And Sukuna, up until this point has given no indication he was ready to acknowledge his trauma, just like Gojo. Even in the end Gojo can’t admit to Toji and Geto traumatizing him. Sukuna knowing his heart and being so casually open about it just flies in the face of the subtle characterization that existed up until that point. (I wanted Hidden Inventory Arc type reveal you know! But tell not show is prevailing seemingly out of spite.)

He dies stubborn and hateful towards Yuji. He lies to him about feeling nothing and not liking flowers. For him to turn around in death and go I was wrong the entire time no problem to someone he has an antagonistic relationship with is extremely OOC because it wasn't earned.

And since when did Sukuna fear his own curse? When was that ever hinted? All that was suggested was Sukuna having a rough childhood and being exploited by others until he had enough.

Even for all the characters that survived, this isn’t a satisfying ending. Their coping with trauma is unrealistic and contradicts earlier characterization. Their relationships are not explored further. All their arcs or goals are neglected, save Yuji. Nobara didn’t even get to meet up with her childhood friends like she always wanted to. Just the mom letter.

It’s also jarring to see that a series that began with mourning, a series that made itself different by having children deal realistically with traumatic things, end where that heart no longer exists. We have so many characters who are explicitly motivated by their trauma. And we get to see them cope with it in their unique ways and still choose to chase joy through the hurt.

And these final 4 chapters? It’s gone. Yuta being so distressed over everyone treating Gojo like an object and not acknowledging his personhood? Gone. Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara sucking at dealing with death? Gone. They all act like none of it really mattered and won’t affect them for the rest of their lives. Those who were lost are forgotten quickly and their efforts are not remembered. (At this point, everyone ignoring Choso hurts worse than Gojo tbh.)

The Totally Not Kenjaku surviving decapitation and brain eating makes no sense if that's real. And the implications from that are horrible. All Gojo wanted to do was mourn Geto’s body. All we wanted was to see someone mourn him or acknowledge his efforts. I was hoping they’d be buried together. The idea that Geto’s body is possibly being used by a the master manipulating rapist while everyone is ok with that sickens me. (Does any remember Choso?! But hey, let’s kill all the incarnated culling game players who were victims of manipulation or outright helpful to the protagonists’ victory!)

It’s also why Mei Mei surviving and going unpunished or criticized for her treatment of Ui Ui sucks to see. And I guess while we’re at it. Kusakabe really did tell a 15 year old to his face he should’ve died. (And he was wrong about that like the higher ups. Yuji and Sukuna were a backup plan and the fingers were getting stronger all on their own. Gojo was the only adult who took productive action against it.)

The revolution really did die with Gojo. His dreams were good and noble. Resetting the Jujutsu Society and its exploitation was needed. But he gives up on them and asks to be forgotten. It's done in a way that feels like Gege is addressing his fans directly and telling them to get over him too.

I knew Gojo was suicidal, don’t get me wrong, but he was characterized as someone who had a hard time understanding that others did care about him. I was hoping for the revelation his intuition was wrong via a funeral or mourning. That didn't happen and it breaks my heart.

Yuta tried to empathize with him. We see it with the Yujo plot that goes nowhere except to disrespect Gojo’s body one last time. We don't even get to know if he was cremated or buried or how Yuta felt about that experience. It is extremely hard to see this all as anything but Gege expressing resentment for Gojo’s popularity.

And I’ll give Gege credit for that. The only theme that stayed consistent was Gojo being seen as an object to be exploited by everyone, except Sukuna. (I’m not even sure if I can include Yuji and Yuta in the cares deeply for Gojo anymore. It’s so OOC for them to be like this that I want to ignore it.)

The balance of the world changed when Gojo was born. We had several chapters dedicated to how this impacted various people's lives from Toji to random curse users. His death should be just as impactful.

But you know. Kenjaku was proven right. The cycle of curses will continue on because the systemic problems were never dealt with.

The conditions that allowed for Yuji and Sukuna to be created still exist.

Reflection

I understand why people like myself want to reject this ending. It doesn’t feel like Gege put love into it. All the fun little quirks this series had are flattened and discarded in what feels like spite. Not even the final battle has the fun energy that was present just 4 chapters ago.

I’ve decided that I’ll accept these last 4 chapters for what they are, but reject everything they stand for. They’re more interesting to discuss and pick apart than actually read…which ironically is how I feel about Umineko’s final chapter.

And speaking of Umineko… My favorite thing about the reaction to my Dream/Delusion Theory was this—the people who said, if they can’t handle what’s in the catbox, this is their canon.

The fans who love the series and want to weave their own tales based on this in a way that helps others cope, please tag me in your creations. (Especially you @rosemaryreality!) It’s all incredibly Umineko and I’m forever grateful I got to experience the Rokkenjima Incident in real time.

Very important to Umineko’s themes, there was a common sentiment type across those that were dismissive of my theory vs those who were receptive to it—their perception of the mangaka, Gege.

To those that believed Gege was a bad writer, the idea that he could be clever and put love into this series was impossible to them, and therefore my theory was impossible. To those that had faith in Gege as a writer, my theory was solid, even if it needed a little tweaking.

I had the most fun with those who cited manga at me to make corrections like @runabout-river. Or those who wanted clarification on the holes I missed.

The ones that were entirely dismissive? It was boring. Their arguments mostly amounted to “Gege bad”. (I won't post screenshots here because I don't want them harassed, but they are there if you want to verify them.) Not a single person offered me an interpretation where the events were literal and took place in reality using manga panel citations in a way that tied it all into JJK’s themes and characters.

That disappointed me immensely. I wanted someone to prove to me my reasoning was wrong with a similar methodology. Instead they drew rebuttals stemming from their perceived flaws or outright dislike of Gege.

This is quite literally what happens in Umineko. It’s a murder mystery that can only be solved if you consider love. Both the love within the characters themselves and the love the author has put into his creation.

Is it magic or is it a simple trick? Is it a delusion or is it reality? Depending on how you answer and solve the mystery, your interpretation of the story itself changes too.

I wound up being wrong of course, and Gege really did screw up everything in the end. But while that delusion was real? I had a blast.

I’ll be forever grateful to everyone that proved Ryukishi right about Umineko’s core theme.

#cactus yaps #Something something capitalism destroys art.#Umineko Kaisen was the friends I made along the way.#This has been my Potential Kaisen.#The potential man memes should be applied to the worldbuilding and plot points.#I'm not joining the leaks are intentional fakes copium. I witnessed BBC Sherlock S4. Dec 25th Vol release won't change anything.#I do expect Gege to be interviewed about the ending and him discussing alternatives he had in mind.#Since I'm going on vacation next week I'm leaving asks off until after I get back. Then I will go back to true yapfesting.#jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk 271

75 notes · View notes

mephistopheleswasrobbed · 3 days

Text

Right so, I currently feel a very strong urge to cut open my stomach like Chef Hong, but let's put that aside for now and focus on all the new evidence that Peaceful Property is very much gay, actually:

(somehow in light of the end of this episode all of this feels so shallow but well, I got this far, I'm not giving up now)

Peach is wearing THE shirt. The infamous "more than friends less than lovers" shirt.

And as is usually the case when this shirt appears, it perfectly describes the current state of Peach and Home's relationship.

I'm not really attentive enough to analyse colours in these shows, but even I noticed that Home's shirt is pretty blue at the beginning of this episode

Looks like both of them are (not so) subtly expressing their feelings through their clothes this week

We didn't really get confirmation either way about Peach's relationship with Best. Though judging by this little interaction between them, if there was something between them, it was probably initiated by Best. He's full-body reaching more than half-way across the frame, trying to get Peach to fistbump him while Peach only half-heartedly raises his fist towards Best's a little. (I admit I might be somewhat biased against him because of Pangpang, but I almost get the vibe that he kinda tried to get close to Peach to siphon off some of Chef Hong's attention. So he was using him from the beginning, first for his cooking skills then for his exorcism skills. But tbf it might have also just been innocent excitement.)

Anyway look at Chef Hong frowning at their interaction. She knows this is not the right man for her son favourite student.

Home, deepely and sincerely, wants to help Peach.

As soon as he finds out about Peach's trauma his first priority becomes helping him, not selling the property and not exorcising the ghost.

He even goes all alone to meet the ghost of Chef Hong and asks her to help Peach.

This is kind of a parallel to the second episode where Home went to confront Rak alone (with Suradech and Kan) after Peach refused to help him anymore. Except this time he actually goes alone and instead of asking the ghost to leave so he can make some more money, he sincerely asks her to help Peach. Character growth. But also. Doing it for the guy he likes. And this is why he gets the mother in law approval and not Best.

But helping someone is not always easy, so:

This is the face of a man who's desperate to help the person he loves even if that person doesn't think he can be helped. And he's willing to play the bad guy to get him that help.

It so clearly hurts him to talk to Peach that way but he doesn't know what else to do.

And Peach is also hurt because he thought that he and Home had gotten close enough that Home would care about his wellbeing more than making money. And he's right, too because Home IS actually doing this FOR his wellbeing and NOT for money. Peach just doesn't know that, yet.

(Quick aside about Peach: Shouting at someone while clutching their shirt. That's 'I love you so please understand me' level of fighting)

Classic tragic romance shit (in preparation for later things to come?). Especially with their next conversation happening through a glass pane. (Star Trek anyone? and many more that I can't think of right now)

And Home gives him hope. Hope that maybe his mentor didn't kill herself, hat maybe he's not responsible for her death. And with that he gives him the strength to face his fear. Good (not yet) boyfriend.

It's love, your honor!

He litterally takes over the job of taking care of Peach from Peach's mother figure

and then holds him while he breaks down. And not only does he hold him, he PULLS HIM IN so Peach can cry into his shoulder.

And Peach lets himself fall apart in Home's embrace, to let out all of the grief and guilt he had been carrying mixed with the relief of realising it wasn't his fault she died, and she never blamed him for any of it.

(I know I've said it before but man, Tay and New are really blowing this out of the water. They're just so good. Everything about this show is just sooooooo good.)

Is that jealousy I smell, Peach?

Don't worry. Home has already admitted that he's flirting with Kan as a bit not with any real intention. The real is reserved for you.

He fully plans to give it to Peach, doesn't he? Simp.

Between all the real talk, raw emotions and vulnerability, they're right back to bickering and teasing each other.

Now there's a classic BL trope. (And also again a callback to Chef Hong taking care of Peach, making it even more meaningful.)

Its LOVE, your honor!!!

But seriously:

Peach has fully fallen in love with Home at this point. And how could he not, after Home fully proved his kindness and selflessness and care for Peach this week. Peach had already started to really trust and be comfortable around Home last episode, but with this he's fully brought down Peach's walls. (too bad it's going to end up hurting them both soon)

And Home knows it, too. Speaking it out while also giving the plausible deniability of a joke. And note how Peach denies on behalf of Kan but not of himself.

They're inching their way towards each other, neither of them willing to say it without beating around the bush but both of them fully aware of what's happening between them. (too bad there's a big storm coming for them that's going to wreck this puppy love bliss)

And this, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between and beyond,

is the face of realisation that you did irreconcilable harm to the man you love and you didn't even know it. That the man you love just said a most sincere and heartfelt "Thank you" to his killer. To you. That all your newfound happieness is about to come crashing down around you and it's all your fault.

Seeing them be happy and flirty in the credit scene hurt. Because how long will they still have this? And either way, any blissful moment from now on is going to feel hollow for Home. And Kan knows, too. Will Pangpang find out before Peach? Will Home get to tell Peach himself or will Peach have to find out from someone else?

Major angst is incoming and honestly? That's pretty gay. Silver lining and all that, I guess.

Anyway I don't want to leave us off at a complete downer so have a quick

Lesbian Corner

The focus was very much on Peach this episode and Kan was mostly off doing her own thing so there's not much but there is this:

Pangpang felt quite betrayed when Kan didn't take her side against Home. She's clearly aware that they should hook team up seeing as the boys are busy with each other.

Don't worry girl, you'll get there eventually.

#peaceful property #peaceful property the series #i love this show so much #but it seems it has decided to hurt me #and unfortunately right now that makes me love it even more #even though i wish i could protect these idiots from the incoming devastation #but i belive that their bond is strong enough at this point that they can get through this #i guess we won't get any tender moments looking into each others eyes for a bit #but there's much gay to be found in the angst as well so i'll surely be back next week

63 notes · View notes

solxamber · 3 days

Text

Antinomy - Leo Kurosagi x reader

You and Leo have been at each other's throats for the past few years. So why does it feel so wrong when he shows up at your door bruised and bloody? aka the prompt: "I didn't know where else to go"

The knock is sharp, almost a thud, one that echoes through the room like the reverberation of some bad omen. It’s well past two in the morning, and nothing good ever comes from visitors at this hour. But still, curiosity gets the better of you, and you open the door with more force than you intend.

You freeze. It’s Leo.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, disheveled, one arm clutching his side. His usual smug demeanor is nowhere to be found; instead, his face is bruised, streaks of dried blood trailing from his nose. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, barely clotted, and his shirt is torn like it’s seen better days—like he’ seen better days. It’s probably the first time you’ve ever seen him so out of sorts.

“What the hell…” You can barely get the words out as he leans more heavily on the frame, gritting his teeth.

“Look,” he rasps, voice rougher than the usual annoyingly smug tone, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You stare, unblinking, taking in the sight of him—your infamous rival, the bane of your existence, now standing battered and barely on his feet. A barrage of thoughts rush through your mind. The first: how the hell did he end up like this? The second: why is he here?

When you don’t immediately move or speak, Leo’s mouth curls into something resembling a smirk—though it’s weaker, a shadow of his usual arrogance. “Sho’s out of town… and as much as you love hating me… we both know you don’t hate me enough to leave me out here bleeding.”

Your jaw tightens at that. The nerve. But he’s right. Damn him, he’s always right when it comes to this—knowing just how far to push before you break.

“What did you do?” you finally snap, folding your arms, though it feels more like an attempt to shield yourself from whatever storm’s about to follow him inside.

“Picked the wrong fight,” he mutters. “Didn’t turn out quite the way I expected.”

“Clearly.” You look him up and down, incredulous. “And Alan? Why didn’t you just call Alan?”

A wince flashes across his face as he tries to straighten himself. “I'm already on thin ice with him. I'd rather not hear it from him right now.”

“You expect me to help you? You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” You bite out, though a part of you already knows you’ll cave. There’s something different about Leo tonight. Gone is the usual bravado, the mocking quips and cynical remarks. In their place, you see desperation—vulnerability. He wouldn’t have come here unless he really had no other option.

“Come on,” he breathes, his voice fraying at the edges. “As much as you’d love to see me suffer, you wouldn’t let me bleed out on your doorstep.”

You hate that he’s right. And you hate that some twisted part of you does care—more than you’re willing to admit, even now. With a sigh, you step back, allowing him entry.

“Fine,” you huff, “but don’t expect me to play nice.”

“I’d never expect that from you,” he says with a pained grin as he limps inside.

You close the door behind him, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. You’re rivals—you hate him, really—and yet, here you are, letting him into your space, into your life when he’s at his weakest. It’s irrational. It’s stupid. But it’s Leo, and you’ve never been able to figure out why you care so much about someone who’s made your life extremely inconvenient for so long.

“Sit,” you order, motioning toward the couch.

He gives you a mock salute, then collapses onto the cushions with a groan, clutching his side tighter.

“What the hell happened to you?” You grab a first-aid kit from the kitchen, already mentally preparing yourself for a long night.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Leo mumbles, though the way he winces with every breath tells a different story. “Just got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” You raise an eyebrow, kneeling down in front of him to examine the damage. His knuckles are bloodied, the cut on his eyebrow still oozing slightly. His shirt’s soaked with sweat, and you can see the bruises spreading across his ribs. He looks like he’s been through a war.

Leo watches you with an unreadable expression as you start cleaning his wounds. “What’s with the concern, hmm? Thought you’d be celebrating right about now. Finally got me on my knees, and not in the way you imagined.”

You glare at him, pushing a bit harder on the wound than necessary. He hisses but doesn’t flinch. “Shut up, Leo. You’re lucky I don’t kick you while you’re down.”

He chuckles softly, though it’s strained. “You always had a mean streak.”

“Maybe I just hate you.”

His grin falters for a moment, something almost… hurt flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. You’ve patched him up as best you can and cleaned the wounds on his knuckles but they still looked raw and painful. But the tension in the air is thick, and neither of you seems willing to break it.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you murmur, sitting back on your heels, arms crossing over your chest again. “You could’ve gone to anyone. Your fans would’ve eaten this up. Why come to me?”

Leo’s gaze shifts to the floor. For the first time since you opened the door, he looks… unsure.

“I… I didn’t want them to see me like this,” he admits quietly, his usual cocky bravado nowhere to be found. “And Sho wasn’t around. You were the only one I thought of.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you fight to keep your expression neutral. “Why?”

“Because I knew you wouldn't let me bleed out,” he says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The vulnerability beneath all the layers of arrogance and wit. The part of Leo you’ve only ever caught glimpses of. You’ve always known it was there, buried deep under his ego, but seeing it now, laid bare in front of you, feels… different.

“Dumbass,” you mutter, looking away. “You picked a fight, got yourself hurt, and now you’re here expecting me to fix it.”

“I don’t expect you to fix anything,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just didn’t know where else to go.”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in your frustration. He’s hurt, and despite all the history between you two—the constant bickering, the rivalry that’s lasted years—this is different. He came to you when he was at his lowest, and there’s something in that which makes your chest tighten.

You sit down beside him on the couch, careful to give him space but not too much. It’s a strange feeling, having Leo so close, especially like this—broken, vulnerable, his cocky grin now replaced by something far more human.

“Why do you always do this to yourself?” The words slip out before you can stop them, not exactly what you meant to say, but the only thing that comes to mind. “You pick fights you know you can’t win and rely on Sho to bail you out. What do you think will happen if he can’t make it in time?” You gesture toward his battered state. “And when he couldn’t, you showed up at my door?” Your voice trembles as you take a shuddering breath. “Do you expect me to pick up the pieces?”

Leo glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and for a second, you think he might laugh it off, make some snide remark like he usually does. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions, eyes closing.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, and it catches you off guard. “Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

You shake your head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “That’s not an answer, Leo. You’re reckless. You put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, and then what? You expect people to be there to bail you out?”

“I don’t expect anyone to do anything for me,” he says, his voice sharp, but there’s an edge of defeat in it. “Not even you.”

“Then why come here?” you press, anger rising. “Why not just go home and patch yourself up like you usually do?”

He opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. There’s something raw in his gaze, something you’ve never seen before. It’s unsettling, like he’s letting you in, showing you a part of himself that he’s always kept hidden.

“Because I knew you’d actually care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

And there it is again, that vulnerability, the crack in his armor. It’s the one thing you never expected from him, and it’s throwing you off balance. You don’t know how to respond, don’t know how to deal with Leo when he’s like this—so exposed, so… real.

You swallow hard, looking away. “You’re an idiot, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning his head back again, closing his eyes. “I know.”

Silence falls between you, thick and uncomfortable, but also strangely intimate. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady now that he’s stopped trying to act tough. His hand rests on his lap, knuckles still raw from whatever fight he got himself into. Without thinking, you reach out, gently taking his hand in yours, inspecting the damage despite just cleaning it.

He doesn’t pull away.

“You could’ve died,” you say softly, the words almost getting caught in your throat. “And for what? A stupid fight?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost pained. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I had.”

Your heart stops. You turn to him, eyes wide, but he doesn’t look back at you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if he’s afraid to meet your eyes.

“Leo…” you start, but you don’t know how to finish. You’ve never heard him talk like this—so defeated, so broken. It’s like you’re seeing a completely different person, someone who’s been hiding behind that arrogant smirk for years, and it scares you.

“I’m tired,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tired of all of it.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Then why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep putting yourself through this?”

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel the weight of them, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You’ve always known that there was more to Leo than the cocky influencer he portrayed online, but you never realized just how deep his insecurities ran.

You squeeze his hand gently, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You don’t have to keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And who’s going to help me? You?”

You meet his gaze, holding it this time. “Yes. Me.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is thick, but there’s something else there too—something unspoken, something that’s been building between you for years. You’ve always been rivals, always been at each other’s throats, but underneath all of that, there’s been this… connection. This thing that neither of you has ever been willing to acknowledge.

Until now.

Leo’s eyes soften, his usual sharp wit dulled by exhaustion and pain. He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out, and then, slowly, he leans in.

You don’t stop him.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, but filled with years of unresolved tension.

It’s messy and imperfect, but it feels right—like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable conclusion of everything that’s ever passed between you. And for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, everything else fading away.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at you with something like disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what just happened.

“You…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

You just nod, leaning your forehead against his. “Yeah. Me.”

And in that moment, something between you shifts. The walls that you’ve both spent years building up start to crumble, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both just… there. Vulnerable. Real.

It’s terrifying, but it’s also liberating.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, Leo,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep fighting.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling softly. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you say again, squeezing his hand. “I’m here.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. But then, slowly, he nods and buries his face into your neck.

“Okay,” he whispers.

And for the first time in years, Leo lets his guard down.

Masterlist

#tokyo debunker x reader #leo kurosagi x reader #leo kurosagi #tokyo debunker #hurt/comfort #tdb x reader #tdb #tkdb x reader #tkdb

47 notes · View notes

thisgirlnamedblusy · 1 day

Note

Heyyy 😗 okay so g!p Donna smut idea where its reader and Donna’s first time sleeping together. Reader isn’t inexperienced but has never had a partner with a penis, and she has a fear of pregnancy but donna doesn’t like the way condoms feel so they come to a compromise of donna pulling out. So donna does that and instead cums all over readers body and donna is really into seeing her cum all over Reader 😋 (Basically just donna realizing she has a cum kink)

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Unexpected desires

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI,fluff...

Word count: 7,847

Summary: You wanted to do it, but you were afraid....

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

The way home had been different for a long time, longer.

The forest embraced you with its shadowy branches and the ruins of what was once a garden full of life became your new sights as you walked slowly. You didn't mind walking through those dark places, that wooden bridge that seemed unstable. The way home was the way home, it didn't matter which one it was.

You were never a particularly brave girl, one of those villagers who perhaps dared to abandon the tedious life that was already written for you. You were always conformist, happy with the life you had been given. The village was sinister, the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... They didn't matter to you.

You thought that maybe that way of thinking was something like a rarity, a feeling that mixed with boredom to hide it completely, so as not to have any desire for freedom.

Live quietly in a village or suffer the consequences of trying to escape from the Gods? You had the answer very clear for a long time.

You were never interested in men. Your expectations weren’t like those of your friends. Maybe that's why deep down you always considered yourself different. But even your short relationships with girls began to be monotonous, boring. None of them managed to fill that void.

Yes, they were pretty, they gave you love, sex... But there was nothing else. The feeling of wanting to stay with one of them in a more or less stable relationship was nonexistent. You, a lover of routine, of tranquility, began to be overwhelmed by them.

It didn't matter how much you tried to convince your feelings to make up their minds, to convince yourself to fall in love with one of the girls. It never happened. Those girls were fleeting loves that never returned.

None of those girls seemed to have any kind of feelings for you, just like you did with them. The difference was your decision to remain true to yourself. You couldn't say how many of those girls threw away what they said they were to end up in a boring and empty marriage.

You had just turned 20 and you couldn't help but feel like you were in an endless spiral of tedious routine. That tranquility became a nightmare, a sentence that told you over and over again that you would never get out of it.

You wouldn't have a great love, you wouldn't have a faithful woman at your side who loved you, who you wanted to love. At least that was what you believed.

You didn't have to pray for a miracle the day that, after a sermon by Mother Miranda, a lapse made you go back into the chapel, coinciding closely with the Four Lords.

Your head was lowered but you couldn't help but rise it when you saw a figure that was too close to you; a black figure covered by a veil, looking at you curiously. It could be a ghost, a shadow, but it wasn't. That figure had a name: Donna Beneviento.

The adrenaline that your body produced was reason enough to want to have more distractions, to get a little closer to that mysterious woman.

Her mind was sick, disturbed, but her hoarse voice was soft, her hands seemed delicate, skillful. You could say that with the passage of time that woman constantly appeared in your head, but that would be a lie. From that first day, she never left it.

The surprising thing was the sudden interest that the lady in black showed in you. You didn't know why, you even thought that she saw in you a weak and perfect victim for her macabre games. But none of that happened, she didn't play with you, she invited you to tea, she slowly discovered things about you, and you about her.

For the first time in 20 years, you had achieved something you didn't think possible, you had fallen in love.

Her beauty went far beyond that of any stupid village girl. The scar on her face was just a small detail that made her even more special. She was ashamed of it, but you weren't, you never would be. Donna was perfect, simply perfect. Being in love with her was the best decision your heart made. Your life would never be routine again, never again.

Your relationship with Donna progressed little by little although you really didn't have many options. Her years in complete solitude had worsened the evil she was born with turning her into an extremely possessive woman.

Jealousy, arguments… The phases you were going through passed quickly. Your smile was a balm for Donna. Your loving eyes were a reminder that you would never abandon her. Little by little the lady in black relaxed her attitude, especially when after weeks of pleading, you agreed to abandon your life completely, to move to her old estate.

The best decision of your life.

“Donna?” you asked when you entered the mansion after spending time with your friends. A precious time that cost you a lot to get Donna to accept.

“Tesoro…” she whispered, with the hoarse voice that made you fall in love, walking towards you quickly and grabbing your waist, kissing you, claiming you with the irrational ferocity of her lips. “You're back…”

“Yes,” you said, with your eyes in love, dazzled by her relieved, calm smile, by her soft caresses on your back.

“Mm,” she murmured, fixing your hair, which always used to cover your face. “(Y/N), don't put your hair in your face… It doesn't let me see how beautiful you are.”

“Donna…” you sighed, blushing at her eternal compliments.

“Leave my hair alone,” you joked, taking her wrists to play with her hands, to intertwine your fingers erratically.

“I still can't get used to see you walking out the door,” the lady whispered, with a slightly sadder tone, kissing you slowly, hugging you to feel you again, to feel you had returned.

“I've only been gone for an hour,” you said, with your cheeks becoming more and more blushed. Her voice, her gaze… She was perfect

Her grip tightened, holding your hands, surely imagining a horrible scenario in which you never came back. Fortunately, you had long since managed to overcome those little crises.

“Shh, eh, Donna, calm down, my love,” you said softly, placing a hand on her wounded cheek, forcing the trembling lady to look at you. “I'm here, I always come back, you know that.”

“C-certo,” she said, blinking hard and smiling again. “Y-you'll always come back.”

“Of course,” you said enthusiastically, finishing to scare away her demons with a tender kiss, one that elicited a sweet laugh from the lady in black. “Come, let's sit down, it's not dinner time yet.”

Donna nodded and let herself be dragged by your hand into the quiet living room, sitting with you on your favorite couch.

“How are your friends?” she asked after a few moments of romantic staring. No matter how much time had passed, she would always look at you like that. You were completely crazy about her.

“Donna? Where's Donna?” you asked jokingly, looking around with a frown. “How long have you been interested in my friends?”

“I'm not interested,” the lady said in a soft voice, turning on the couch, resting the head on her hand. “I feel like hearing your voice.”

“Um, that doesn't sound like you,” you joked, turning around as well and putting your legs up on the couch. “Surely what you want is to make sure I haven't been out there making out with girls, huh?”

“(Y/N), don't say things like that,” she protested, with a dark look, gritting her teeth. “It makes me sick…”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Donna,” you apologized in time, taking one of her hands and kissing the back of it romantically. “Anyway, I haven't spent much time with Irina.”

“Who is that?” she asked, pretending that jealousy wasn't speaking for her.

“The daughter of… Oh, come on, you don't have to worry about her, besides, she's pregnant.”

Donna nodded slowly, breathing deeply. Luckily that was a fact that relieved the lady in black, relaxing her expression. You remained thoughtful, since you had just found out that shocking news.

“Can you believe it?” you asked amused, shaking your head.

“Yes, I believe it, why wouldn't I?” Donna said confused, completely oblivious to your usual irony and sarcasm.

It might seem terrible that Lady Beneviento didn't have those communication skills. It was like a reminder of her former loneliness. You, however, found that innocence adorable in a not-so-innocent woman.

“She says it was a mistake, apparently her boyfriend wasn't careful,” you sighed, shaking your head again, pitying your friend. “Poor thing…”

“Poor thing? Why?” the curious lady asked.

You opened your mouth to say something but you didn't, frowning and scratching the back of your neck.

“A child is too much responsibility,” you commented, looking away. “Irina is still very young.”

“How old is she?” the brunette wanted to know.

“Oh, well, she's two months older than me,” you said. “Don't you think she's too young?”

The lady in black shrugged, blinking in confusion and shaking her head.

“No,” she said dryly, not seeming moved or surprised by the information.

That disinterested and very different attitude gave you an involuntary shiver.

“Oh, um… Well…” you stammered, arching your eyebrows. “I… I really think she’s too young…”

“Mm,” she murmured, with an impassive, almost expressionless look. “A child is a gift from the Gods, (Y/N). I’m convinced that your friend and that boy will be very happy.”

“You think so? The guy is a coward and he has abandoned her,” you commented, frowning at that uncomfortable conversation for you. “Sometimes I think that men only think with their…” you stopped before continuing, lowering your gaze. “Um, forget it. I didn’t want to offend you.”

“You don't offend me, I'm not a man,” Donna said, with that same expressionless look, serious but relaxed.

“Oh, that's obvious but... But you have... A penis, you know...” you murmured blushing. Your comment didn't offend the lady in black, who smiled tenderly, lifting your chin.

“I'm not like that, tesoro, I would never abandon you,” she whispered in a soft voice, with a hand on your cheek.

It might seem that this comment was sweet, even romantic, but for you it was a bit disturbing, it unleashed a different, strange fear inside of you.

“Oh, it's good to know, I guess, I...” you said stuttering, joining your hand with hers. “Don't listen to me, Donna. I'm just surprised by the news, that's all.”

“I love it when you get nervous,” the doll maker whispered adorably, getting a little closer to you to capture your trembling lips in a soft, intense kiss. “You're so sweet…”

You laughed shyly again, unable to resist her charms, biting your lip at the caresses of hers on your skin.

“Hey, let me go…” you said amused, trying unsuccessfully to escape from her kisses, from her increasingly intense caresses. “Donna.”

“Mm, no, I don't want to let you go… Come here, tesoro,” she whispered seductively, pulling your hand so you leaned on her body, climbing on top of her while she kissed you tirelessly.

Your laughter was camouflaged with the sound of the kisses, with the increasingly agitated breathing that came out of your lungs. Your mind began to cloud and the internal desire of your body hid that uncomfortable conversation, causing your hips to begin to move and your hands to run over the face of the lady in black.

“Bellisima…” Donna whispered in your ear as her fingers caressed your dress, while her kisses continued their path along the skin of your face, down your neck.

Of course there was nothing wrong with letting yourself be carried away by that growing passion. You liked to kiss her, to caress her, to let your bodies dance together, to have your ears blessed with her ardent whispers, even if you didn't understand them.

You pulled away for a moment, placing your legs on either side of her hips, erratically running your hands over her chest as you thought about how this outburst of kisses and hugs could end.

“I love you, you know that, right?” you said in a soft voice, not looking into her bright eye, carelessly playing with one of the buttons on the top of her dress.

Donna smiled as she caressed one of your legs, slowly returning to your lips, kissing them as her grip tightened more and brought you closer.

“Not as much as I love you…” she whispered playfully, slipping her mischievous hand under your dress, taking advantage of the distraction of her soft words to get further.

At first, that feeling comforted you, her nails running over your skin without hurting you, her kisses moistening your lips, her hips moving slowly to make contact with yours. It seemed like the perfect moment, the moment that you constantly delayed, the one you thought you weren't ready for.

Letting yourself go was much easier than on other occasions, but your mind was restless, working without you wanting it to, remembering that conversation with your friend, making passion slowly turn into irrational nerves.

“Uh, em…” you said nervously when her body began to react to your passion, when you noticed her erection pressing against you. “Wow…” you said playfully, moving away slowly so as not to make contact with her throbbing desire. “Donna…”

“What's wrong, tesoro?” she asked, breathing heavily, looking at you confused. “Come, come back here…”

“What’s in there?” you asked nervously, getting off her body and pointing at her lap.

The lady in black lowered her gaze and returned it to yours again, with a shy expression.

“Oh, um, well, I…” she said embarrassed. “I was really enjoying it…”

“Yes, I can see that,” you said nervously, looking away from her lap. “You, you are very sensitive Donna.”

“Yes, no, well, I… I thought that…” the lady stammered, visibly confused by your attitude. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, not exactly,” you said, making a gesture with your hands, trying to explain what still had no logical explanation. “It's just that…”

“I want you, (Y/N), I want to make love to you,” she said, letting herself be carried away by the excitement, bringing her hands to your face to assault your lips again.

“Yes, that's obvious,” you said, moving her careless kisses away from your lips, putting a hand on her chest and glancing sideways at her lap, at that lump you touched. “Pretty obvious…”

“Come, come, please…” Donna whispered, pulling you again, fearing one of your rejections. “Don't leave me like this…”

“Oh, wait, wait, I…” you interrupted, straightening your clothes that had been messed up by that passionate outburst, one that never came to fruition.

“It's just that… It’s, it's been a very…”you murmured, trying not to look at her bright, pleading eye, playing with the hand that was pulling yours. “Hard day…” you finished, looking again at her obvious excitement deforming her black dress.

“Oh, okay,” Donna said with a slightly sad voice, leaving you alone and sitting up straight again, looking nervously at her lap. “I'm sorry, (Y/N).”

“Don't apologize, you haven't done anything wrong,” you said with a relieved smile, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't return the caress, her face relaxed, avoiding your gaze.

“My body makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?” she whispered sadly, moving her dress so you wouldn't feel intimidated.

“Donna, it's not that,” you said quickly, with the need to divert that thought from her head.

No, that wasn't true, she didn't make you uncomfortable, you liked her body, although it was true that you always ran away.

You couldn't blame her for thinking that way, on that occasion you simply couldn't.

“So why don't you want to make love to me?” the brunette asked with a brusque, inquisitive voice, crossing her arms. “I just want to love you…”

“I know, I know, darling but… I'm just a bit tired today, I want our first time to be more special,” you said, gritting your teeth to emphasize that lie, so Donna wouldn't think she was the one to blame.

She wasn't. It was only your fault and your stupid fears’.

“Special…” the lady murmured, shaking her head, repressing a sob that broke your heart. “Cazzo…” she hissed, getting up from the couch, putting her dress back. “I'm going to make dinner.”

You, fearing that she had really been offended and seeing how your excuses sounded weaker and weaker, decided to act, grabbing her wrist so she wouldn't leave.

“Donna, don't be mad at me, please,” you said in a soft voice, approaching her.

The lady looked away, her face serious, annoyed, much more so than usual. She was probably starting to get tired of your rejections.

“I'm not mad,” she whispered in a voice that betrayed her lie, removing your grip on her wrist with a brusque gesture.

“Forgive me, I'm just tired,” you said in a pleading voice, caressing her cheek, a gesture that, luckily, she didn't reject.

“If you don't like my body, tell me,” Donna hissed, with tears in her eye. “You do nothing but reject me.”

“I'm not rejecting you,” you defended yourself, shaking your head. “I don't...”

“Bugiarda...” Donna said again, with a dangerous look. “My penis disgusts you, just say it.”

“No, hey, Donna, don't start taking things for granted, you know that's not true,” you said nervously, knowing that at least you were sincere.

“I should have guessed before, I know you, I know what you did with the girls in the village, there is only one reason why you don't want to do it with me and that is my body, come on, don’t lie to me,” she snapped, pointing at you unpleasantly, breathing hard again.

“Donna, relax, okay? You're getting nervous,” you said in a calm voice, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Look at me, come on, look at me...”

She obeyed reluctantly with a hatred in her gaze that pierced your soul again.

“Honey, please...” you whispered, calming her nerves with your caresses, with a tender smile on your lips. “I have no problem with... With you, I love you...”

The lady in black sighed, closing her eye and nodding, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly in hers.

“Sorry, tesoro… You're right, I got really nervous,” she apologized in a soft voice, pulling your waist to hug you lovingly. “I'm afraid of losing you, that's all.”

“You'll never lose me, I'll tell you whenever it's necessary,” you said with a sweet smile, relaxed for having cut that crisis in time, although you didn't know how long the calm would last. “It's just my mind, you have nothing to do with it.”

“Your mind?” she asked, frowning again. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Um, well, I…” you stammered with a somewhat shy expression, shaking your head involuntarily. “It's nothing.”

“If something worries you, you should tell me,” Donna said, brushing your hair away from your face as always, staring at you. “If you don't tell me, I won't be able to help you.”

“I'll get over it,” you said, falsely downplaying it, smiling and kissing the brunette, who still had a spark of distrust in her eye. “It's nonsense, Donna, don't pay attention to me.”

“Va bene…” she sighed, shaking her head, but capturing your lips again, deepening a different kiss, an innocent, tender one. “I'll wait until you're ready.”

“I appreciate it,” you said, hanging on her neck to continue kissing her, to feel the love that invaded you both, a love that not even your stupid paranoia could eclipse.

Donna laughed softly, caressing your cheek and moving your hands away. That smile was the end of that awkward moment, it was the sign that the danger had passed.

“I'll make you something delicious, tesoro…” she said amused, with a mischievous look. “Let me make up for my stupidity.”

“Oh, come on, you always do delicious things to me,” you said laughing, swinging your body with hers, kissing her messily. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I like making you happy,” she whispered, kissing your hand chivalrously and slowly moving away.

You looked at her, sighing romantically. She looked back at you, but her happy and loving expression faded just before she turned around completely, something subtle, but something you noticed.

“I'm sorry, Donna…” you whispered, running a hand through your hair, regretful for your attitude, walking towards the sofa and letting yourself fall on it. “I'm stupid…”

“Yes, you are!” a shrill voice made you jump in place. Angie made her appearance, taking advantage of any moment to make fun of you. That day you were not especially in the mood to put up with the irreverent doll.

“Angie, I haven't had a good day today, why don't you be a good doll and leave me alone?” you protested, ignoring the puppet's jumping on the couch.

“Silly, silly, silly! You're a silly villager!” the doll shrieked among sinister laughs.

“Okay, thanks for reminding me every day, I'm sure it takes a lot of effort,” you mocked, looking away from Angie, who laughed with satisfaction.

“I just don't want you to forget, silly,” she insisted, making you growl.

“Seriously, leave me alone, I'm not in the mood for your insults,” you said seriously, crossing your arms, thinking about everything that had happened, about your irrational fears, those that always overcame the lust you were repressing.

“Uhhhh, the silly girl is angry…” Angie sang. “I don't know how my Donna puts up with you.”

“Ugh, do you want…? Never mind,” you hissed, shaking your head and looking at the door through which the lady disappeared.

“You've left my Donna hanging again,” the doll accused you, startling you again, making the blush travel mercilessly down your cheeks. “You're cruel. Do you know what she's going through?”

“Hey, that's private,” you complained, looking away. “What do you care?”

“I don’t care, but if my Donna gets sad and cries again because of not wanting to open your legs, I won't forgive you,” Angie said, pointing at you with her finger.

“You're a very rude doll. Don't get involved in our affairs,” you said with a dark voice. You weren't really that angry with the doll, but with yourself.

“You're the one who doesn't let my Donna get involved in your affairs,” the doll hissed, looking away indignantly. “Are you playing with her?”

“What? Of course I’m not, I love her,” you said in your defense, entering into her game without wanting to. “It's none of your business, Angie.”

“Silly, idiota,” she insulted you again. “Donna is sad because she thinks you don't love her.”

“Is she sad?” you asked upset by that statement, which the puppet confirmed by nodding slowly.

“Oh... Now you want to talk to me, huh?” she mocked, making you snort and shake your head sharply.

“Why is she sad?” you asked again, frowning.

“Isn't that obvious? She knows how you fornicated relentlessly with other girls,” Angie explained, dropping down next to you.

“How do you know?”

“Donna and I are part of the same mind, remember, stupid?” the doll mocked again.

“I've only had four relationships before Donna,” you said, unintentionally starting an awkward conversation with the doll. “And I haven't loved any of those girls as much as I love her, you can be sure.”

“Ohhh, it doesn't seem like it,” Angie said, crossing her arms. “Donna is stupid, as stupid as you, but she knows how to hide her feelings. Don't worry, silly, that's what I'm here for.”

“Oh, that's nice,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Wait, what feelings?”

“Mm, I'm not supposed to tell you anything but... Well, I like you,” the doll said, patting your back.

“Really?” you asked ironically, arching your eyebrows.

“Yes, you are a very funny silly, and you take care of my Donna…” the puppet sighed, nervous and uncomfortable saying something nice.

“I guess that's the closest thing to a compliment I'll ever hear from you so… Thanks, Angie,” you said with a genuine smile, patting her back and making her grunt and shift. “Tell me, what's wrong with her?”

“It's obvious, silly… Donna thinks you hate her body,” she explained, swinging her legs comically.

“That's a lie, I don't hate her body,” you said, lowering your voice in case the lady came back earlier than expected. “I love her just the way she is.”

“Do you think she likes having that thing hanging between her legs?” Angie asked with a nasty tone.

“Angie, don't be so… explicit,” you protested. “Besides, it doesn't seem to bother her too much.”

“Ha, that's what you think, silly,” Angie said, standing up and putting a wooden finger on your nose. “She didn't ask for it, the Black Gods changed her body involuntarily thanks to Mother Miranda's gift.”

“I already know that, she told me,” you said with a frown, impatient. “What’s the point?”

“Donna is ashamed of it in the same way as her scar, but she just got used to it,” the doll explained.

“Mm, I understand,” you whispered for her to continue.

“No, you don't understand,” Angie snapped at you. “Your constant denials are making her believe that you will never be able to truly love her, that you will never be able to accept something that wasn't her fault.”

“I've already told you that I don't care about her... Well, that I don't care,” you said annoyed by the conversation. “I've just never been with someone with... a penis, you know.”

“You said penis,” Angie laughed amused.

“Oh, please…” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “I'm going to make one thing clear to you, psycho doll,” you said with a firm voice, pointing at her. “I love Donna. She's the woman of my life. I'm crazy about her and her body doesn't matter to me at all. I, I like her body, I love it, in fact.”

“So what's your problem?” Angie asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Your own words did something in your mind, a click that led you to believe them, to consider yourself stupid for having delayed the moment you desired. An absurd fear prevented you from letting yourself go, forced you to reject her.

Her body wasn't the problem, in fact, you had showered with her several times, you had seen her naked and of course, displeasure or discomfort were not the words that came to your head when doing so, rather the opposite.

So… What was stopping you from enjoying, from making love with the woman of your life? A stupidity accentuated by the circumstances of those around you.

It wasn't the fear of pain, of feeling those new sensations, that wasn't a concern. Your greatest fear was the direct consequence of that act of lust, a consequence that you had seen in your friends and that you didn't want for yourself.

Irina was the last reason why you didn't let your body act the way you wanted. You were very young, she was very young, and she was pregnant. The idea terrified you. It's not that you didn't want to start a family with Donna, sometimes you even fantasized about it but… It wasn't the time.

You were still young, you had a lot of things to live. That absurd fear of carrying that responsibility was what dragged you again and again to refuse to join your body with hers.

But miraculously, those words you said out loud, the affirmation to Angie, and to yourself that Donna was the woman of your life, that you loved her just the way she was, unleashed a wave of thoughts that made you change your mind.

Your worries were absurd, and, unlike your unconscious friends, you had already prepared yourself for that. You had nothing to worry about. You couldn't wait another night to hear the lady sigh, to make her think that you were just playing with her, that you didn't really love her.

You had to prove it to her, give in to your desires and hers and make love for the first time, that very night.

“Where are you going, silly?” Angie asked when, after a sigh, you got up from the couch, turning to smile at the doll.

“Don't even think about going downstairs,” you threatened with a smile.

“You don't give me orders, stupid!” the doll squealed in a muffled voice on your way to the elevator.

Fully determined to make that night the most special of your life, you walked to the kitchen, where the delicious aroma of the food made you sigh pleasantly.

“Donna,” you said, catching the attention of the brunette, who looked at you briefly, smiling.

You did the same, approaching her from behind and hugging her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck.

The response was a shy laugh along with a hand in yours. It seemed like she wasn't upset at all anymore. She wouldn't be anymore.

“Amore mio…” she sighed calmly stirring one of her delicious sauces.

“It smells great,” you said, peeking around the lady's side and smiling pleased. She laughed again, taking out the wooden spoon and offering it to you.

“Do you want to try?” she asked in a sweet voice, a gesture that you accepted, keeping your eyes on hers, as if you wanted to communicate with your gaze.

“Delicious...” you sighed, savoring that sauce.

You really didn't know how to act, how to tell her what you wanted. Words would only hinder your intentions, it was much better to go straight to action. You subtly moved away, taking her free hand and playing with her fingers.

The lady in black didn't seem to want to pay attention to your clumsy mischievous glances, so you gently brought her hand to your mouth, kissing it slowly, bringing one of her slender fingers to your mouth, sucking on it in a terribly erotic way.

Of course that caught the attention of the doll maker, who looked at you with a frown, open-mouthed by what you were doing.

“(Y/N), what...? What are you doing?” Donna asked with a trembling voice. You let her finger go and smiled, moving closer to her ear.

“Donna, I want us to make love,” you whispered, biting her earlobe.

That dormant desire woke up at that moment, warming your body surprisingly quickly, forgetting for a moment your shame and your absurd worries.

“But, but tesoro... You, you said...” she stammered with a distrustful look, caressing your cheek and studying your gestures, looking for the reason for your attitude.

“I know, but I thought better of it... I want to love you, Donna, I want you to love me,” you said with a purr, biting your lip and scrutinizing the lady's perfect body with your gaze.

“Oh, um, now?” she asked nervously, but visibly excited by your change of mind. “I-I'm cooking…”

“Well, if you don't want to…”you whispered, pouting and pulling away from her, something you couldn't do completely as her arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you towards her body.

“Wait, wait…” the lady said nervously, turning off the stove and cupping your face in her hands, kissing you passionately, sighing in relief at your sudden decision.

“Shall we go?” you said, hiding your nervousness by turning around and taking her hand, walking towards the bedroom.

The kisses were hurried, wild. You walked clumsily while you devoured her, while you let your instincts take over your actions. You had never been so excited, so fearless, it was the perfect moment.

“(Y/N)…” she said, her voice agitated and with a predatory smile, leaving no corner of your face unkissed, no exposed part of your body uncaressed. “Ti amo…”

“I love you…” you whispered, walking backwards to fall on top of the mattress, so her body climbed on top of yours accompanied by her heels falling to the floor, just like yours. “I love you, Donna, I love you…” you repeated, as a reminder that you wanted to do it, that her body on top of yours sent hundreds of burning sensations to yours.

“Amore mio,” she sighed, excited by your unleashed lust, putting her hand through the ties of your dress, undoing them with a surprising skill.

Her fingers were soft, they were conquerors which didn't want to miss a single inch of your skin, which wanted to travel what was theirs, wander aimlessly through each of your curves.

Her hands traveled to the edges of your disheveled dress while yours struggled against the buttons of hers, making them disappear hopelessly.

The cold of that room reached your more and more naked, more and more exposed skin. The rush and desire mocked your bodies, forcing them to move against each other, to dance in a erotic way that caused a satisfied smile on your face.

Her skin was soft. Every part that black fabric left was like a gift for your mischievous hands. The lady simply panted, not stopping kissing you, getting rid of her sleeves to give you that divine vision of her half-naked body.

Her hands traveled down your legs, moved them at will, moved them away so her body could make more contact with yours, so her already eager erection could rub against the heat between your legs.

You moaned at the contact, letting your lust enjoy it for the first time, your hands accidentally pulling at her hair, causing a smile to spread over your neck, mercilessly attacked by her lips.

Donna sat up to look at you, to enjoy for a moment your already naked torso under her discreet hands. Her fingers tickled the skin of your breasts, her eye roamed over your nakedness in a terribly seductive way.

“Sei bellisima…” she sighed, shaking her head, moving closer to your lips slowly, letting your hands bury her head against yours, your fingers tangling in her black hair.

“Donna,” you said amused when her teeth gently dug into your skin, when her mischievous smile crossed your hot body, making you tremble.

Your hands rested on her chest as she removed her bra, mesmerizing you again with the perfection of her shapes, her curves, that body you couldn't stop looking at.

The kisses continued after some cautious caresses, a hug of her hands on your breasts, kisses that traveled relentlessly down your torso, filling it with a wet love, an unbridled passion that Donna struggled to control.

But there was no time for doubt or slowness. Your hips moved anxiously, free of fear, while her hands grabbed the edges of your underwear, pulling it down your legs under her watchful gaze.

The brunette paused for a moment, delighting in the sight of your naked body beneath hers, caressing your cheek with a confused look, with her altered breathing, with her hips unable to avoid moving against your wetness.

“You are perfect, (Y/N), I love your body, I love everything about you…” she whispered romantically, as if wanting to prevent her own desire from consuming her.

“You are so tender…” you said, noticing the blush on your cheeks, pulling the lady's hair to kiss her, with your hands already uninhibited, caressing her soft breasts, running your hand over her back, over her belly…

Her mouth left yours to rest on your nipples, to suck them slowly, without hurting you, nothing that could compare to the carelessness of your previous lovers. Donna was different, she always was.

“I want you, tesoro… I need… I need…” she murmured in a more nervous tone, keeping her lips on your belly, lowering the remaining part of her dress along with her underwear, releasing her desire, her throbbing erection that finally came out of its prison.

You moaned seeing her like that, seeing how her body was excited by the mere touch of yours, by your kisses. Her body was perfect, everything was perfect.

Your shy hand moved down her body as she impatiently studied your movements. You brushed her chest, her skin, even scratched it as you went down, caressing her shaft superficially, making her moan.

“I like it…” you whispered satisfied, moving the embrace of your hand on her erection, gently stimulating her to continue hearing those soft and discreet moans.

“(Y/N)…” the lady moaned, letting herself be carried away by the caresses of your hand, by your playful fingers stopping at the tip, exploring the best way to make her tremble.

But that gentle masturbation didn't last long, as did the touch of her fingers on your folds in compensation for your movements.

In a delicate way, Donna pushed your hand away, kissing the back of it and then your lips, sighing and placing your legs in a comfortable position before bringing her erection to your wet entrance.

The desire was overwhelming, but that terribly pleasurable contact activated the part of your mind that you had turned off. You almost forgot, you almost let yourself go.

“Wait, honey,” you said, moving away subtly despite the incredible sensation of her erection starting to enter you. She looked at you strangely, scared by your reaction.

“Cosa c’è?” Donna asked nervously, trying unsuccessfully to enter you again, something you prevented by moving away further and reaching out to your bedside table.

“Um wait,” you said with a shy smile, opening the drawer and taking something out of it, something you gave to Lady Beneviento and that she looked at suspiciously. “Put it on first, please.”

“Cosa?” she asked again, nervously, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “(Y/N)…”

“It's, it's a condom, Donna, put it on, come on… I want to do it…” you said nervously, helping her to open the package. The passion and desire disappeared from her gaze as you took it out, approaching her erection. “Let me help you… Let’s see…”

“Basta,” she said, grabbing your wrist tightly and pulling the condom away from her skin. “What are you doing?”

“Put it on, Donna,” you insisted. “Come on…”

“No, I’m not going to do it,” she said with a frown, shaking her head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“No, what’s wrong with you?” you asked angrily, struggling with the lady until she managed to snatch the condom from you. “Donna… Come on, don’t be like that…”

“Me? What do you want, (Y/N)? Humiliate me?” the lady protested, throwing it across the room and leaving you speechless and surprised.

“No, Donna, I don’t mean to humiliate you, it’s for protection,” you said, crossing your arms and taking another one out of the drawer. “Do you want to know why we haven’t done it until now? Because I’m afraid of… Of…”

“Of what? Of feeling my skin on yours?” she said, protesting with a haughty, childish look, sitting on the bed. “Now I know that I disgust you.”

“No, damn it…” you said, hitting the bed with your fists and approaching her.

You didn't want it to be another failure, you had to convince her, help her understand your fears.

“Donna, look at me,” you whispered in a soft voice, guiding her head so she would inevitably look at you. Her brow was still furrowed. “Donna, honey I… I'm… I'm afraid of… Of getting pregnant…”

“Mm?” she murmured, with that same dark expression. “What?”

“That, that's my only fear, Donna… I… I don't feel ready to, to be a mother, do you understand?”

“I don't want you to be a mother if you don't want to, (Y/N),” Donna whispered in a dark tone. “It's not my intention.”

“But…” you said, rolling your eyes. “You know, you know that if we don’t protect ourselves, it could happen…”

“So… That's your fear, that's why you've made me wait so long…” she said, lowering her head and nodding, biting her lip before looking at you pleadingly. “It's not because of me.”

“No, no Donna…” you said with a smile, relaxing the tense atmosphere with a kiss. “I want to do it, really.”

“Okay,” she said with a calm smile, playing with your hand. “I'm relieved to hear that.”

“I'm relieved that you take it so well…” you sighed, opening another condom. “Come on, put it on, I can't wait to have you inside of me.”

“No,” she said in a brusque tone, looking away and crossing her arms.

“Donna… Didn't you understand what I told you? Come on, stop complaining and put it on… I'm going to get cold,” you said, nervous again.

“No, I'm not going to do it,” the brunette insisted with a childish protest. “That thing is humiliating, if I wear it I won't be able to feel you as much as I'd like. No.”

“Oh…” you sighed, comically scratching your face. “Don't be stubborn. I'm not going to take the risk.”

“Well,” she said, with a cocky tone. “I'm not going to put that on me.”

“Okay, and what do you propose? I'm not going to do it without protection,” you said, putting yourself at her level of cockiness.

“Well…” Donna sighed, thoughtful, scratching her head. “I can move away.”

“What?” you asked yourself with a frown.

“I'll move away before I cum, so there won't be any risk,” she explained, with a calmer tone.

“That's not… Oh…” you said unsure, thinking about your options. You certainly wanted to feel her, to truly love her, your fears couldn't consume you again. “Will you move away? Donna, I need you to promise me.”

“I promise you,” the lady said, approaching you and taking both of your hands, kissing them affectionately. “You have my word.”

“Well… In that case…” you said, smiling calmly again, fully trusting her word. Donna had never broken a promise and besides, the desire of your body was calling you. “Come here…” you whispered, pulling her to return to kissing, to reactivate that previous passion.

Without more patience, Donna positioned herself between your legs again, erotically stimulating her erection, which had been resentful of that argument, but which soon returned to normal, slowly entering you.

“Donna!” you cried out with a moan when you felt your body deform, your wet walls being stretched uncomfortably by the intruder. “Go slower… You're big…”

“I'm sorry,” she said, controlling her own pleasure. “I love you so much, amore mio…” she whispered, leaning down to kiss you, to relax your body overwhelmed by the intruder. “You’re… Tight…”

“Mm…” you said when that discomfort disappeared from your wetness, when the pleasure of having her inside of you overcame the lack of experience. You couldn't compare that sensation to any other, even your hips began to move on their own.

“Can I move, tesoro?” she asked kindly, holding and caressing your legs, enjoying that feeling of finally being inside you, of the obscene embrace of your body. “I'll be gentle…”

You nodded, unable to control your moans, moving slowly to the rhythm of her soft thrusts, sliding with extreme ease, impregnating her with your wetness. You didn't know exactly how it would feel the way you wanted at first, but now you didn't want it that way.

“Donna, Donna…” you moaned nervously from the pleasure, moving to get all those incredible sensations. Each thrust was ambrosia. It was an electric current throughout your body, a pleasure like no other.

“You are perfect… Perfect, (Y/N)… I love taking you…” she whispered, calming your hurried moans, the unleashed lust that could be sensed due to the soft movement of your hips, ones more and more skilled, more uncontrolled.

You smiled pleased, moaning without fear, grabbing the sheets to contain your fast and anxious movements, letting yourself be cradled by hers

Kisses, hugs of your legs on her waist, caresses, soft movements… It was a passionate session that would be unforgettable. Her hands held your legs, letting her hips take the initiative, filling you with that overwhelming pleasure you didn't want it to end.

Your dormant desire was so powerful that you were starting to move erratically, to hug the brunette eagerly as your muscles tensed, letting your desired orgasm leave your lips, making you move nervously and scream in a terribly scandalous way.

Donna didn't say anything, she only moaned in satisfaction at the movements of your walls squeezing her erection. Your body relaxed little by little, but hers did precisely the opposite, speeding up, moaning erratically, almost growling.

She was also close, very close, and you closed your eyes, hoping that she would do as she promised, that this lack of control wouldn’t make her break her promise.

Luckily, with a furious growl, Donna pulled away just before she released, filling your body with her wet heat, covering you with her seed as she held you.

The labored breathing replaced the moans and the kisses returned softly to your lips. It had been something impressive, memorable. You would want to do it every night.

You both laughed without saying a word, looking at each other intensely, romantically, at least until Donna lowered her eye to your belly, to your body stained by her passion, by that wet and obscene heat.

“Donna, it was great,” you said, caressing her cheek. She nodded erratically, her gaze fixed on your body, almost without listening to you. “Donna?”

“Yes... It was...” she said, opening her eye wide, as if she were nervous, touching your skin covered with her seed, breathing heavily and moving with a strange moan.

“Are you okay?” you asked curiously, confused by her attitude, by her dark gaze that seemed not to want to move away from your body.

“Cazzo…” she hissed, looking between her legs, where unexpectedly, her erection had returned again, something that surprised you.

“Oh, darling…” you said, amused by that curious reaction of her body, which you couldn’t find an explanation for.

“You look beautiful with your body full of me…” Donna whispered, with a dark and lustful voice, as if the passion had abruptly returned. “Come.”

Without giving you time to respond, the brunette turned you over on your stomach, holding you. You played along with that curious game and when you least expected it, her shaft entered you again, wetter, but hard.

“You look… Beautiful with my cum all over your body…” Donna repeated, beginning to move roughly, not very delicately, taking you from behind with intense moans, as if something inside her had awakened.

You enjoyed that improvised repetition. You were so blinded by the pleasure that nothing worried you, only the immense desire that seemed to have no end.

The lady quickly moved her hips, increasing the rhythm of her fierce thrusts and coming out again before releasing for the second time, now wetting your back.

“Donna,” you said amused by that strange outburst, by that strange obsession with covering your body with her seed. “Stop painting my body…” you joked, making her laugh too.

“I think I'll keep doing it, tesoro… I love seeing your body like that…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

53 notes · View notes