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lovebugism · 10 months ago

Note

shy! reader request: eddie & reader having their first sleepover? reader bein all cautious about her actions and if it’s ok and eddie seeing this just lifts up the blankets to the bed to welcome her in to snuggle :)

love love love this request! hope you enjoy :D — eddie tries to make his shy!gf feel at home in his trailer (fluff, new relationship hijinks, 2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Despite what people say, Eddie Munson does not drive like a maniac.

Correction— Eddie Munson doesn’t drive like a maniac when there’s a pretty girl in his van.

Even though you’re pretty much the first girl to be in his van period (and even though you wouldn’t consider yourself all that pretty), you’re glad to be an exception to the rule. Your panoply of anxieties couldn’t have handled anything more than the passably steady car ride from Benny’s Burgers to Forest Hills.

You don’t mean to let out a sigh of relief when he parks in his driveway.

Eddie grins and unlatches his seatbelt with a soft click at the same time you do. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks with eyes just as wild as his hair.

You shake your head with your lips pursed to the side, then peer at him from beneath your lashes. “After everything Steve said, I was expecting a lot worse,” you confess. And even though you duck away from him, Eddie can still see the small smile on your petaled mouth. Just as quiet as you are.

“Well, one, don’t listen to anything Steve says, okay? Like, ever,” Eddie cajoles lightheartedly. “And two, I don’t drive crazy when I have precious cargo sitting next to me, alright? Stevie’s just jealous ‘cause I think you’re prettier than he is.”

Your nose scrunches as you try to worm your way out of his compliment. “So you think Steve’s pretty?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He scoffs. “Totally! Just not pretty like you. And don’t tell him I said that either— It’ll just go to his hair.”

The incorrect turn of phrase makes you giggle.

He turns his knees towards the door and curls his fingers around the latch. “Wait for me a second, will ya?” you hear him mumble before he hops to the ground. He slams the door shut behind him and rounds the hood on his way to you — sneakers crunching against the gravel, momentarily aglow with yellow headlights.

He’d done this before at the diner. You wait patiently for his arrival like you did then, even though you feel a bit silly doing so. You’re more than capable of getting out yourself, but Eddie always insists.

He opens the passenger side door for you with a tightlipped, lopsided grin and holds his free hand out towards you. His fingers are larger and much warmer than yours as they wrap around your palm to guide you out.

The van isn’t that high up off the ground, really. He just likes to hold your hand.

You don’t mind it, though. You’ll take any opportunity to hold him back.

He leads you up the driveway and inside the trailer with his hand entwined with yours. “Wayne’s not here?” you murmur when you’re finally inside, noticing how quiet and empty the place is.

Though maybe empty’s not the right word. The place is filled with stuff — old furniture, a collection of mugs, and various other necessities. Not a mess, just an organized chaos of miscellaneous clutter. It feels like a home. Like a place that’s been lived in.

“No. He’s at work. Graveyard shift,” Eddie answers, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a high-pitched clack.

He starts to shrug off his leather jacket and notices how squirrelly you seem, all skittish with your face twisted with a distant worry. Your neck twitches softly, head tilting once to the side and back up again. Your quiet concern becomes his own.

His brows raise, hidden beneath his curly bangs, as he slides the fabric down his tattooed arms. “Is that okay?” he wonders, eyes wide and twinkling with apprehension.

“Yeah!” you answer, louder and quicker than you mean to. You’re obviously overcompensating, but you shrug it off anyway. You smile sweetly at him, even though it wavers at the edges, and tilt your cheek to your shoulder. “I was just— It was just a question.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t wanna stay the night,” Eddie assures you, giving you an out so you don’t have to make one yourself. “It’s whatever, you know? Give me the word, and I’ll take you back home. I’ll just spend the night all alone… In an empty trailer… In bed all by myself…”

His quiet smirk widens to a broader beam when he nears you. His pale hands curl around your arms, the faded bats below his thumb sitting neatly outside your elbow.

He’s joking, of course. Well, not about the taking you home part, but about all the rest of it.

He thinks he’d die if he ever made you feel anything less than totally safe. Dying would feel easier, at least. He’d never make you feel bad about being anxious, or coerce you into hiding your feelings for his sake. He cares about you far too much for any of that.

So his tense heart rests a bit when you smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, quiet but still sincere.

The boy brightens all at once. Excited in such an innocent, boyish way. “So I get to kiss you all night long?” he wonders in a disbelieving murmur.

“Only if you want,” you answer with burning cheeks and clammy hands.

“Well, I do want… I want very much…”

He kisses you then, until your lungs run out of air. Standing together in the middle of his living room, lit by so many yellow lamps, with the croaking of frogs and the chittering of crickets sounding in the navy blue night.

He pulls away sometime after. Maybe a second. Maybe an eon or more. He recovers from being so ardently kissed much quicker than you do and guides you down the short hallway to the single bedroom. You still feel the imprint of his mouth against yours, like he’s still there.

Your lips tingle with longing, grieving the lack of him.

You still make him turn around before you change, though.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teases from the very center of his mattress, right before turning onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

“It’s different,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric falls to the carpeted floor in a puddle at your feet. You make quick work of redressing, as though there were some kinda time limit to what you had asked of him.

“I know,” he replies, muffled into the cushion his cheek is smushed against. “You’re still pretty, though.”

“You can’t even see me,” you argue and slide a pair of frilly sleep shorts over your thighs.

“I’d still think you were pretty even if I never saw you again.”

“Jeez,” you laugh, shoving your head through the neckline of a band-tee older than you are.

“…That sounded kinda morbid, huh?”

You giggle again. This time because his voice is still smothered into the pillow, stifled and utterly faint. “Just a little,” you answer.

“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I know. You can turn around now.”

Eddie lifts his wild head and peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye squinted shut just in case he heard you wrong.

You’re less dressed up than before, but still as pretty as you were ten minutes ago.

The subtle domesticity of seeing you in pajamas makes his chest ache. It’s like doing laundry or making a shopping list — something so utterly mundane that’s so strikingly tender.

“Pretty,” Eddie mumbles some moments later, when his brain forgets every word but that one.

“Shut up.”

Your hands wring together as you idle at his bedside, like you need some kinda invitation to come closer. Your head tilts again, a gentle swaying of your head that seems almost involuntary.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Eddie wonders with a soft pink, inquisitive grin.

‘Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. You did it earlier, when you first walked in, and a couple times at the dinner. Like when you catch him staring or after he’s complimented you. It’s almost like you have some genuine aversion to his affection.

“Doing what?” you murmur, all innocent.

Eddie swings his legs off the side of the mattress, socked feet melting into the carpet. His parted thighs are enough of an invitation as you settle intently between them.

“That thing with your neck,” he answers when he’s fully upright. “The uh…” He replicates it for you, drops his cheek to his shoulder and brings it back up again. He doubts he looks nearly as cute as you do doing it.

You get so self-aware that your stomach starts to ache. “I don’t know,” you answer through the frog in your throat. “I do that sometimes, I guess— When I get nervous. I can’t really help it.”

“Nervous?” Eddie echoes, face twisted with sudden anguish. His hands reach for your wringing ones. He musters a shaking smile up at you. “Babe— Why are you nervous?”

You dig your bare feet into the carpet, shifting your weight and ducking your gaze like a nervous child. “‘Cause I haven’t slept over before. And I don’t really know what to… do. Like, what if I snore really loud? Or drool a lot? What if I accidentally punch you in my sleep or something?”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh in the face of your genuine worries, but it spills out before he can stop it. It’s so like you to stress yourself sick over something that’s about as likely to happen as getting struck by lightning.

“I’d probably like you more, honestly,” he answers, giving your clammy hands a gentle squeeze. His nose scrunches until the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re too perfect. You need something to humble you.”

“Don’t be nice to me, I’m being serious.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can sleep on the couch. Or on the floor or something—”

“It’s your house, Eds.”

“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the couch, and especially not on the floor. Even if I was that big of an asshole, I think Uncle Wayne would kill me.” He grows suddenly serious a second later. Still smiling, but with something more earnest in his eyes. “But… I do think we’d be more comfortable, you know, in a bed. Together.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. Not because you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as him, but because you’re too anxious to let yourself enjoy a good thing.

“I’m just bad at sleepovers, I think,” you confess in a tiny voice, like that fact isn’t utterly obvious now. “Like, one time, I was at a friend’s house in middle school, and I used a poster as a blanket ‘cause I was too scared to ask for a real one.”

Eddie’s smile widens. The rose petal expression blooms so large it makes his cheeks hurt.

“Of course, you did,” the boy says with a shake of his head, frizzy curls swaying around the outsides of his jaw. “You’re so damn cute, you know that?”

You make a vague, grumbly noise of disdain right before Eddie wraps you in his arms. He pulls you softly down until you’re sitting on his jean-clad thighs, then buries his face into your shoulder. You smell like the soap you showered with and the burgers you ate and the perfume you put on just for him.

Eddie presses his lips there, to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt has dipped slightly down. He lingers there for a moment, then pulls away with a soft smack.

“I promise to make this the best damn sleepover you’ve ever had in your life,” he promises, muffled from where his nose is smushed into your neck.

“Yeah?” you mumble into the curls tickling your chin.

He nods, still pressed against you. “And I promise to tuck you in before bed so you don’t have to go using my posters as blankets, either.”

You push him away with a half-hearted hand. His boyish laughter paints the tiny bedroom golden. He pulls you back a second later, and you melt into him without thinking twice.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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pathologicalreid · 2 months ago

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for the fear of falling apart | epilogue

good things come to those who wait, and you're finally getting your happy ending

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: fluff (there's a first time for everything) content warnings: spoilers for criminal minds evolution but nothing super detailed, dad!spencer, babies, breastfeeding, takes place during s16, cancer, spencer's "special assignment" is just him being a dad word count: 1.74k a/n: the spencer reid dilf agenda is at the center of the universe. i cant believe ffofa is over. this is just a short and sweet look into what r and spencer are doing during cme - aka being parents. (the gif has nothing to do with the chapter he just looks so sexy)

“Where is she?” Spencer asked, minding the hour as he hung his token leather satchel in the entryway. He peeked around the living room before making his way to where you were in the kitchen, closing up your book of crosswords before he saw the clues and gave you all of the answers – a habit of his that you had been begging him to break.

Affixing your pen to the cover of the puzzle book, you hummed in response to his question, “It’s nine p.m., she’s asleep, in her crib.” You turned to face him, “And you may not go up there and get her,” you caught at his hand as you noticed him moving toward the stairs, “You will not wake that baby up, Spencer Reid.”

He accepted his defeat, coming back and gently wrapping his arms around you, “Did she go down okay?”

“No,” you answered bluntly, reciprocating his hug by reaching your arms up and slinging them over his shoulders. “She never does when you’re not home,” you added, providing a fact that he was already well aware of.

Spencer chuckled softly into the crook of your neck, “I thought I would’ve been able to get away earlier.”

You were unbothered, leaning into his touch, “Bedtime is at 7:30, you never would’ve made it in time.” His faculty event at school started at seven. It had been scheduled to run until midnight, but Spencer always made the effort to be home with you at the end of every day. The two of you hadn’t missed a tea date since before your daughter was born.

“But now it’s too late for us to do anything of substance,” he said, separating himself from you to switch on the electric kettle, looking over his shoulder at you, silently asking if you wanted tea.

Nodding at him, you watched as he pulled two mugs from the cabinet and dropped tea bags in each of them, “We can watch that documentary you were talking about last night.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” he countered. It was a symptom of motherhood that you hadn’t seen coming, falling asleep while watching anything.

You shrugged, “She’ll wake up to eat, I’ll wake up to feed her.” While your otherwise perfect daughter had mastered sleeping through the night within her first few months earthside, teething had ruined any semblance of a sleep schedule she had, so, she started crying to eat in the middle of the night.

Your husband didn’t seem convinced, but he grabbed the kettle off of its base and poured the hot water into your mugs, sliding a bureau-branded one toward you and keeping the octopus mug for himself. “Last time you fell asleep on the couch and I tried to get you to bed you threw things at me,” he reminded you, stirring honey into his tea before handing the sweetener to you.

“I threw a pillow at you,” you disputed, drizzling the honey into your mug before asking him to put the dish back up in the cabinet.

He rolled his eyes, leaning over the counter and smiling at you, a sweet, dopey, Harlequin romance smile. “I probably deserved it,” he acquiesced, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip of the lavender tea.

Spinning your mug on the counter in front of you, you raised your eyebrows and considered changing the subject, but you were lacking any kind of segue material, “So, JJ called me today,” you said.

Spencer set his octopus mug on the counter and frowned, “Are they still having problems?” He asked, resting his chin in his hands and keeping his attention on you.

Nodding, you shared a knowing look with him. Havoc had been wreaked on the BAU since Penelope left. You were lucky enough to be on maternity leave while administrators tore your unit apart and Spencer was on a special assignment – playing the long game on a case that the bureau felt needed to be closed. “I still can’t believe they dragged Penelope back, she was so content with SOAR,” you griped, knowing how much the techie’s life had improved since leaving the FBI.

“I can,” Spencer admitted, “There’s no BAU without Penelope Garcia. There were four people in that tech room trying to do the work she did,” he said, picking his mug back up before making his way around the kitchen island and sitting in the bar stool next to yours.

You leaned back in your stool, with Matt out on an assignment of his own, the BAU’s numbers had gone down drastically. “In better news, Dave went home,” you told Spencer, pointing your sock-covered foot out to nudge him gently.

His expression softened, “Good, the hotel was getting…”

“Yeah,” you agreed, sipping at your tea. Krystall had been the picture of health until she wasn’t, and losing her had nearly sent Rossi to a place you feared he’d never come back from. “Anyway, JJ asked if we were still alright with hosting Christmas this year,” you recalled from the phone call, “I said yes.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, “Have they heard anything from the oncologist?”

You frowned helplessly, “Not yet, depending on the results they might have to do more tests. I offered to take the boys next weekend if they need the time, J’s afraid mom will blab to Henry.”

“You miss it,” Spencer observed, eyes flitting over to the baby monitor on the counter.

Rolling your eyes, “You do a job for nine years, you’re going to miss it when you take time off. Don’t act like you don’t,” you chided gently, smiling into your mug. When the bureau took everything you had been through into account, they willingly offered you an extended maternity leave, which you took without a second thought. However, you hadn’t anticipated feeling so disconnected from the team.

Spencer pursed his lips, “I do, but I like being home with you and Mila more.”

Leaning forward, you reached out and took his hand in yours, “Baby, if you want to go back to the BAU full-time, you know I’d never, ever get in the way of that.”

He shook his head dismissively, “No, not yet at least, but someday.”

The BAU was home, you knew that well enough, but now he had a home with you and Amelia. That wasn’t something he’d give up easily. You watched Spencer at he looked at the baby monitor again, “Stop praying on my downfall, she’ll wake up soon.”

Taking your empty mug in his hands, he set both yours and his in the kitchen sink, “I love you,” he told you.

Your face warmed at the expression, one of those times where there just wasn’t anything else he wanted to say – he just needed to tell you that he loved you. “I love you too,” you said, happily basking in what you assumed was your lingering new parent glow – the two of you were stronger than ever.

Quietly, Spencer loaded the rinsed mugs into the dishwasher before closing it, coming back around the counter and stopping in his tracks when a phone started to ring.

Dropping your head to the counter, you waited for the inevitable wailing to come from the nursery, when the cries started, you looked up at Spencer, “You get her, I’ll get the phone,” you negotiated.

Fishing the ringing phone – Spencer’s – off of the coffee table, you frowned at the caller ID before bringing the screen to your ear. “I need to talk to your wife,” a frantic voice said on the other end.

“Hi, Penny,” you greeted, eyes drifting to the top of the stairs where Spencer was emerging with a squawking baby in his arms.

Penelope gasped on the other end of the call, “I so very desperately need your advice. Do you remember me telling you about Tyler?” She sounded almost out of breath.

You hummed in response, “The guy from the serial killer website?” You wondered where she was going with this – technically the team wasn’t supposed to share case information with you, but that had never stopped any of them.

“Yes, that one,” she confirmed, “I kissed him.”

Surprised, you dropped down onto the couch, looking up at Spencer as you searched for an appropriate response to Penelope’s confession, “Emily is going to kill you.”

The other end of the call was silent except for Penelope trying to articulate a retort. Spencer frowned at you, swaying gently with Amelia in his arms, “What happened?”

Moving the mouthpiece away, you looked up at him, “She kissed a material witness,” you told him, watching as he clamped his lips together in a failed attempt to hide his amusement.

“This is serious,” she scolds over the phone. “I need a debrief. Coffee tomorrow?”

You nodded as the baby grew increasingly impatient in Spencer’s arms – his chest was just no good to her. “Hold on,” You said over the phone, waving for Spencer to hand the baby off to you so you could feed her.

He settled her in your arms, helping you as best he could before he was in the way, “You’ve got her?”

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hairline when you told him you were fine, bringing the phone back up once Mila latched, “Hey, so tomorrow, nine?” You offered, peering down as the baby nursed for comfort. “I can meet you at the kiosk in front of Quantico if that’s easier.”

Penelope sighed dramatically, “As long as you bring your pretty face and your pretty baby, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lobbing the phone across the couch cushions, you leaned back slightly, adjusting the baby when she was done so that she could hopefully drift back to sleep. Your husband came back downstairs, having swapped his work clothes and contacts for pajamas and glasses, he deftly sat down next to you and took the baby.

Carefully, he settled her on his chest, letting her tiny limbs curl in neatly as she let out sweet coos, brown eyes fluttering shut as Spencer gently swiped his thumb across her back. That little girl had him wrapped around his finger from the moment he knew about her existence.

You shifted to rest your head on his shoulder, watching Mila drift off into her dreams, “Are you going to fall asleep like this?” Spencer asked you, keeping his voice at a whisper.

Humming, you shut your eyes briefly, “Yeah, this is my favorite show.”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fluff #jareau!reader #ffofa #written by margot

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hxxsxxng · 4 months ago

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to have and to hold - lee heeseung ❦

「pairing」 : husband!heeseung x fem!reader

「word count」 : 1.3k

「genre」 : fluff. fluff. FLUFF.

「summary」 : heeseung always pays attention and remembers the little things, and his love language is definitly all of them.

「warnings」 : no warnings!

「authors note」 : this is the first part of the FROM THE HEART❦ series!

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⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

I curled up on our plush sofa, my favorite book in hand and a steaming mug of tea on the side table. The soft pitter-patter of rain against the window created the perfect ambiance for a cozy afternoon at home. As I flipped to the next page, I heard the front door unlock, and a smile tugged at my lips. Heeseung was home.

"I'm back!" his melodious voice called out, followed by the sound of shoes being removed and keys jingling as they were placed in the bowl by the door.

"In the living room," I responded, not looking up from my book just yet. I was at a good part and wanted to finish the paragraph.

I heard his footsteps approaching, and soon felt the sofa dip as he sat beside me. A gentle kiss was pressed to my temple, and I finally tore my eyes away from the pages to look at my husband. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, and his eyes sparkled with warmth as they met mine.

"How's the book?" Heeseung asked, nodding towards the novel in my hands.

I marked my place with a bookmark and set it aside. "It's getting really good. The main character just discovered a hidden passage in the old mansion."

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Sounds intriguing. Though I hope it's not giving you any ideas about tearing up our walls to look for secret rooms."

I playfully swatted his arm. "Don't worry, I'm content with our secret-passage-free apartment."

Heeseung's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Speaking of which, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes."

Curiosity piqued, I did as he asked. I heard him move away and then return a moment later. "Okay, you can look now."

I opened my eyes to find him holding a small, gift-wrapped package. "What's this for?" I asked, taking it from him.

"Just because," he replied with a soft smile. "Go on, open it."

Carefully, I unwrapped the gift to reveal a beautiful leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with intricate designs, and when I opened it, I found the pages were lined with tiny constellations.

"Heeseung, it's beautiful," I breathed, running my fingers over the smooth leather.

"I remembered you mentioning that you wanted to start journaling," he explained. "And I know how much you love stargazing, so when I saw this, I knew it was perfect for you."

My heart swelled with love. It was just like Heeseung to remember such a small detail from a conversation we'd had weeks ago. "Thank you," I said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

As we parted, my stomach let out a low growl, causing us both to laugh. "Hungry?" Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded sheepishly. "I may have gotten a bit too engrossed in my book and forgotten about lunch."

“Okay c’mon, take a break from the book and we can cook some food together” he suggested, slowly taking the book away from my hands. “How about stir-fry”

"Sounds perfect," I agreed.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm, chopping vegetables and preparing the sauce. Heeseung hummed softly as he worked, a habit I'd grown to love over the years. As I reached for the soy sauce, I accidentally knocked over the bottle of sesame oil.

"Dang it" I exclaimed, watching in annoyance as the oil spread across the counter.

But before I could even move to clean it up, Heeseung was already there with a cloth. "Don't worry, I've got it," he said, quickly wiping up the spill.

"My hero," I said dramatically, placing a hand over my heart.

He grinned, tossing the cloth into the sink. "Always at your service, my lady."

As we continued cooking, I couldn't help but marvel at how in sync we were. Heeseung seemed to anticipate my every move, handing me utensils before I even asked for them and moving around me with practiced ease.

Once the stir-fry was sizzling in the pan, filling the kitchen with delicious aromas, Heeseung turned to me with a glint in his eye. "How about we have a little fun while we wait?"

Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled out his phone and hit play. The opening notes of our favorite song started to play, and I couldn't help but laugh as he started dancing, gesturing for me to join him.

I hopped down from the counter and took his outstretched hand. We twirled around the kitchen, our socks sliding on the smooth floor as we moved to the beat. Heeseung sang along, his voice harmonizing perfectly with the music.

As the song came to an end, he dipped me low, both of us breathless and giggling. "I love you," he said softly, his face inches from mine.

"I love you too," I replied, my heart full to bursting.

The timer on the stove beeped, bringing us back to reality. We reluctantly separated, and Heeseung turned his attention to the stir-fry while I set the table.

As we sat down to eat, I couldn't help but smile at the sight before me. Heeseung had arranged the vegetables on my plate to form a smiley face, just like he used to do when we first started dating and I was feeling down.

"What's got you smiling?" he asked, noticing my expression.

I gestured to my plate. "Just appreciating your artistic skills."

He laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Only the best for you."

After dinner, we settled back onto the sofa, this time with our gaming controllers in hand. It had become a tradition of ours to spend our evenings playing video games together, alternating between cooperative and competitive games.

"Ready to get your butt kicked?" I teased as we booted up our favorite fighting game.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Big words from someone who lost the last three matches."

"I was going easy on you," I retorted, selecting my character.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, I turned to face Heeseung in the dim light. He was scrolling through his phone, but set it aside when he noticed me watching him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I snuggled closer to him, resting my head on his chest. "I was just thinking about how grateful I am for you. For us. For days like today."

I felt his arms tighten around me as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Me too," he murmured. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

As I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Heeseung's embrace and the love that filled our home, I knew that this, these quiet moments, these small gestures, this deep understanding between us, this was what true happiness felt like.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

taglist: @jakeflvrz @simpjay @slutforjaeyun @rayofsunshineeee

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fuctacles · 13 days ago

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<< ok fine i give up i lost track of the cat emojis. this is part 8 | 9 >>

Eddie wakes up late the next day but isn't surprised to find his uncle sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and a crossword puzzle in front of him. Tormenting his nephew has been his favorite pastime now that he is stuck at home, so of course he would wait for him to emerge from his room.

"Didn't catch you coming back last night. Must have left Stephanie's awfully late, huh?" he asks nonchalantly, tapping his pen against the paper without looking up.

"Mhm," Eddie hums, reaching for his favorite mug.

"Did Miss Stephanie arrive late?"

"She did." He tries to focus on making coffee, and not on his uncle's prying questions.

"Did she hold you back?" the man presses, unrelenting.

"We talked for a bit," Eddie eventually admits.

"How long?"

He fills up his mug with a frown before turning towards his uncle.

"What is this? A crime interrogation?" he raises his eyebrow with annoyance.

"I don't know." Wayne shrugs, finally looking up from his crossword to study his face. "Has a crime been committed?"

"I'm not banging your neighbor," Eddie hisses at his father figure with disdain. "Stop asking about it!"

His uncle sighs but seems to accept his defeat, at least for now.

"All I ask is that you keep an open mind. I don't think she'd be against the idea," he gives his last two cents before hiding behind the newspaper like a coward. "I know you're not," he adds under his breath.

Eddie barely catches it, but it makes his skin crawl with heat. He's beyond denying it at this point but he won't admit it either. If Stephanie ever makes a move, he won't say no, but he doesn't want to presume anything. Or worse, make her uncomfortable.

"I'm going to my room," he declares, carrying his coffee away.

A couple of days later, Eddie is standing in front of a hair salon, staring at the handwritten note on the door.

We close at 4 PM today, sorry for the inconvenience!

The opening times above declare that on weekdays, the shop should be open an hour longer, and Eddie worries that he misunderstood Stephanie's words. She told him to come in around 4 PM and she'll give him a haircut. But through the glass door, he can see her swiping the floor while talking to another hairdresser, a tiny woman who's cleaning up her station. It looks like they're closing up.

Then Stephanie looks up and spots him standing there like a dumbass, and she smiles, motioning him inside. So he pushes the door, moving the tiny bell above as he walks in.

"Hi," he says, nodding to the unfamiliar woman. "Am I too late? Or too early?"

Stephanie shakes her head, quickly putting the broom away.

"You're perfectly on time," she assures him. "You can leave your jacket there and pick whichever chair you like. Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?" she asks, already halfway to what he assumes is the backroom.

"Coffee would be great," he says a little stunned, shaking his heavy leather jacket off his arms. He feels extremely out of place in a space usually frequented by gossiping ladies. In the waiting area, there's a stack of fashion magazines on top a tiny round table, and two huge colorful armchairs. He throws his things on one of them before sauntering to the station that's furthest away from the street, wary of the peering eyes.

There are some in the salon with him, though.

"So you're Steph's special guest, huh?" the other co-worker asks conversationally.

"Uh, I'm just her neighbor," he corrects, not sure what the woman has been told.

She hums, giving her station a thorough wipe.

"She wouldn't close early for just any neighbor," she counters. "Give yourself some credit." She smiles at him through the mirror and disappears into the backroom before he can react or even process her words.

"Sorry for the wait!" Stephanie joins him soon after. "I hope Joyce didn't grill you much," she says, putting a mug of coffee in front of him.

"Well," Eddie wraps his hand around the hot ceramic. "She just called me your special guest." He wants to pry much more than that, but he knows the other woman, Joyce, can be within hearing distance.

"You kind of are." Stephanie tilts her head thoughtfully, before turning his chair around, so they can only look at each other through the mirror. "All my friends get special treatment."

"Of course," Eddie nods, torn between being happy and devastated by being called a friend.

"Unless you don't want to be friends with an old lady," she pouts.

What he wants is to suck on that bottom lip.

"You're not old!"

He startles when his voice is echoed, but it's just Joyce emerging from the back. She moves the jacket and bag she's holding to free one of her hands and smacks Stephanie on the shoulder.

"Listen to the boy if you're not gonna listen to me," she says heatedly. "If you're old then I should be dead. Now come here."

With an exasperated sigh, Stephanie leans down so Joyce can press a kiss on her cheek.

"I'm leaving, you kids don't do anything unsanitary, okay?"

"Joyce!"

She moves like a hurricane of energy and despite her teasing, Eddie can't help but smile. Joyce seems like the kind of person who treats everyone like her kids.

"What are you doing?" Stephanie asks suspiciously when Joyce hesitates by the door.

"I'm just gonna..." she trails off before starting to pull down the blinds on both the door and the windows. "So nobody bothers you two," she explains with a charming smile. "Okay, bye!" the bell finally chimes as she heads out. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"See you!"

Eddie barely lifts his hand for a wave before there's just the two of them.

Stephanie breathes out and walks up to the door to lock it. The fact that they are now alone and hidden in a public space makes him hot under the collar. She could do to him anything she wanted right now.

Like cutting his split ends and conditioning his hair, of course.

"So." A radio buzzes to life, though it gets immediately turned to a lower volume. "As the one forced to sit there and endure my treatment, you get to pick the station," Stephanie smiles at him and he instructs her to his and Wayne's favorite frequency. The soft that starts playing is very quiet, and with the closed-off space he's found himself in, he feels like he's tripping.

"Do you have anything in mind?"

So many things but nothing appropriate to say out loud.

"Didn't you have a plan for me?" he raises an eyebrow at her reflection while she's thoughtfully tugging on his hair.

"Yes, but mostly haircare. And I don't know what's popular in the metalhead hair fashion right now."

He chuckles at that.

"Just keeping them long and adding some tease now and then. Nothing as extreme as punk's liberty spikes," he assures.

"Gotcha. But if you think of anything, let me know."

"You got it," he smiles.

i feel weird tagging only one person here but: @wheneverfeasible

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #stevie harrington #stevierything #transfem steve harrington #crazy cat lady stevie #cw: age gap #steddie fanfiction

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o9sessions · 2 months ago

Text

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — H.H

↻ 5 times you experience jealousy— and 1 time he does.

↻ fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes

↻ wc; 7.1k

1 —

The familiar ding of the elevator echoed through the Man Cave, reverberating off the metallic walls. You barely glanced up, still savoring the last few fries from the greasy basket in front of you. The smell of salt and oil hung in the air, mixing with the subtle hum of the computers. When you finally did look up, it wasn’t Ray as expected—it was Henry and Charlotte, their laughter spilling in like sunlight breaking through the cold steel of the lair.

They strolled toward the booth, Henry’s hand brushing against Charlotte’s arm as she made some joke you couldn’t hear but felt in the way his eyes crinkled. They collapsed into the soft, foamy cushions across from you, still giggling like schoolkids.

“Did Ray beep you guys too?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you shifted in your seat, the cushion creaking beneath you.

“Yup,” Henry replied, his voice light, the ‘p’ popping playfully. “He sounded kinda urgent.”

Before you could say more, the sound of Ray’s heavy footsteps thudded in the distance. He emerged from behind the snack bar, dressed in his usual plaid shirt and jeans, pushing a cart laden with neatly stacked manila folders. The air around him smelled faintly of nacho cheese.

“Speak of the devil,” Charlotte quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm, her eyes rolling in that effortless way she had. Henry chuckled beside her, their laughter vibrating through the booth.

You glanced at the cart as curiosity tugged at you, fingers lightly grazing the folder marked DRILL FINGER as you picked it up. Before you could speak, Henry’s hand reached over, brushing yours as he took the folder from you. The brief touch sent a spark up your arm, but before you could meet his eyes for more than a second, Ray slammed a fresh stack of files onto the table, snapping you both out of the moment.

“They’re mission reports,” Ray grunted. “Sort through them, figure out which villains are in jail and who’s still out there causing trouble.”

The collective groan that followed was immediate, filling the cave with a heavy sense of dread.

“And you’ll be doing… what, exactly?” Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow at Ray’s retreating form.

“Eating nachos and watching you kids work,” he replied over his shoulder, already heading toward the snack machine.

With a sigh, you reached for a stack of files, the paper crinkling in your hands. It should’ve been a quiet task, but Charlotte soon broke the silence, nudging Henry. “Remember that time you got stuck in that weird dream and I had to save your ass?”

Henry’s laugh was soft but genuine, the sound low in his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, that was one time.”

You tried to stay focused on the mission reports, the feel of the rough paper slipping through your fingers grounding you, but their laughter kept creeping into the corners of your mind. Every shared glance, every inside joke felt like a secret you weren’t part of. Their chemistry was effortless, natural, and it left you feeling like a bystander in a scene that wasn’t meant for you. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the leather squeaking beneath you as you cleared your throat, hoping to draw them back to the task at hand.

But they barely noticed, their world orbiting around each other. Another joke, another laugh. You clenched your jaw, the sound of their shared amusement feeling heavier than the silence that followed.

2 —

The soft murmur of the coffee shop wrapped around you like a blanket, blending with the gentle clinks of ceramic mugs and the rustle of pages turning. The smell of fresh-ground coffee drifted through the air, mixing with the warm scent of cinnamon pastries from behind the counter. You sat tucked away in the back corner, the dim light above casting a soft glow on your open textbooks. Midterms were looming, and you’d come here to focus, hoping the quiet hum of life around you would ease the anxiety brewing in your chest.

But just as your pen glided across your notes, the bell above the door jingled, and out of habit, you glanced up. Your breath caught.

Henry walked in. And with him—Bianca.

You froze, fingers tightening around your pen as you watched them make their way to a small table near the window. Bianca looked effortlessly perfect, her hair catching the afternoon light as she smiled up at Henry, her laughter a melodic hum that echoed faintly across the shop.

You sank lower into your seat, hidden behind a stack of books, heart pounding in your chest. They hadn’t noticed you. The chatter of the coffee shop continued, but all you could focus on was them—the way Bianca’s hand brushed against Henry’s arm as they sat down, the way she leaned in just a little too close when she spoke. Her laughter came easy, bubbling up every time Henry said something, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up, even if just for a moment.

Your stomach twisted as Bianca casually reached across the table, her fingers grazing Henry’s. It was subtle, innocent maybe, but the gesture stung all the same. She was always like this—flirty, magnetic. You watched as she played with her hair, tilting her head slightly as she spoke, her eyes never leaving his. Henry seemed comfortable, leaning back in his chair, smiling that boyish smile that made your heart race.

You tried to focus on your textbook, but the words blurred. Your mind was too busy replaying every small interaction between them. You told yourself to leave—to get up and walk out—but your legs wouldn’t move. Instead, you stayed rooted in your chair, watching from the shadows as an hour ticked by, each small gesture between them feeling like a tiny dagger.

Bianca laughed again, her voice soft and sweet, and for a brief moment, Henry glanced out the window, his smile fading just slightly. You wondered if he was thinking of you—wondered if he remembered the promises he’d made before Bianca had left. But then his attention snapped back to her, and the thought dissolved.

The coffee in your cup had long gone cold, but you didn’t move. You just watched, heart heavy, until finally, they stood to leave. Bianca looped her arm through Henry’s, and they walked out together, the door’s bell jingling behind them.

For a moment, you just sat there in the dim light, the weight of what you’d witnessed pressing down on you. None of them knew you had been there. They didn’t see the way your fingers trembled, or how your heart had fractured, piece by piece, with every lingering glance and laugh shared between them.

In the quiet that followed, the world continued as if nothing had changed. But inside, something had shifted—jealousy, sadness, the ache of uncertainty. You let out a shaky breath, finally closing your book. For now, you’d leave the words unstudied and the questions unanswered.

3 —

The steady beep of the heart monitor echoed softly in the quiet of the Man Cave’s med bay. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow on the room, making the sterile whites and grays feel even more lifeless. Henry sat beside the bed, his chair pulled close to where Phoebe lay, still and bruised, her breathing shallow but steady.

You stood a little farther back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, your heart a jumble of emotions. The fight was over, but the weight of what had happened lingered thick in the air. You glanced at Henry, the way his eyes stayed locked on Phoebe, his expression tight with concern. There was something about the way he hovered, his presence protective and unyielding, that twisted in your chest.

You understood the direness of the situation—she had been hurt saving him. Still, a dull ache of jealousy had settled deep inside you, one that you tried to push away.

As Henry sat there, his mind seemed far away, lost in the chaos of what had happened earlier. The fight was still fresh in his memory, replaying in flashes.

It had started fast. They had stormed the warehouse, side by side, working in perfect sync. Phoebe had been fierce, taking down guards with her energy blasts while Henry worked on the bomb, his hands moving quickly over the wires. You had been there too, backing them up as best you could, but it was impossible not to notice how well they worked together. Every movement was fluid, every glance between them understanding without words.

And then, out of nowhere, the blast. Henry had barely registered it until Phoebe hit the ground, a sickening thud echoing through the warehouse as her body crumpled against the pillar.

He had rushed to her, the panic in his voice unmistakable. “Phoebe!” he’d shouted, his fingers trembling as they hovered over her, unsure of where to touch, how to help.

You had watched from a few feet away, heart in your throat. Jealousy flared then, sharp and stinging, watching how frantic he was. But then Phoebe had groaned, trying to sit up, wincing through the pain, and all of that jealousy faded, replaced by something else—fear. Fear for her. Fear for Henry.

Now, back in the med bay, that same fear hung in the room, even though the immediate danger had passed.

Henry hadn’t moved from her side since you had returned. His hand rested lightly on the edge of the bed, close but not quite touching, as if he was afraid he might hurt her if he did. His face was drawn, worry creasing his brow, and he kept glancing at the monitors as if checking for any sign of change.

The jealousy you had felt earlier was still there, but it was quieter now, dulled by the reality of the situation. You understood why Henry was acting the way he was. Phoebe had saved him—she’d taken a hit for him. Anyone would have done the same in his place. But that didn’t make it easier to watch.

She stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open, still groggy from the sedatives. Henry straightened instantly, his face lighting up with relief.

“Phoebe?” His voice was soft, gentle, and he leaned forward slightly. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her eyes moved to him, a tired smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Henry… you… okay?” she managed to whisper, her voice hoarse and weak.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, brushing off her concern. “Thanks to you.”

You shifted awkwardly, feeling like an outsider as you watched the exchange. The way they looked at each other, even in this moment, was undeniable. There was a bond there now, something forged in the heat of battle, and it stung in a way you hadn’t expected. You bit your lip, trying to shake it off, reminding yourself that this wasn’t about you.

But it didn’t stop the feeling from settling deep inside.

Phoebe closed her eyes again, clearly exhausted, and Henry exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned back slightly, though he still stayed close. You could see the weight of what had happened written all over his face—the relief that she was okay, the fear that something worse could have happened, and maybe something else you couldn’t quite place.

After a long silence, Henry finally spoke without looking away from Phoebe. “I thought we were going to lose her,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. The words hung in the air, heavy with emotion.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, watching him, watching her. In that moment, you realized that even though the jealousy still lingered, you couldn’t blame him for caring. Phoebe was a hero, just like him, and she had fought beside him, saved his life. It wasn’t about you or her—it was about the bond they’d formed in that moment of danger.

But still, it hurt.

Henry stayed with Phoebe through the night, his hand never far from hers, and you stayed too, even though a part of you wanted to leave, wanted to escape the painful feeling gnawing at your heart. You stayed because, despite it all, you knew they were both important to you.

And maybe that was enough.

4 —

The bright lights of the studio gleamed overhead, casting a spotlight on the sleek set where Henry and Captain Man sat for their interview. The whole space felt larger than life—cameras lined up in perfect formation, audience murmuring softly, and the shimmer of fame hanging thick in the air. You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying to remain unnoticed. It was supposed to be an exciting event—a chance for Kid Danger and Captain Man to speak to the world, to show the public a little more of their heroic selves.

But the moment the actress, the stunning and ever-charming Ava Monroe, glided onto the stage in her shimmering gown, something in your chest tightened.

She was breathtaking, even more so in person, and the second she sat down across from Henry, you felt the shift in the air. Her smile was dazzling, her laugh infectious, and from the very first question, her attention was completely fixed on him.

“So, Kid Danger,” she purred, leaning in slightly as if she was sharing a secret just between them. “What’s it like being the most eligible superhero in Swellview?”

Henry smiled awkwardly, shifting in his seat, his cheeks flushing a little under the lights. “Uh, I don’t know about that,” he laughed, glancing briefly toward Captain Man for help, but Ray only grinned, clearly enjoying watching Henry squirm under her attention.

You felt the jealousy prickle at your skin, creeping in slowly at first. It wasn’t just that Ava was beautiful or charming—it was the way she made it so obvious that she was interested. Every glance, every brush of her hand when she leaned a little too close, every laugh that lasted just a beat too long. And Henry—Henry was trying to keep it professional, but you could see how flustered he was, how her attention had him off-balance.

“I’m sure the girls in Swellview are just dying to know—do you have someone special in your life?” Ava asked, her tone light but with just enough curiosity to make it clear she was fishing for an answer.

Henry’s smile faltered for a split second, and your heart clenched. His gaze flickered toward you for the briefest moment, but before he could answer, Ava was already speaking again, her fingers gently brushing his arm as she laughed.

“I mean, with looks and charm like yours, it’s hard to believe you’re still single,” she teased, her voice sugary sweet.

Your jaw tightened, fingers digging into your arms as you tried to keep your composure. The casual touches, the way she batted her eyelashes—it was all so painfully obvious. And the worst part? The way Henry didn’t pull away, didn’t shut it down. He was polite, yes, but the fact that he didn’t seem to mind was enough to make your stomach twist with something ugly.

You told yourself you shouldn’t care. This was just an interview, just part of the job. Ava Monroe was an actress—flirting was probably part of her charm, part of the persona she put on for the cameras. But that logic didn’t make it any easier to watch.

The interview continued, but you couldn’t focus on the questions or the banter. All you could see was the way Ava’s attention never left Henry, the way her smile brightened whenever he spoke, the way her eyes sparkled like he was the only person in the room. Every second of it felt like a punch to the gut.

When the cameras finally cut and the audience clapped, Ava stood, flashing one last smile in Henry’s direction as she thanked him for the interview. Henry stood too, still looking a little dazed by it all, but before you could even approach him, Ava was already there again, her hand on his arm as she whispered something in his ear. He smiled—nothing more than a polite, awkward smile—but it was enough to push you over the edge.

You couldn’t stay any longer. The weight of watching it all, of feeling so invisible in the shadow of her charm, was too much.

Without a word, you turned and slipped out of the studio, your footsteps quick and silent as you made your way through the exit. The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest. Your breath came out in shaky bursts, a mix of frustration and heartache swirling inside of you. You had no right to feel this possessive, you told yourself. Henry wasn’t yours to claim, not in that way.

But that didn’t stop the hurt from creeping in. Seeing Ava bat her eyes at him, the way she touched his arm, the way Henry had smiled—however innocent it might have been—felt like a crack in something delicate.

Your heart felt like it had been shattered by something so small, yet so impossibly large all at once.

And so, you walked, letting the distance grow between you and the place where Henry still stood, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside of you.

5 —

The quiet hum of the library filled the air, punctuated by the soft shuffling of pages and the occasional murmur of whispered conversations. It was the kind of peaceful environment you usually thrived in, the kind of place that helped you focus and push through hours of studying. But today, no matter how hard you tried, the words in your textbook blurred together, unread.

Across the room, Henry sat at a long wooden table, his head bent over a pile of notes, talking animatedly with his partner for the project—Natalie Reynolds. She was smart, everyone knew that. Always the first to answer questions in class, always at the top of the grade charts, and, to make things worse, she was easygoing and fun. The kind of person that people naturally gravitated toward.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother you. Henry had friends, just like you did. But watching the two of them together for the past week—spending long hours holed up in the library, their heads close as they poured over their research—had become increasingly hard to ignore. You told yourself it was nothing. Just a project. They were working. That’s all.

Still, every time you glanced over at them, the jealousy tightened around your chest.

You tried to focus on your own work, flipping through pages of your notes, but you couldn’t stop your ears from tuning into their conversation. Henry was laughing at something Natalie said. You couldn’t help but remember the conversation you had yesterday:

“She’s honestly so cool,” Henry said, his voice carrying across the room as he talked about her later at Junk N’ Stuff.“Like, she just knows so much about this stuff. I’d be lost without her.”

Your grip tightened on your the figures you were restocking, trying to pretend the words didn’t sting, but they did. You tried brushing it off, convincing yourself it didn’t matter, but it was hard to ignore how often Henry had been talking about Natalie lately. How much he’d been praising her, how their study sessions seemed to stretch longer every day.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand—Natalie was smart. She was capable, and probably the perfect partner for the project. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You couldn’t help but feel left out, like some invisible line had been drawn between them that you weren’t a part of.

You caught glimpses of their smiles, the way they leaned in close, heads bent together, deep in conversation about whatever new discovery they’d just made in their research. They were so focused, so wrapped up in their own little world, and you… you were just on the outside, looking in.

The worst part wasn’t even how close they seemed to be getting—it was the way Henry kept bringing her up in conversation when you did see him. Talking about how smart she was, how much she knew, how helpful she’d been. And every time, you’d nod along, forcing a smile, trying to be supportive, when all you really wanted was for him to stop.

You hated feeling this way—jealous, insecure. It wasn’t like you. Henry wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just working on a project, just being nice, just appreciating someone else’s skills. But each compliment he gave her felt like a little piece of your connection to him was being chipped away.

Eventually, you closed your notebook and shoved it into your bag, unable to focus anymore. Maybe it was better to just leave, to stop torturing yourself by watching them from afar. But as you stood and slung your bag over your shoulder, you caught Henry’s eye. He smiled, waving you over.

“Hey!” he called, oblivious to the internal storm brewing inside you. “Come check out what we found.”

You hesitated, your heart tugging between wanting to be close to him and wanting to avoid the sharp sting of jealousy. With a deep breath, you crossed the room and stood at the edge of their table, forcing a smile as Henry excitedly explained whatever new piece of information they had discovered.

But you barely heard a word. All you could focus on was how natural they seemed together, how easy it was for him to talk to her, laugh with her, and how little space seemed left for you in that moment.

+1 —

The bright lights of the lavish dining room glimmered overhead, casting an elegant glow on the grand table set for a private dinner with one of Swellview’s most notorious villains, Victor Voss. The atmosphere felt charged, filled with the soft clinking of silverware and the low hum of conversation, as you stood off to the side, adjusting your suit to fit the part. This was a high-stakes mission—a chance for you to flirt with Victor while Kid Danger and Captain Man snuck in to retrieve vital information.

You were wired with an earpiece, allowing you to hear Henry and Ray’s every word as they made their way through the shadows. Your heart raced, not just from the thrill of the mission but from the daunting task ahead. Victor entered the room, his presence commanding, dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his imposing figure. You felt a flicker of nerves but quickly pushed it aside; you were here to do a job.

As you approached Victor, a confident smile on your face, his gaze shifted to you, instantly intrigued. “Well, well, who do we have here?” he purred, leaning back in his chair, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Are you here to charm me, darling?”

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning slightly closer, letting your voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or perhaps I’m here to learn a few things from the most powerful man in the room.” The flirtation was effortless, and the words felt natural as they slipped from your lips.

In your earpiece, you could hear Henry’s voice, a hint of tension threading through his words. “Stay focused. Remember, we need that intel,” he urged, though you could detect a slight edge to his tone.

Watching from the shadows, Henry clenched his jaw, his heart racing in a way he hadn’t expected. Every word you exchanged with Victor felt like a dagger to his gut. It wasn’t just the situation—it was the way you held yourself, how effortlessly charming you were, drawing Victor’s full attention. He’d always known you were good at this, but watching it unfold in front of him made it feel too real.

Victor chuckled, a sound deep and rich, leaning in to engage you further. “You’re bold. I like that. Tell me, what do you find so fascinating about my work?” His eyes sparkled with interest, and Henry felt a surge of frustration. This is just a game for him, he thought, struggling to keep his own feelings in check. Just a villain playing with his prey. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Power can be intoxicating,” you responded, flashing him a coy smile. “But it can also be lonely. Don’t you crave something more?” You could feel the energy shifting as he leaned even closer, his interest piqued.

Henry swallowed hard, an unfamiliar tension coiling in his chest. What am I doing here? I should be the one sitting next to you, he thought, his mind racing. He couldn’t shake the image of you and Victor, their chemistry crackling in the air like static. “Just stay focused,” he reminded himself. “We’re here for a reason.” But the words felt hollow against the weight of his jealousy.

In your ear, you heard Henry let out a barely audible sigh, followed by Ray’s chuckle. “Looks like she’s really got her claws into him,” Ray teased, but Henry’s irritation was mounting, the feeling of helplessness gnawing at him. “Just keep him busy; we’re almost in,” Ray continued, but Henry felt anything but calm.

As the banter continued, the tension in Henry’s voice tightened. “Just don’t get too close,” he cautioned, his protectiveness surfacing despite his best efforts to remain professional. What if she actually wins him over? The thought was almost unbearable.

“Power is lonely, but I have my ways of making it more… enjoyable,” Victor replied, his tone suggestive as he gestured for you to sit beside him. Henry’s heart sank as he watched you move closer, the warmth of your presence drawing Victor in. He could practically feel the heat radiating from the two of you, and it twisted like a knife in his gut.

“Enjoyment can come in many forms,” you countered, and Henry’s resolve faltered. You’re playing a dangerous game, he thought, anxiety spiking in his chest. The way you leaned in, the way you laughed—it was everything he feared and wanted all at once.

“Just keep flirting,” Ray whispered in your ear, but Henry could sense his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “We need that information.” The urgency in Ray’s voice only heightened Henry’s frustration, making it difficult to concentrate on the mission.

You carried on, pouring on the charm, but every compliment exchanged with Victor felt like a knife twisting deeper into Henry’s resolve. “You know,” Victor said, his gaze flickering over to where Henry was concealed, “I’ve always admired someone who can keep up with me. How do you feel about a little… adventure?”

“Adventure can be thrilling,” you replied, casting a quick glance at Henry, who was clearly on edge. He was trying to mask his emotions, but his heart was racing. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, he thought. I should be the one enjoying this dance, not him.

A faint rustle in your earpiece reminded you of the urgency. “We’re in position. Just hold his attention a little longer,” Henry urged, his voice strained. He hated feeling this way, the jealousy clawing at him. He wanted to focus on the mission but felt trapped by his own feelings.

Finally, as Victor leaned in closer, his voice sultry and enticing, Henry’s heart sank further. He caught a glimpse of you, your expression a mix of confidence and determination, and it sent a rush of warmth through him. You’re incredible, he thought, a mix of pride and frustration swelling within him. But why does it have to be like this?

With the stakes rising, Henry knew he had to keep his emotions in check, but the weight of his unspoken feelings felt like an anchor pulling him down. The evening wore on, laughter and flirtation blending with the tension that wrapped around you both, each moment laden with unvoiced feelings as he navigated the delicate balance of duty and desire.

And so, he stayed, weaving through the intricacies of deception, letting the distance between you and the truth shift, all while his heart ached for a connection that felt just out of reach. The longer he watched, the more he realized that what he truly craved was not just the mission’s success but the chance to be the one at your side, sharing in the dance of danger and attraction that seemed to come so naturally to you.

The tension hung heavy in the air as Henry and Ray settled into the car, the hum of the engine a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling inside Henry. They had successfully retrieved the intel from Victor’s office, but the victory felt hollow as he replayed the earlier scene in his mind—your laughter, the way Victor leaned closer, how easily you had captivated him.

Ray glanced sideways at Henry, who was staring out the window, lost in thought. “You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence, though he already knew the answer.

Henry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, just… a lot to process.” He felt like a ball of frayed nerves, each thought pulling him in a different direction. You did what you had to do, he reminded himself, but the sting of jealousy was still fresh. “I just didn’t expect it to feel like that,” he admitted quietly, his eyes still fixed on the passing streetlights.

Ray raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight of Henry’s frustration. “You mean seeing her flirt with Victor? That wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”

“Not like that,” Henry replied, his voice tense. “I know it was just a distraction, but watching her… it’s like she was in her element. Like she was enjoying it.” The words came out more bitter than he intended, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. , he chided himself. But the feeling of helplessness clawed at him.

Ray nodded, trying to understand. “It’s just a job, man. We all know how good she is at this.” He paused, gauging Henry’s reaction. “You can’t let it get to you. She’s got a role to play.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to watch someone else take the spotlight,” Henry muttered, his fingers tapping restlessly against the seat. “I’ve seen her take on villains before, but this was different. He was leaning in, like he wanted something more.”

“I get it,” Ray said, his tone more serious now. “But you’re Kid Danger. She’s not going to forget that.” He watched Henry’s jaw tighten, the flicker of insecurity written all over his face. “You’ve got to trust her, man. She can handle herself.”

Trust her, Henry repeated silently to himself, wishing he could. The fact that you had been so effortlessly charming, so confident in the face of danger, made it even harder to swallow. “I know she can,” he said finally, forcing a nod, but the doubt lingered. What if she enjoyed it too much?

Ray shifted in his seat, sensing the thick atmosphere. “Look, once we pick her up, this whole thing will be behind us. You’ll have your chance to talk to her.”

“Yeah, if I can even find the words,” Henry replied, his voice low. The thought of confronting you about his feelings—about everything he had experienced during the mission—felt daunting. Would you understand? Would you see how hard it had been for him to watch?

As they approached the designated pickup location, Henry’s heart raced at the thought of seeing you again. What if she thought it was all just part of the act? He didn’t want to be just another distraction in your world, yet that was exactly how he felt.

“Just keep it cool,” Ray advised as he pulled up to the curb, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of you. “You can’t let your feelings cloud the mission. You know that.”

Henry nodded but found it hard to focus. His thoughts were tangled, emotions roiling beneath the surface. What if this changes everything? He couldn’t shake the feeling that the mission had shifted something between you two—something more than just friendship.

The wait felt interminable, each second dragging on as Henry replayed every moment from the dinner in his head. Finally, he spotted you stepping out of the building, your confident stride and easy smile radiating energy that made his heart flutter and ache at the same time.

When you slid into the backseat, the atmosphere instantly changed. You were all smiles, but Henry noticed the glimmer in your eyes that hinted at the tension you must have felt earlier. “You guys won’t believe what just happened!” you exclaimed, clearly still riding the high of the mission’s success.

Ray smiled at you, engaging in light banter, but Henry remained silent, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. He felt like an outsider in the moment, watching you bask in the aftermath of your performance with Victor.

As Ray continued to drive, the tension in the car grew thicker, punctuated by the unspoken words that hung in the air. Every glance you exchanged felt electric, charged with feelings that neither of you had dared to voice.

Henry stole another glance at you, his mind racing. Each second stretching into an eternity as you chatted with Ray, laughter mingling with the tension that seemed to weave its way between you and Henry.

Finally, as the familiar streets of Swellview passed by. The unease in his chest pushed him forward, urging him to break the silence, but he didn’t . He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his feelings pressing down on him like a heavy fog.

The workout room in the Man Cave hummed with a rhythmic energy, the sound of punching bags swaying gently and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor blending into a symphony of exertion. You moved with focused determination, sweat glistening on your skin as you threw punches at the heavy bag, each strike a release of the pent-up stress that had built over midterm week. The air was thick with the scent of rubber mats and the faint echo of heavy weights clanging in the distance, a welcome distraction from the swirl of thoughts clouding your mind.

You were aware of the tension that had developed between you and Henry over the past few weeks. It felt like a weight pressing on your chest, growing heavier with each passing day. The memory of his close encounters with various girls—each one more charming than the last—gnawed at you. You tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that you were overreacting, but the truth was undeniable: the jealousy was like a constant, throbbing ache, and it didn’t help that you felt more distant from Henry than ever.

As you focused on your training, each punch against the bag was a desperate attempt to release the frustration that threatened to boil over. The rhythm of your movements was meditative, yet your mind was anything but calm. Memories of Henry laughing with those girls played on a loop, a haunting reminder of the connection you wished you had with him. You could still hear the laughter echoing in your ears—the easy banter, the way his eyes lit up when he was around them. It stung more than you cared to admit.

The door creaked open, breaking your concentration, and you glanced over to see Henry emerging from the locker room, his body still glistening from his earlier workout. The sight of him took your breath away; the muscles in his arms flexed with every movement, and the way his hair fell across his forehead made your heart race. Yet, as soon as he stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted, tension crackling like electricity in the air. You could feel it—the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice low but confident, breaking through the silence that had enveloped you both. “Wanna spar?”

Your heart raced, caught between desire and reluctance. You shook your head, trying to play it cool. “No thanks, I’m good,” you replied, your voice steady, but the frustration you felt seeped through the cracks. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his presence affected you, especially after everything that had happened recently.

“Oh, come on,” he urged, stepping closer, a playful grin flickering across his lips, a grin that made your stomach flutter and clench at the same time. “I promise I won’t go easy on you.”

The mention of that last part made your heart drop, a fresh wave of jealousy crashing over you like a cold wave. “You mean you won’t go easy on me like you didn’t go easy on those other girls?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. The bitterness of jealousy was a familiar taste, one you hated but couldn’t escape.

Henry’s expression faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with determination, his jaw tightening. “That’s not fair. This isn’t about them.”

“Isn’t it?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, your pulse quickening as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’ve been with so many girls lately, it’s weird.”

He clenched his jaw, a flash of frustration igniting within him. “Weird?” he echoed, his voice rising a notch. “You think i’m the only one that’s ‘weird’?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

“Oh don’t be dense, it’s not like you were just flirting with some random guy,” he snapped, his emotions boiling over. “You were flirting with a villain! Victor Voss! You were practically hanging on his every word!”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden intensity in his voice. “Henry, it was part of the mission! I had to distract him to get the intel. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that!” he shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it! Watching you smile at him, the way he leaned in closer… you know you liked it.” he said, his tone more challenging, almost daring you to confront the truth. The intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through you, a mixture of annoyance and longing that twisted your insides.

“Come on. Let’s get this out of our systems.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you exhaled a sharp breath, finally giving in to the urge that had been bubbling beneath the surface. “Fine. But don’t cry when I wipe the floor with you.”

As you squared off, the air thickened with anticipation. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence pulling you in like a magnet. With the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you began with playful jabs, each strike punctuated by a shared history of friendship that made this moment feel electric.

Yet, the tension simmering beneath the surface was impossible to ignore. Every punch he threw felt like a reminder of the distance that had grown between you, a barrier that had been built on misunderstandings and unresolved feelings. With each hit, you found yourself more frustrated—not just at him, but at the entire situation. You wanted to fight, to push against that barrier, but part of you was terrified of what would happen if you did.

“You think you’re so great, huh?” you teased, sidestepping a punch he aimed at you. “But you’re still avoiding the truth.”

“I’m not avoiding anything!” he replied, landing a solid hit to your shoulder, a small grin tugging at his lips as he feigned innocence.

“Really? Because it seems like you’re avoiding me since those girls came along,” you shot back, landing a kick against his side. The words felt charged, a mix of frustration and longing spilling over as you fought.

Henry’s expression darkened, and the playful tone slipped away. “You think this is about them?” he asked, his voice low and intense. “This is about you pushing me away!”

The air crackled with unfiltered emotions, and as you continued to spar, the fight morphed into a release of all the pent-up tension. You both knew it was more than just a physical match; it was a battleground for your feelings, an attempt to confront the truths that had been lingering in the space between you.

“I don’t want to feel jealous, Henry!” you yelled, frustration boiling over. “But how am I supposed to ignore it when you’re always with them?”

“Then why are you acting like you don’t care?” he countered, his breath coming in quick bursts. “I’m tired of pretending we’re not something more than friends!”

With each exchange, the intensity escalated. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, pushing you to the brink as you both vented your frustrations. As he caught your punch, his grip was firm yet gentle, and your heart raced as you locked eyes, the world around you fading into the background.

“Maybe we should stop fighting,” you murmured, your breath mingling with his, the space between you charged with electricity.

“Maybe we should,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, the intensity in his gaze igniting something deep within you.

Before you could think, he pulled you closer, the intensity of your earlier sparring morphing into something more profound. Your lips crashed together, the kiss igniting a fire that had been simmering between you all along. It was rough and passionate, each moment a release of the frustration, jealousy, and longing that had been pent up for far too long.

You felt every ounce of pent-up emotion flood through you as you melted into him, bodies moving together with an urgency that spoke louder than any words exchanged in the heat of battle. The kiss deepened, hands roaming freely, exploring the familiar territory you both had skirted around for so long.

His grip on the back of your head tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you in closer. His lips crash down onto yours, hard and rough.

“Mine.” He growls against your mouth, his tongue pushing its way past your lips to explore the inside of your wet cavern, tongue battling against your own.

Henry pulled you closer, his hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the heat radiating from his body. Every kiss was a confession, every breath an admission of the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. You lost yourself in the moment, forgetting everything else—the jealousy, the misunderstandings, the insecurities.

As the kiss broke, you both pulled away, gasping for breath, the reality of the situation crashing back in. The silence between you was thick with the weight of what had just transpired, a new understanding settling into the space that had once been filled with tension and uncertainty.

“What just happened?” you whispered, a mix of exhilaration and disbelief coursing through you.

Henry searched your eyes, vulnerability flickering across his features. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice husky. “But I know I want to figure it out—with you.”

Fin.

NAVI

#henry hart x reader #kid danger x reader #henry danger x reader #henry danger #o9sessions

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sunnie-angel · 8 days ago

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A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

Part 3: Surprise Guests

fem!jason todd x fem!reader summary: an unexpected gift from poison ivy leads to a very fun evening tags: teasing, sexual tension, groping, biting, semi-sentient plant based sex toy, size kink rated explicit (mdni)| wc: 2.8k a/n: uhhh probably the closest i've ever gotten to writing tentacle porn. if harley and ivy feel a bit ooc, that's because it's my first time writing them so please be nice.

series masterlist

Jay’s heart is in her throat. She doesn’t think she’s been this scared since Ethiopia, since Joker. But it’s not for herself this time, no this time her nerves are shredded for you.

Harley and Ivy had broken out of Arkham again. Usually Jay wouldn’t care; they’re usually pretty targeted in their rage these days, Joker and massive conglomerates exclusively, and they’re occasionally down for a team up. No, its where they were sighted that has icy fear clawing up her spine and bile churning in her stomach.

Breaking every traffic law – and a few laws of physics – she races over to your apartment, barely does the minimum of parking her bike before she’s tearing up to your doorstep. The door bangs open and there’s not the carnage she was expecting. Instead you look up at her from your cozy seat on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug, eyes wide with surprise. There’s no screaming or blood on the walls, just the sudden silence of a conversation interrupted. Ivy regards Jay cooly while Harley practically thrums with excitement.

“Shoes, Jay” you remind her, and then she’s toeing off her boots to join the strangest tea party she’s ever been to.

Wary, she sits down next to you, curls a protective arm around your shoulders that you lean into. Steals your cup to sip from it. Never lets her eyes wander from the two most unpredictable elements in the room.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Ivy starts, not sounding very sorry at all. “But–”

“ – but we heard all about Hood’s new puddin’ and just had to come say hello!” interrupts Harley, all sweet giggles and wide smiles.

“Uhuh,” Jay smiles tightly. “Heard from who?”

“Here and there,” Ivy evades. “A guard that’s doing much more good as fertilizer in the gardens.”

You shudder under Jay’s arm, but the welcoming smile on your face never slips.

“Well,” you say, trying to cover up the social faux pas of bringing up murder, “that sounds like a very kind gesture Dr. Isley.”

“Oh Pamela, please,” she insists, primly setting down her empty coffee cup. “It was no trouble at all, some of my darlings were starting to look a little peaky.” Harley giggles.

“So what’s Hoodsy like in bed?” she interjects. “Bet she’s a real firecracker under all that leather!”

Grabbing Jay’s hand in warning before she can do anything rash – like oh, try and bodily haul Harley out the door – you demure.

“Oh she treats me just fine, but I don’t like to kiss and tell.” Gratefully Jay presses a kiss to the top of your head, glaring at Harley all the while.

“Fine? Fine!” She shrieks. “Sugar she should be treatin’ you a lot better than fine! Why if Red didn’t have me screami–”

“Harleen,” Ivy warns her, hand landing heavy on her shoulder.

“I’m happy! Honest, no one’s treated me so good,” you backpedal, suddenly terrified to have put a target on Jay’s back for the perceived crime of not fucking you well enough. Jay bares her teeth and snarls at the insult.

“Really?” Harley perks up. “Well you come let your Auntie Harls know if that ever changes sugar.” Grinning she slurps down the rest of her drink. You squeeze Jay’s thigh in relief. “C’mon Red, present time! Wanna see their faces when they open it,” she says, rubbing her hands together with glee.

With a heavy sigh, Ivy uncrosses her legs and pulls a box out from under the couch. Jay twitches at the detail she didn’t notice.

“A small gift, a congratulations to you both,” she says.

With trepidation, you open the lid of the box, terrified something is going to snap at your fingers. Inside you find another box, this one a clear plastic half-filled with water. What looks like a fat green vine, curved gently like a c-shape, bobs in the water. Confused, you look back up at Dr. Isley – no Pamela – and force a smile.

“It’s– um it’s a lovely gift,” you tell her. “What is it exactly?”

“A cutting from one of my darlings,” she says easily and Jay’s back goes ramrod straight. “Nothing deadly, just– curious. It likes dark, wet places the best, will do anything to ensure optimal conditions.”

“You shove it up your cunt and it fucks you by itself,” Harley interjects at your blank looks, still smiling sunnily.

Wide eyed you choke on your own spit. Jay closes the lid of the box and places it on the coffee table.

“Really? You break out of Arkham to deliver a sex toy that I have to water and take care of?” she grumbles.

“Awww honey, we just wanted you to be happy,” Harley coos, and it might be the most genuine thing she’s said all evening.

“Besides, it’s only a cutting and it doesn’t do well in overly acidic environments,” Ivy adds. “It should die off after being doused in a significant amount of vaginal secretions.”

“Okay, yep, that’s not helping.” Jay says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We really do have to get going, the Bats can be so annoyingly dogged in their pursuit,” Ivy says, getting up to leave and herding Harley to the door.

“Be seein’ you Hoodsy!” Harley calls just as the door closes.

Shell-shocked by the unexpected visitors and their horribly personal gift, the two of you just stare at each other in silence.

“D’you think we should–” you start to ask.

“Nope,” Jay interjects, immediately fleeing the room.

Jay doesn’t see the two Rogues again for weeks, their little gift hidden at the back of the closet. Sometimes in the dark of the night Jay swears she can hear faint splashing sounds but the weird plant is always still when she checks on it. Obviously it’s not just a fun little toy because it’s been specifically designed to make her question her sanity.

When she does run into them next, Ivy’s in the middle of using her plants to destroy the company that had just won the city’s latest infrastructure bid, Harley squealing and swinging her hammer with a joyful fury. Rolling her eyes, Jay dodges another one of Harley’s blows as she cackles.

“Hiya Hoodsy! Long time no see,” Harley quips. Jay groans and rolls away just as the hammer smashes the pavement where she had been standing.

“Harley. Not satisfied with just tearing up the streets, you had to stop them from getting repaired too?” Jay yells back.

“Sorry sugar, this one’s all Red’s.” Harley shrugs, then dodges Jay’s fist. “Hey! Speakin’ of sugar, did yours like the present?”

Dick finally has the good sense to show up and electrocutes her with one of his escrima sticks.

“Dunno,” Jay says as Dick starts to handcuff her. “Hasn’t been high on my list of my priorities.”

“Aww,” Harley pouts, seemingly unbothered by her incarceration. “Red’s gonna be so sad.”

“Fine! Fine!” Jay shouts, realizing that having a pissed-off Ivy gunning for her over a sex toy is not how she wants to go out a second time. “We’ll give you guys a yelp review or something. Happy?”

Harley nods happily as Dick drags her away and oh Jay’s not gonna like having to explain to everyone what ‘gift’ she’d been babbling about.

Bruce approaches Jay as soon as they get back to the batcave and Jay can’t even look him in the eyes as she spits out, “Yes, Ivy gave me a gift. No, I’m not telling you what it is but it’s not malicious and can’t be used in the commission of a crime. That’s all I’m saying and for both of our sanities, do not go digging.”

He grunts, and Jay chooses to interpret it as agreement. For her own sanity. Because the thought of her pseudo father finding out that a couple of his sworn enemies had gifted her a semi-sentient sex toy and that Jay had just agreed to use it on her girlfriend to prevent a grudge with said enemies? Yeah, Jay’d prefer to be dead and buried before entertaining that thought and its ramifications.

Jay’s weirdly nervous when she gets home. It’s not that she thinks you’d be against trying something new, more that she’d agreed without talking to you first. And while she’d be happy to try it out solo and lie through her teeth to Ivy and Harley, she’s also kind of shocked to find out just how much she wants to watch you get fucked. Intimately.

So it’s with a dry mouth that she climbs into bed with you and slips an arm around your middle. Covers the back of your neck and the hinge of your jaw in kisses to rouse you from your slumber. You blink sleep thick eyes back at her, press the lines of your body back into her solid warmth.

“Hey baby girl,” she whispers in between kisses. “You up for me?” You nod and take her fingers into your mouth. Suckle at them and get her knuckles all wet. Jay groans and rests her head against your spine. “Ran into Harley today,” she tells you and you stiffen. “Wanted to know how Ivy’s present was.” Your mouth parts and Jay lets her fingers fall from it.

“Does that– does that mean we can try it out now?” you ask in a small voice, still not looking her in the eye.

“Do you want to?” Jay asks, arm tightening around your waist. You nod, body curling into her. “I’ll go find the box then.”

She said it like she hasn’t known exactly where it’s been hiding with laser precision. Like she hasn’t woken up to half melted dreams of your coming around it as she holds your hand and soothes you. Carefully, she sets the box on the bedside table, turns to see you on top of the covers and already undressed, nervous in your excitement.

She leans down and kisses you, licks into your mouth until you’re panting and whining under her. Nips at your lip and withdraws with a grin. Makes you wait as she sheds her own clothes before climbing into bed with you. Smoothes a hand down your bare side as she kisses at your throat, has you grabbing at her hair to bring her mouth down lower. Jay bites a bruise into the soft swell of your breast as you whine, sneaks a hand down between your legs and finds you already dripping. Laves at a nipple with broad flat of her tongue as she starts teasing you with her fingers. It’s only when you’re clenching down around her, hips chasing after her hand does she stop. Reaches with a blind hand for the box and grasps the wet vine in her fist. Kisses your bitten lips before resting her forehead against yours to watch.

Asks, “You ready?” while you babble your agreement. Notches the wet, slimy head of it to your entrance and pushes. Swallows your gasps and moans as your cunt devours it, hard knots and clipped off shoots scraping at your tender walls. You shudder as she slides more in, stopping just before the turning curve of the c. You clench down and the vine protruding out of your hole jerks at the movement. Jay grins and grabs the curve of it, uses it as a handle to pull it out of you and ram it back in, has you slumping over her shoulder and whining weakly as she fucks you with it. Every single bump and bit of texture scrapes you raw, pushes up against those hidden spots inside you that light your nerves on fire. Gasping you come as Jay cruelly hooks the vine into your guts and pulls.

“How was that baby? D’you have fun?” She asks, still fucking into you.

“Feels– feels weird,” you stutter out between heaving breaths, pleasure still thrumming through you. Something’s changed. The vine feels bigger, somehow. It’s not unpleasant, the solid weight of it heavy in your gut. Just...strange.

“Yeah baby? How about I make you feel better then,” she says.

Jay gives your breast an affectionate squeeze before rising up on her knees and settling the other end of the vine at her slick entrance. She grins at you before plummeting down, spearing herself open in a practiced motion. You moan as her movement jostles the fake cock inside of you. Wrap your arms around her waist and hold on for dear life as she starts to fuck herself.

Jay’s a goddamn picture as she rides, neck arched back, eyes screwed up tight. Her tits jiggle as she bounces and you can’t help but give in to the urge to mark them up as they do. Breathily, she moans at the first touch of your mouth. Her back arches with a flexibility you envy, hips swivelling as she grinds down meanly. The long lines of her body shadowed and golden. Every time she bears down, the vine jolts inside of you and you moan, clit pinned beneath the hard surface of it. She groans as she comes, mean and messy in the pursuit of her pleasure. Slowly you limp along behind her in an orgasm of your own as you clench down weakly around the vine.

She’s soft in the aftermath, miles of warm skin holding you close as her breathing starts to even out. Slides a large, calloused hand down your sweaty flank in a soothing gesture. Jay goes to kiss you but her lips never find her target as you jerk back and moan at the sudden sensation of the vine moving on its own inside you.

“Hey– hey what’s wrong,” she asks as she cups your face, fear streaking through her voice.

“It’s– oooh!” you squeal as it starts to fucking writhe inside of you, gut churning in time with the stretching fullness of it in your cunt. “You don’t– you don’t feel that?” Your hands go vice-like around Jay’s arms.

“What are you– oh.” You can tell by the way her voice goes thin and breathy that it’s fucking her too now. She bites at the plush of her bottom lip and suddenly you’re jealous of her teeth for getting to dig in there. Surging forward, you clumsily slot your mouth over hers, swallow her little gasping sighs as the vine starts thrusting in you both. The stretch is so unbearably thick now, wider than anything you’d taken before. You can feel your cunt struggling to take it all, the way the vine curls in and around on itself as it tries to get deeper and fails, your wet walls straining and clenching uselessly around it.

Jay licks and bites at your throat and you know there’ll be a fresh necklace waiting for you tomorrow. Her questing hands find your breasts and you whimper as a callous catches on your nipple. With a hand that no longer feels attached to your body with how clumsy it is, you try to reach between you for your clit. Your hand brushes against the jut of your lower belly and you freeze up before scrambling to pull Jay’s hand to feel too. She groans into your ear at the sensation and you can feel yourself getting wetter around the intruder as she cups your belly. Her hands grope you as the skin under her palms warps, the soft swell of your belly distorted by the vine as it writhes and thrusts, so large you struggle to accommodate it.

She presses your hand to her own belly and you can feel the swell of it too. Smaller than yours, but moving faster, fucking in deeper. Jay’s jaw goes slack and she starts to let out throaty little whines that have you clenching down. Her body is shaking from the force of the vine thrusting in her gut, thighs trembling and eyes bright. She pushes down on your bulging womb just as the vine writhes against your cervix, and that’s all it takes to grab your by your hair and drag you screaming through another orgasm, pleasure blinding and burning bright. You can’t feel your legs when you start to come down, vision spotty and skin so sensitive even the lightest touch feels like being flayed alive. Moaning out garbled sentences, you almost miss Jay as she comes, abs clenching and body lean and long. You do feel her hands scrabbling at your waist as she goes over the edge, anchoring herself to you.

The two of you collapse onto the pillows, chests still heaving. Blindly you reach for her, desperate for the burning heat of her skin on yours. Jay lets you snuggle into her, sticky with sweat and other fluids, as she reaches between you and slowly starts to pull the vine out of you both. It feels smaller than you expected as it slides out wetly, coated in the evidence of your pleasure. You bury your face in her shoulder as she grins down at you, hand sodden around the now brown vine, dead and starting to rot.

“Somebody enjoyed themselves,” she teases you and you swat at her hand in embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t say that like you didn’t have a good time too,” you grumble.

#jason todd x reader #fem!jason todd #fem!jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd smut #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood smut #jason todd fic #a fever you can't sweat out series #sunnie writes 🌻

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delirious-donna · 8 months ago

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The Surprise [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: it’s 2am and here I am posting this smut-filled fic because I can’t sleep and I can’t stop thinking about this man. p.s. requests are open for Higuruma specifically so drop me an ask if you wanna give me some ideas for everyone’s favourite lawyer!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: lingerie, pussy drunk Hiromi (it’s canon don’t fight me), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it folks) and other goodies

Masterlist

“Will that be everything for you today?” The cheery assistant asked offering a genuine smile whilst they rang through your purchases and packed them carefully into a neat little box.

Your stomach fluttered with the thought of what might transpire this coming weekend, a long-planned weekend that couldn’t arrive quick enough. The delicate tissue paper wrapped around the items inside the box before the assistant closed it over, tied a ribbon securely and placed it in a paper bag.

“Yes, that’s it. Thank you for your help earlier, I appreciate it!”

With a bounce in your step and a sizeable dent in your bank balance, you exited the boutique store to daydream about your husband’s reaction to your little splurge. Neither of you were accustomed to dropping large sums of money so randomly, both believing that an air of caution and frugality would see you through any potential storms on the horizon, but you had walked past this store so many times and finally been tempted into their den of sinful delights.

Inclusive-sized mannequins displayed a range of differently styled lingerie, from demure bridal wear to raunchy strips of leather and wide mesh that would leave very little to the imagination. At first, you were convinced it would only be window shopping, however, when you spied an elegant-looking black bodysuit that seemed like it would hold all your bits in without compromising the sex appeal element, it was game over.

Once you were interested, the friendly young assistant swooped in and soon you were trying it on in the fancy dressing room. The lighting was complimenting rather than garishly fluorescent, and the lull of soft, sensual music added to the overall experience, one you were rather enjoying. The strapless bodysuit hugged your curves and accentuated your décolletage nicely. Clearly, it was designed by scientists to support your breasts without cumbersome straps, and you silently praised their ingenuity. Paired with crotchless fishnet tights that you could secure beneath the suit—a suggestion from your enthusiastic little helper—you knew that Hiromi would likely lose his mind and you couldn’t wait.

Your poor, overworked and perpetually exhausted husband had been burning the candle at both ends for the past nearly four months, neck deep in a case that if he were to win would be a monumental victory in his career. In support, you packed him off every morning with a full lunch consisting of his favourite foods, mostly to encourage him to actually eat instead of consuming mug after mug of rancid instant coffee. In your evenings, you helped him go over witness testimonies, read over his arguments for clarity, and did everything you could to lighten his load around the house. It wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, you both knew that, and to say he appreciated your support was an understatement.

That’s why when he told you that it was all drawing to a conclusion and that he was cautiously optimistic it would end in his favour, you revelled in that knowledge. Whether it did come to fruition or not, his weekend would be free, and he promised to spend some real quality time with you without the cloud of looming work. There was nothing more he could do, no more past cases he could study and the thought of basking in his undivided attention warmed your heart and soul.

With two days remaining before your scheduled weekend plans to do absolutely nothing but relax and unwind in each other’s presence, you again peeked at the box you’d tucked into your side of the wardrobe, away from prying eyes. Maybe it was a bout of nerves, a moment of body consciousness, that made you pull your surprise out to examine the contents. Whatever it was, you worried your bottom lip once the intimate outfit was laid out on the bedspread.

“What was I thinking… this is too much,” you quietly scolded yourself.

Flopping beside the expensive scraps of fabric, you brushed a palm down your face and reminded yourself that you looked fucking divine in the changing room of the boutique, so why would it be any different now? More so, you knew deep in your heart that Hiromi adored you and thought you were a goddess, one he claimed he didn’t deserve.

A few moments later, you stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe to scrutinise your reflection. Your eyes narrowed as you tugged the sweetheart cups into place and felt the soft squish of your breast jiggle inside. Turning to the side, a hand ran the length of your torso with a grin unfurling at the tight hug of the sheer-panelled fabric. Damn, your backside looked real good from this angle. But maybe the fishnets were too much, you mused, turning this way and that.

You ran your fingers through your hair, wondering if you should try to style it, maybe give it some more volume and texture. It was at that moment, whilst making kissy faces at your reflection with your hands scrunching handfuls of your hair and up on your tippy toes to extend the length of your legs, that the bedroom door opened, and you froze like a deer in headlights.

Higuruma Hiromi was on cloud nine. Not only had he won a career-defining case against all the odds, but the judge had also taken less time to deliberate than anyone expected they would. After a hearty swig of celebratory champagne drank from crappy paper cups with his partner and their secretaries, he was on the first train home to truly celebrate with the only person that mattered—you.

What he didn’t expect to find when he entered the house as stealthily as he could manage was the vision of you standing in the middle of the bedroom looking like one of the pin-up models from the magazines he would hide under his mattress as a young man.

Like a slightly tipsy house cat, he tiptoed his way through the rooms, listening for signs of you and driving straight towards the bedroom to surprise you with his unannounced return. The door bounced open on its hinges and he stood, shell-shocked for a moment before it turned to white-hot appreciation.

You looked beautiful, stunning, breathtaking even. There weren’t enough colourful adjectives for how he felt about you at any given time, but right now, modelling a black bodysuit that hugged both your butt and your breasts, he was entirely dumbstruck. Hiromi didn’t know where to look, or whether you’d rather he look away given your strangled yelp of surprise at his sudden appearance. You made no effort to cover yourself or shove him out the door, no, you both faced one another as if neither of you knew what to do or say.

His eyes continued to betray him, slowly caressing the length of your figure and finding new things to appreciate; the sweetheart cups, the gauzy panels that allowed him glimpses of your skin beneath, and not to mention the fishnet tights. He hadn’t seen you wear anything like those since your dating years, and he had forgotten how much he missed them, or how many he had ruined by ripping through the gusset in his haste.

“What are you doing home?” You glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and back to your husband, heat filling your face but something else followed on the tails of your embarrassment, something more pleasant.

Hiromi ran this thumb over his mouth, gaze pointedly fixed on your chest, and you cleared your throat with emphasis until he finally met your eye and the arch of your eyebrow. Already his neck looked red, like a rash had spread from below the collar of his shirt and travelled towards his jaw. If you could describe a person as having hearts for eyes, it would be one Higuruma Hiromi and you adored him for his open adoration.

“We… I won,” he managed weakly, smiling as if coming out of a daze and you blinked for a moment while processing the words.

“You won?”

He chuckled. “I won.”

A wealth of emotions passed over your face until you ended with ecstatic pride, tears near pricking your eyes as you launched yourself into his arms and peppered his cheeks and nose with enough kisses to make him blush more furiously. His hands settled on your hips, his touch more hesitant than you would expect given the circumstances and you pulled back to give him a questioning look.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be more excited than this.”

“Darling…” he started, skimming his fingertips up and down your sides before rounding to your full backside and squeezing as he spoke. “What’s this?”

In your joy, you had forgotten that Hiromi had walked in on you wearing the lingerie that was meant to be for this weekend and meant to be a surprise. You guessed it still had been, although not the one you planned. “Oh, just a little something to show my hardworking man that I love and adore him. Nothing much.”

“Nothing much…” he repeated in a disbelieving whisper. A finger ran the length of your spine, from the top of your backside to near the base of your skull, dragging it slowly and watching you shudder beneath his deliberate touch. Your shoulder blades shifted, pushing your chest out further and into his, which earned you a groan of appreciation.

“I wouldn’t call this nothing much. You look like a wet dream come to life.”

He walked you backwards, the scent of champagne hot on his breath and your stomach curled into a mass of twisted anticipation—heavy in the depths of your belly. Your thighs crashed into the edge of the bed and Hiromi used your moment of imbalance to shove you atop, quickly shucking out of his jacket and crawling over you.

“Hiromi,” you squeaked between peals of laughter. The man in question only hummed in response, his hooded eyes heavy with nothing that spoke of fatigue. The whisky colour of his eyes appeared blown almost completely black by the dilation of his pupils, and he licked over his lips in what looked like anticipation of a hearty meal.

That meal was you…

Any protest you might have offered died in your throat when he claimed your mouth like a man possessed. His tongue curled over your teeth, pushing the memory of champagne into the space he dominated and greedily swallowing your answering moan. His forearms bracketed your head, keeping you caged and unable to run from him, not that you had any desire to, not when you could feel the press of his cock thickening against your lower half.

Loosening the knot of his tie with one finger, you took the moment to grab fistfuls of the shirt at his back, tugging the tails out of his trousers and sliding your palms beneath the starched surface to scratch along his spine. Hiromi shuddered, the disconnect of your lips an audible pop that left a web of saliva between you, only breaking with a quick swipe of your pink tongue.

“I don’t even have my make-up or hair done, you beast!” The half-hearted protest fell on deaf ears, or so you thought when his mouth moved to your neck and down to your collarbone, sucking little blooming lovebites on his journey. When he reached the abundant swell of your breasts, he glanced up whilst his tongue pathed across the top of your left breast, dipping into the valley between and then resuming the path over the right.

“You think I need face paint or styled hair to love you more? Fuck, sweetheart… I nearly came in my briefs the minute I opened the door.” The length of his aquiline nose nudged between your breasts, nuzzling the soft mounds like a cat warming by the fire. Carding your fingers through his hair, you wriggled beneath him and let out a breathy sigh, the weight and conviction of his love settling over you in perfect comfort. There would be no more argument from you, and Hiromi won for the second time that day.

With methodical slowness he kissed his way down your body, stopping to lave the sheer panels at either side of your abdomen and forcing you to arch from the warm sensation of his eager tongue. You’d barely managed to get his shirt off his shoulders before he was exploring you like this was his first time with your body. The white button-up hung down his back, sleeves caught by his elbows, and he made no move to strip it off much to your annoyance.

He stopped abruptly when he reached your pelvic mound, chin resting there whilst his fingers trailed the arch of your foot, up the inside of your calf and tickled behind your knee. “Stop that, mister!” You scolded with laughter threatening to bubble out.

“Spread ‘em and I will,” he challenged with a smirk.

The space between your freshly parted thighs became his home, an arm wound around your hip pawing at the fat of your thigh and the line where it met your arse, eliciting shivers that rippled over your skin like a calm lake disturbed by a skimming stone. He fingered the two snaps that kept the bodysuit in place, stroking firmly over your clothed cunt and pushing the barrier deeper until it started to feel sticky from your arousal. Looking all too smug, he freed the snaps with a grunt of satisfaction, sure that his next step would be to rip through the gusset of your raunchy fishnets so he could taste you. That moment never came.

You felt the vibration shudder through your husband, his head falling forward to obscure what you could see of his face, and you rocked your hips back and forth in invitation. The cool air of the room contrasted by the hot fan of his breath on your slit made you clench around a disappointing nothing, frowning at his sudden pause.

For a long moment, there was only silence. When he looked up, his expression nearly stole your breath. Thick black eyebrows pinched together, visible strain around his drooped eyes and a throaty whine made your pussy flutter with need. This was the Hiromi that only came out to play every now and again. The one who would wring you like a wet dish towel for just one more orgasm, one more mouthful of your hot nectar.

“Crotchless, really?” he murmured, dragging a finger across your puffy folds where the thin membrane of the tights should have resided and you nearly jolted upwards to the ceiling, having forgotten that little fact in the heat of the moment.

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you gave a cheeky wink. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about all the pairs of tights you’ve ruined over the years. These were just a… precaution.” Hiromi groaned, thrusting his face into your pussy without warning. The flat of his tongue ran the length of you, making you perfectly slippery in mere seconds, only for the tip of the wet muscle to fuck into your entrance immediately.

“Oh, fuck… Hiro!”

You yanked great tufts of his hair to no avail; he was lost to eating you out like a man starved. The prominent slope of his nose slid back and forth across your bundle of nerves, and it lit up your insides like the continuous explosion of miniature firecrackers.

Whining from his sudden onslaught, you tried to run by easing up the bed, but your attempts were shot down in flames by sharp insistent tugs of your hips. Hiromi was enthusiastic at the best of times when it came to going down on you, but it was nothing compared to right now. The wet squelching sucks of his lips and tongue flooded the bedroom, only being accompanied by your decadent moans and panting breaths as you tried not to lose your sanity entirely.

Hiromi was lost in you; the scent of your favourite body wash, the taste of your arousal when it trickled from your core mixed with the slight salt of your skin, the plush silk of your thighs beneath his prodding fingertips and the unrestrained noises that caressed his ears.

He almost missed your orgasm so clouded was his mind in the quest to turn you into a puddle of liquid goo for only his consumption. The wave of it crested through the length of your body, vibrating every limb and twitching each nerve ending. Your spine arched from the unmade sheets, the hand coiled tight in Hiromi’s hair spasming and tugging without even meaning to and that’s when he noticed. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his lips around your pulsing clit and sucked it deeper into his mouth.

Stars winked into your vision at being thrust from one orgasm directly into another so violently. Your pussy fluttered ceaselessly, a craving deep in your gut to be filled at all costs, yet right now all you could do was hold on for dear life whilst you bucked and rutted against your husband’s face, wetting it thoroughly. He nosed at your quaking thigh, sharp incisors nipping your yielding flesh until you yelped and tried to close your legs without success.

You became aware of movement, the absence of shoulders beneath your thighs and you blinked to find a desperate predator stripping off his clothes whilst prowling back and forth at the foot of the bed. Hiromi grasped his cock, tugging it down to the base to spread the leaked precum that continued to dribble from his cockhead. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he had already cum, but he was always the excitable type who would leak and leak until you did something about it, usually opting to take him down your throat until he convulsed and spilt everything he had to offer.

Your hand trailed lower down your body, fingers playing in the spit-soaked mess he’d left behind in his hurry to stand and strip. Hiromi whined; head cocked to the side as he watched you play idly with your puffy lips flooded with the surge of blood and circling your pert little pearl. He fucked his fist harder, the other hand rolling his heavy balls until his stomach sucked in and your nostrils flared in warning.

“C’mere mister lawyer, I don’t want you wasting your orgasm when it could be filling me nicely.”

How quickly the tables could turn. One minute he was the predator, pawing and demanding, taking what he wanted without question, and the next he was the prey. Trapped on his back with cheeks a ruddy hue and eyes that begged for clemency. Your much small hand encased his dick, twisting your palm on each upward stroke while you straddled him and rocked yourself against the balls he’d just been palming.

His hands shook with restraint as they reached for your breasts, filling his broad palms and massaging them until you dipped low to claim his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue, in his mouth and the sensation empowered you, fucking his throbbing cock through your folds until he twitched and whimpered some more.

“Please… fuck. Need to be inside. Might not last. God, you’re so fucking sexy. Don’t deserve you.” Hiromi babbled every syllable, sounding drunk when there was little to no alcohol left in his system.

His fingertips dipped inside the cups of your bodysuit, tweaking at your nipples and you indulged his silent request by allowing him to fold the cups down and let the spill of your tits fill his face. With renewed vigour and enthusiasm, he mouthed at you and ran his tongue in circles around your nipples one at a time.

You keened at the familiar sensation, swept away by a current of pure indulgence when he moved to suckle you. It was the perfect moment to strike, with Hiromi distracted in flicking his tongue over and over, round and round your swollen bud, you guided him to notch at your entrance and slowly sank onto his needy dick. He grunted; his grip tightening on your waist, but he refused to come up for air, continuing to nudge his nose into your breast, lips pulling the nipple taut until he finally released with a gasp.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you more than I can express.”

Hiromi worshipped you with his gaze, eyes full of devotion and unbridled passion whilst you rode him steadily. The sticky pap pap pap of your pelvis meeting his was the soundtrack to your lovemaking, because beneath the sexy lingerie and the ideas you had planned for the weekend, that’s what this was and always would be. You knew he didn’t need the extra faff to love you with his whole heart. You knew that he was aroused by you simply walking through the kitchen in a pair of his boxers.

You knew he loved you for you.

His dappled cheeks darkened further, the furrow of his brow telling of how he was trying to stave off his release, but you wanted him as undone as you had been, and you would not be denied. Leaning forward, your palms found purchase on his shoulders, breasts bouncing freely in time with your hips, and you squeezed around his shaft until the vein in his temple popped and he let out a guttural groan.

Hiromi grabbed around your middle, flipping you up and over so that he could thrust himself into overstimulation without hindrance. Pressing your thighs to your chest, you heard the telltale rip and knew that another pair of tights had fallen victim to Higuruma Hiromi despite your best efforts to keep them safe. His swollen cock pumped thick spurts of his milky cum against your cervix, filling you to the brim yet continuing to sloppily thrust in and out.

“-cum again… gotta—fuckkk. You’re so tight,” he bit through the words, fighting the steady burn of overstimulation to see you orgasm for the third time and you were close. A glob of spit landed against your clit, thick fingers shaking from exertion rubbing the frothy mess into you with insistent motions. He was a man possessed, falling apart for him was as easy as drawing breath and he caught you on your free fall.

You chanted his name in some semblance of a prayer, thrashing and clawing at anything you could reach until you milked him again and he lost the ability to hold himself up. Hiromi fell atop you, his face pressed into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hot shuddering moans stifled by his mouth on your neck while he weakly tried to bear some of his weight onto an arm.

“Stop squirming, you’re not that heavy, Hiro,” you teased with a light slap against his back.

Once you could both speak without sounding winded, you combed your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, moving the strands that stuck to his forehead away until you could trace his eyebrows, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. “Y’know… you ripped my tights—again.”

Hiromi chuckled, rubbing his cheek against your chest. “I did, and I’d do it again. Maybe give them a miss if we do this again, hm?”

“You liked the surprise then?”

“I already told you that I did, not that I needed it. All I ever need is you.”

It was your turn to chuckle, booping the tip of his nose. “Maybe when I show you the receipt, you’ll change your tune.”

“… sweetheart. How much did it cost? Don’t roll away, missy! Answer my question. Hey. Hey! You have to answer the lawyer when they ask a question.”

#delirious writes #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #jjk higuruma #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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iphyslitterator · 3 months ago

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"Hi!" Buck calls out when he hears the door open from where he's sprawled sideways on Tommy's couch, engrossed in a book on the history of vaccines. He vaguely hears the door closing and the clatter of Tommy's keys in the dish when he throws them across the foyer instead of taking three steps first.

After a moment his boyfriend appears, unceremoniously crawls onto the couch, and faceplants into Buck's chest with a groan.

Buck smiles as he wraps one arm around Tommy's back. He drops his book on the floor and cards his newly free hand through Tommy's hair, resting his chin on Tommy's head. "Long shift?" he murmurs.

"Mmm," Tommy hums. "Just tired."

They lie there quietly for a while. Tommy's worn brown leather couch is actually long enough to hold them comfortably, even in this position, and broad enough that Buck never has to worry about falling off when he fidgets. It's not the biggest reason he loves Tommy's house, but it's one of the little luxuries, like the house plants and the novelty mugs, that make him feel like he fits.

"What are you thinking about?" Tommy asks, muffled.

"How I'm grateful for your stupidly big couch," Buck says. Tommy chuckles and rolls his head to the side.

"Yeah, me too," he says. "Picked it up at an estate sale a few years ago. Belonged to a couple of men. A couple."

"Fit two guys then, fits two guys now?"

"Something like that," Tommy says.

His voice has that strange raw quality it gets sometimes when he talks about his time in the closet. It must have meant something to him to buy a couch where a gay couple spent time together, cuddled, maybe fucked. Buck turns it over in his mind. A few years could mean anything from two to fifteen with Tommy.

"Did you get anything else?" he asks.

"Yeah, actually," Tommy says. "Here, hold on." He levers himself off Buck with a grunt and heads to his bedroom. Buck stretches and sits up.

"I never got around to fixing it," Tommy's saying when he reappears, something small in his hands. "Probably should someday. But it had my name on it," he says with a smile, and the light bulb goes off even before Tommy hands him the watch and Buck turns it over to see the engraving: To Thomas • My love • My partner • My friend

Buck looks up, and Tommy seems taken aback by the shock on his face. "Where did you get this?"

"At an estate-"

"Their names, what were their names?"

"Well, one of them was named Thomas." Buck just keeps looking at him urgently, and Tommy adds more seriously, "Evan, I'm sorry, I don't remember."

"Was it a big house in Hollywood Hills West?" Buck asks. "Nice gate, lots of landscaping, lots of windows?"

"Yeah," Tommy says slowly. "It was."

"I was with them when they died," Buck says, and Tommy's eyes widen. "We were on a call, one of them, Mitchell, was crushed by their car, it was awful. And, and I was talking to the other one, Thomas, before he lay down and just, died, with his husband. They wanted to go together." Buck's eyes are stinging, and Tommy's kneeling with a hand cupped against his cheek. "I told him I hoped I'd find something that good."

Tommy strokes Buck's cheekbone with his thumb, wiping away a tear. Gently, Tommy takes the watch out of his hands and fastens it around Buck's wrist.

"Do you think you will?" he asks quietly, eyes lowered.

The watch is tight, grounding, even with the lump in his throat. "He said you don't find it, you make it."

Tommy looks up and slides his hands to cradle Buck's in both of his. "Do you think you will?" he asks again.

There's a wry smile tucked in the corner of Tommy's mouth but vulnerability in his eyes. His hands are big and warm, his hugs are nearly bruising when Buck wants it, the lines next to his eyes are so deep Buck can run his fingers along them when he's smiling, when he's sleeping. He's Buck's partner. His couch is big enough for both of them.

"Yeah," Buck says. "I do."

#911 #9-1-1 abc #bucktommy #tevan #kinley #you know what fuck you *invisible strings your couch theory*

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babsharrison · 2 months ago

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Safe Haven - John Wick

(Prologue)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

A/N | Hi luvs, I'm going to post the prologue of this fic I'm writing, but I'm in doubt about whether to continue this series or if it's good enough to keep going. Any feedback would help me a lot!

John Wick walked down the quiet streets, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting on the damp pavement. The air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and earth. He wasn’t running, wasn’t being chased. For once, the silence of the night wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, though his guard was never fully down. He needed a moment to breathe, away from the endless chaos.

Passing by a small bookstore, his steps slowed. The window display was simple—old books stacked in rows, with a single potted plant resting in the corner. It wasn’t the kind of place that drew much attention, but for some reason, John felt drawn to it.

He opened the door, the bell jingling lightly above him. Inside, the store smelled of leather, paper, and something sweet—like freshly brewed tea. The place was cozy, a contrast to the hard, cold streets outside. A soft voice drifted from the back of the shop.

“I’ll be right with you!”

John stayed still, scanning the shelves as his fingers brushed against the spines of books, some worn and aged, others new. His eyes caught a glimpse of a small table in the corner, where a tea set sat beside a worn book, pages marked with a ribbon.

“Sorry for the wait!”

A woman appeared from behind a stack of books. She was holding a mug in one hand, her other hand adjusting the frames of her glasses. Her smile was warm, her eyes kind—completely unaware of who stood before her.

John offered a slight nod, still not speaking. She didn’t seem fazed by his silence, instead setting down the mug and stepping closer.

“Not many people come in this late. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

John opened his mouth to respond, but found himself hesitating. He didn’t need anything. At least, not in the way she thought. “No,” he finally said, his voice low. “Just… looking.”

She gave a gentle laugh. “I get it. Sometimes it’s nice to get lost in a book, or in the quiet.” She leaned against the counter, her gaze soft as she studied him. “You seem like someone who appreciates quiet.”

John’s jaw tightened for a second, not out of discomfort, but because her words struck deeper than she realized. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Well, if you need a recommendation, I’m here,” she said with a small shrug, her tone light. “Otherwise, feel free to wander.”

John gave a small nod of thanks and continued walking through the aisles. Something about the bookstore—about her—was soothing. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the weight of his past bearing down on him.

He wasn’t John Wick, the assassin. Not here. Not with her.

Next chapter!

#john wick x reader #john wick #keanu reeves imagine #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #keanu reeves #john wick fanfic #john wick fic #keanu my beloved #keanu reeves x reader #romance #fluffy #angst #books & libraries #john wick imagine #john wick series #series #fanfic writing #fanfic

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pickingupmymercedes · 1 month ago

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Dynasty - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Dynasty - MIIA - @palefacestudentlove

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: pure angst (warning that this does not have a happy ending)

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

It was one of those days when time seemed to stretch between nothing in particular. The house was still, unusually quiet, with Roscoe snoozing in his favorite spot by the door, the occasional twitch of his paws the only indication that he wasn’t completely lost to his dreams.

Lewis sat at the kitchen table, staring into his half-empty cup of tea, the steam curling up and disappearing into the air as the minutes ticked by.

His thoughts were far away, lost in what would be his next days.

The ringing from the front door pulled him from his reverie. Not loud, not urgent—just a casual, familiar sound that broke the stillness.

Lewis sighed, placing the mug on the table and heading for the door. His mind hadn’t been on anything in particular, just drifting between the silence and the weight of things unsaid.

He hadn’t expected company today. And when he opened the door, he was met with a familiar face.

“Hey” he greeted, a small smile pulling at his lips as he stepped back to let his old friend in.

Timmy strolled inside with an easy grin; his presence as familiar as the slow creak of the front door.

They had known each other for years, friends from way back when his life was the mix of race tracks and unknown clubs.

“Thought I’d drop by. Figured we could go through some of those photos from the past season?” Timmy said, shrugging off his jacket as he stepped into the living room, eyes scanning the familiar space.

Lewis nodded, following him inside. “Yeah, sure, it’s good timing”

They settled into the living room, the leather couches like feather under their weight. The easy banter came naturally—talk of races, life, of everything and nothing at all.

But there was something in Timmy's tone, a subtle undercurrent that Lewis couldn't quite place, something just beneath the surface.

After a while, the friend leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly. “Hm, I don’t know how to bring this up, but I saw Y/n a few days ago…”

Lewis watched as he reached into his bag, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a small, unassuming box. Wrapped in a few faded Polaroids, the edges slightly worn, like they’d been handled more times than they should have.

He held it out toward Lewis with a casual shrug.

“Y/n wanted me to give this back to you.”

The world seemed to tilt, just for a second. Lewis’s easy expression faltered, his eyes locking onto the box as though it held something dangerous, fragile.

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t reach out to take it. The box sat there in the sofa, small and insignificant—except it wasn’t.

Timmy, still oblivious to the shift in the room, nudged out a little further. “She said you should have it. Didn’t tell me what it was, though.”

Lewis’s hand finally moved, slowly reaching out to take the box. His fingers brushed the Polaroids first, and the memories hit him like a tidal wave—soft, distant moments, snapshots of a life he’d once shared with her.

His hand tightened around the box, and he pulled it toward him, staring at the faded photographs for a long moment. He recognized them instantly.

They were from a time when everything had felt so easy, so simple.

Y/n’s laugh, captured in a candid moment, the two of them grinning into the camera like nothing else in the world existed. His arm slung over her shoulder, her head tilted back in laughter, both of them wrapped in the kind of love that seemed untouchable, unbreakable.

Except it hadn’t only broken. It had shattered.

“Thanks” Lewis murmured; his voice quieter than it had been before.

He set the box down on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes lingering on it as if it might vanish if he looked away.

He didn’t open it right away. He couldn’t. Letting his gaze drift back to the Polaroids, his fingers tracing the edges of the pictures, as if he could somehow hold onto the memories they represented.

And then he was back there—in the kitchen, standing across from Y/n as the silence between them grew unbearable

Neither of them spoke at first. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside and the ticking of the clock on the wall. The kind of silence that wasn’t just the absence of sound, but the weight of everything left unsaid.

A silence that said more than everything they had screamed at each other.

Y/n shifted slightly, her grip tightening on the kitchen counter, her body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her eyes were hard, unyielding, as they flickered over to him, as though she was waiting for him to speak, to say something that would change everything.

But he didn’t. Lewis’s shoulders were drawn up tight, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His mouth opened for a moment, but whatever words he had died before they could take shape.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge that cut through the air like glass. “That’s it, then?”

Lewis’s eyes met hers for the briefest of moments before they darted away again, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost involuntary. There was no mistaking the tension in his frame, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

He still didn’t answer.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, the words sticking in her throat for a second before they pushed past her lips. “You’re just… giving up?”

Lewis exhaled sharply, his hand dropping to his side. “I’m not—” He cut himself off, his voice strained. His hand reached out, then fell back, like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for her or pull away entirely. “What do you want me to do?”

The question hung in the air between them. Damning.

Y/n’s posture stiffened, her eyes narrowing slightly. The sunlight streaming through the window cast a faint glow around her, but there was nothing warm in the way she held herself now. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands finally letting go of the counter, leaving behind faint moist imprints where her fingers had gripped too hard.

“I thought we—” Her voice broke, just for a second, before she caught herself. “I thought we were for real”

Lewis’s head dipped slightly, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of her words had hit him like a physical blow.

He took a step toward her, then stopped, his hand hovering in the space between them, uncertain. His eyes searched hers, but there was something distant in his gaze, something closed off.

“We were. We are.” he muttered, but the conviction wasn’t there.

Y/n’s eyes flashed, her finger twisting into fists at her sides. “What happened? What’s changed?”

Her voice rose, sharp and biting, the calm control she had been clinging to finally slipping. The crack in her composure was subtle but unmistakable.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, but the space between them felt like an ocean. Lewis didn’t move. His feet stayed rooted to the floor, his arms hanging limply at his sides now, as though he had already lost the will to fight.

“I don’t…” Lewis started, his voice trailing off as he turned his head slightly, staring out the window, avoiding her eyes.

Y/n’s breathing was shallow, her chest rising with barely contained frustration. She stood there, waiting, watching him.

“This isn’t just…” Y/n shook her head, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You can’t just walk away and expect things to work.”

“I’m not…” Lewis interjected, his voice rough, like he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping from his grasp.

“Then what are you doing?” Y/n’s words came out sharp, slicing through the air between them. Her hands rose, gesturing to the space around them, to the life they had built, the history they shared. “Because from here it sure as hell feels like you gave up.”

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as he finally looked back at her, his expression tight, pained. “I’m trying” he said, but the words sounded hollow, empty, like he didn’t even believe them himself.

Y/n stared at him, the disbelief clear in her eyes, and for a moment, her body seemed to go still, like she had been shot and was in shock at the bullet.

She took a step back, her arms crossing over her chest, not in anger but in some futile attempt to shield herself from the weight of the truth.

“If this is what you call trying…” she trailed off, shaking her head again. “There’s nothing left for us, Lewis.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Final.

Lewis took a step toward her, his hand outstretched as if he wanted to reach for her, to hold onto something, anything. But he stopped himself. His hand fell to his side, and he watched her take another step back, the distance between them growing.

Y/n’s eyes flickered toward him, and there was a moment—just a fleeting moment—where something like doubts passed through her expression, a flash of what might have been.

But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. She stood a little straighter, her shoulders squaring as she turned away from him.

Lewis’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

He just stood there, frozen in place as she walked away, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house. He wanted to call after her, to stop her, but he didn’t. His feet stayed rooted to the floor, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.

She paused at the doorway, her hand resting on the frame for just a moment, her back to him. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the floor. But she didn’t look back, didn’t give him one last glance.

And then she was gone.

“She’s doing well, though,” Timmy said, bringing Lewis back, his tone casual but with an edge of awkwardness, like he had watched the scene in Lewis’s memory from his own fixed eyes. “Seems really happy.”

Lewis didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained on the box, on the Polaroids. His fingers brushed the corner of the box as he finally lifted it from the table and turned it over in his hands, slowly opening it.

Inside, nestled in the soft velvet lining, was the engagement ring. The one he had custom-made for her.

The one she had never returned.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stared at it, the weight of it hitting him all at once, again. It was like a punch to the gut, a sudden, sharp reminder of everything he had lost.

Timmy, still unaware of the significance of the box, glanced over at him. “What is it?”

Lewis closed the lid gently, his hand shaking just slightly as he looked at it. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was his everything. Once.

Timmy, sensing the shift but not fully understanding it, nodded slowly, leaning back again. “I hadn’t seen her in a while,” he said, his voice filling the silence. “She seems to be in a good place, though. Heard she’s doing some big things now.”

Lewis nodded absently, his mind clearly elsewhere. His thumb brushing over the top of the velvet as if the motion could somehow soothe the ache in his chest.

He hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see that ring again. To know that she had held onto it all these years and then, let it go.

“She deserves it,” Lewis said quietly, his voice barely audible. “She deserves to be happy.”

There was a pause, a silence that stretched between them, heavy with everything unspoken.

“You guys never really talked after, huh?” Timmy asked, his tone soft now, more careful.

Lewis shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the box. “No. We didn’t.”

And that was the truth. They hadn’t spoken after it ended. She had made it a clean break, and he had respected that.

But a part of him had always wondered, always hoped even… because she had never given the ring back. And that small, irrational part of him had clung to that, to the possibility that she had held onto it for a reason.

But sitting there, with the ring back in his possession, he realized how foolish he had been. It didn’t change anything.

“I thought…” Lewis started, then stopped, his voice catching in his throat. He paused, swallowing thickly before trying again. “I thought when she didn’t give it back, maybe… I don’t know. Maybe it meant something.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head at himself. “But it doesn’t matter now. She’s moved on. And I’m happy for her. I really am.”

Timmy studied him, the weight of his friend’s words sinking in. “You’re really happy for her?”

Lewis nodded, but the smile that tugged at his lips was sad, a little broken. “Yeah. I am.”

But the way he held the box, the way his fingers brushed over the velvet surface, said more than his words ever could.

There was a lingering pain there, a regret that hadn’t quite healed, even after all this time.

“I was stupid,” Lewis said after a long moment, his voice softer now, more introspective. “Back then. I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone.”

Timmy was quiet, letting the words hang in the air between them.

“I thought I had all the time in the world,” Lewis continued, his gaze distant, lost in the past. “I thought I could fix it. Fix us.”

The silence settled again, heavier this time. Sometimes, there were no words.

“You think you’d do things differently now?” Timmy asked after a while, his voice gentle.

Lewis let out a breath that felt like it had been held in for too long. “I’d like to think so.”

He looked down at the box again, his fingers still tracing the edges of it.

“But that’s the thing,” Lewis said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You don’t get to go back.”

The scar that couldn’t be reversed as Lewis stared at the last piece of his broken heart, finally returned to him after all these years.

______________________________________________________________

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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months ago

Text

before the corn grows.

Batboys x depressive!reader

a/n: oh my gosh this was so therapeutic—also, I was unsure whether to include people on the az taglist in this fic since it’s technically a poly fic? Sorry if you didn’t want to be included in this, I wasn’t sure about it :/

As always, thank you for the request, anon <3!

warnings: mentions of self-inflicted violence, fluff, I think this is technically hurt/comfort?

word count: 2,766

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Judgemental prick.”

“I don’t think I said anything.”

“You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cassian scowls, stirring in the fifth spoonful of sugar. “For the Spymaster, you were practically yelling it across the table. It’s the small things in life—I’ll enjoy some damn sugar in my tea if I want to.”

Azriel shifts in his seat, powerful arms folded over a broad chest, thighs spread as he relaxes into the seat. “There was nothing small about the amount you just put in,” he replies, smirking. “Just looking out for your health.”

“You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” the General mutters, brows tightening at the cocky smirk on his brother’s mouth. Matching hazel eyes glint with sinister mirth that Cassian decides to ignore for today, raising the mug to his lips and drinking deeply.

He jerks violently, spraying the bitter liquid across the table, making Az recoil. “It’s salty?” He glares at his brother, who’s now grimacing at the smattering of tea that’s been spat in his direction. “I told you I was looking out for your health,” he mutters, reaching for the kitchen roll.

The General grabs it first, snatching the roll away, dabbing at his mouth and tongue before Azriel is leaning across the table, grappling at Cassian’s arm to try and pry it from his thick fingers. “Let go you prick, I’m the one who has that concoction on my tongue,” the General snaps gruffly. “And I’ve got your saliva all over my leathers. Hand it over.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did I ruin your pretty clothes? Is your vanity hurt?”

“Piss off, bastard,” Azriel snaps. “You should have paid more attention to what you were spooning into your drink.”

The door swings open and the third brother walks in, violet eyes visibly worried, fingers preoccupied with straightening the pristine cuff of his sleeves. Freshly polished shoes pause in their place, surveying the chaos that’s unfolded upon the kitchen table. The two pull apart, sobered by Rhys’s strained look, at once on guard.

“Where are you going?” Cassian asks, noting the fine but not flashy dress of the High Lord—clean but casual. “Have you seen her recently?” Rhys asks, and they both stiffen, shaking their heads. Hazel eyes glance at one another across the table, before returning to anxious violet, in time to catch him running a hand through his hair.

“She’d been focusing on getting orders done in time for solstice presents,” Azriel offers solemnly, “it’s when the most work comes in, so she’ll be resting now.”

“I’m going to check on her,” Rhysand announces, and neither of the Illyrians object. Not a word needs to be spoken to know the High Lord will relay whatever news there is to the two of them the second he learns it.

Then in a whisper of darkness, he vanishes.

————

The door had been locked, but it hadn’t been an issue.

The issue was the stagnant air in her house. The issue was the moulding bread in the kitchen. The issue was the dirty clothes scattered across her bedroom floor.

The issue was, she looked like she hadn’t gotten out of bed for a week straight, hair knotted and oily, skin lacking the warmth of life, eyes numb and unfocused.

He braces himself to deal with her, then lands three quiet knocks to her open bedroom door—letting her know he’s here. Blankets curl tighter, being pulled over her head, wrapping into a tight ball that shudders and sobs almost silently. He can hear the gasping inhales, the wet snivels as she tries to hide away.

He knew something had been amiss.

“Lovely,” he calls softly, the name like heated cotton against clean skin. “How long have you been sleeping for?”

————

You curl tighter, feeling the bed dip, the shape of a large, warm palm settling over your shoulder.

“Go away,” you manage numbly, throat raw, sinuses hurting. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.” Limbs wrap tighter, trying to pull yourself together for him. Simultaneously wanting to scream at him to get out, to hit and lash at him, wanting to melt into his arms. Yet the raging instincts rise, and rise, and repeatedly fall short, losing their momentum and disintegrating into silence. Your clothes are stiff and sticky, glued to your body with sweat and salt, and you hate you hate you hate everything so much that it has to be pushed away. Folded up neatly into a box and just pushed away.

Fingers latch over the duvet, prying it from your grip with startling ease, hands too weak to do much against him, stomach aching with nausea. Light cracks into your vision, and you attempt to hide from him, conceal the gleaming spit and snot across your upper lip and chin, hide the puffiness of your eyes and the knotted mess of your hair—damp from tears that had been shed what feels like hours ago.

“What’s wrong…?” He asks softly, knuckles brushing the rat-tailed hair from your forehead, pushing it away so it’s no longer being coated in saliva and mucus and tears. “Talk to me, please,” he whispers, making to pull you up.

Sobs wrack your chest, slamming into you with violent force, wet breaths gasping from cracked lips as you heave with despair, uncontrollable spasms seizing your lungs as a fresh wave wrecks through you. He can feel you shaking your head, wet palms trying to dry freshly tearful eyes, hot water dripping heavily onto his shirt as you try to stop.

“Please…” you croak out, stumbling over the word, interrupted by stuttering breaths. “Leave me…go…”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” he whispers tenderly, pushing wet hair behind a pointed ear. But you shake your head again, crying harder, and his heart fumbles in his chest, aching sharply.

“I don’t…go away,” you moan shakily, head lowered against his shoulder. “I don’t want you here.” Lips are weighed in viscous saliva, turning them soft and slimy, making it hard to speak. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, arm wrapping over your back, power sliding for the window to flick the latch open—get some fresh air circling the space.

“I don’t…I don’t want you here!” You cry sharply, trying to wriggle out of his hold, struggling to return to your grave-like bed. To dive into the thick and smelly sheets that’ll get tangled with your limbs. “Lovely,” he says quietly, “hold still.”

Your body shudders to a gradual stop, shins and upper arms burning with the movement, left raw and unhealed from the lack of energy. Breathing stutters as you try to back away from hyperventilating, trying to calm your lungs, but the airways continue to spasm.

His broad palm pushes the stray locks of hair away, still saturated with salty tears that clump at the ends, scraggly and messy and smelly and damp and cold and…you try to pull away from him, feeling disgusting for getting him dirty. He’s so clean and tidy, and smelling so nice, like freshly washed sheets and crisp morning air. He shouldn’t be in your room.

You can hear the stuttering pulse of his heart, the only give to his emotions and one you’re only able to discern because he doesn’t think to hide it from you. He strokes your hair soothingly, goading you to calm, to resign yourself into his care so he can look after you.

“I’m tired,” you manage, chest shuddering with stammering breaths.

“Then rest,” he whispers, “but let us be with you.”

“No…” You shake your head, brows scrunching as your lungs begin to flutter and he holds you just that little bit tighter. It’s bad enough that he’s seeing you like this, it can’t be the others too. “Rhys…”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, first,” he murmurs, pulling away and cupping your jaw, violet meeting your gaze, “okay?” Your lower lip wobbles, fresh tears spilling as you grip just that little bit tighter, at last falling into him, if only because you lack the energy to stave off anything else. Far too tired to protest.

————

It had been so much worse than he had been anticipating, and a small part of him recoiled with sorrow when wrapping her shins in bandages, carefully applying a numbing balm to her upper arms to ease with movement.

He hadn’t realised…he hadn’t seen the signs… Even looking back on the weeks leading up to Starfall, he can’t find anything out of order. She’d been as peaceful as usual, as calm and reserved as normal, preparing for the influx of projects, almost anticipating them, desiring things to preoccupy her mind with, perhaps.

He feels wretched and useless, only able to scramble after the remnants of the storm. Desperately trying to find pieces of what he’d known in the wreckage of a war. Her eyes stay vacant, though not as foggy as when he’d first found her.

A bath had been too painful, so he’d used his hands to clean off the grime, only a flannel, soap, and a warm bucket of water at his disposal. He can only hope that once she’s fed, her body will begin its reconstruction, stitching together the thin slices, healing over scars so she doesn’t have to be reminded of it. Though he wonders if that’s an appealing aspect rather than a detestable one.

He’s proud of his own scars, memories stored away within his skin, stories contained within the tissue of battles long past. A map of his history placed into the grain of his body. He wonders if it’s at all comparable—how she starves herself so the cuts might set, so she will be able to look back at what she’s gotten through. A token of some kind for surviving. To know that while it’s all inside her own head, none of its meaning is detracted.

Pain is still pain, no matter where it comes from.

————

You’d tried so desperately to pull yourself together. To keep those haunting beats of emotion kept wrapped up in ribbons and bows, so it would be less inclined to leap out if stored comfortably.

Had tried to sit on the box to keep it from bursting open, so you wouldn’t have to bear that vulnerability. You’d rather stick yourself with knives that try to articulate what can only exist in the blood of your veins and the screaming caves of your mind. The echoes that repeat until painful instructions are being mumbled upon your numb lips, hardly unaware of the order to cut, cut, cut.

Had managed for the most part to section them off, until he’d finished tucking you into a spare bed, and his lips had brushed your cheek.

Then some tears had again dripped out, but he’d thumbed those away tenderly, never becoming fed up on the nonstop trickle.

You could hardly manage to look at him, not ready to face that reality yet. Then he’d told you he would be finding you a meal, and that you should eat as much as you felt capable of, but that you should try. And then he had pressed another light kiss to your cheek, swifter than the last, not giving you time to comprehend it, helping keep the tears to a minimum.

A large part of you is relieved, a great weight raised and wiped from your shoulders now your skin is clean again, now your hair is no longer sticking to your scalp but smelling fresh and healthy. Relieved you can again feel your circulation up and running, having gotten too used to the freezing tips of your fingers and toes, the cold numbness that had overtaken your shins and arms as your body tried to spool in the blood to your torso.

A knock sounds at the door, and you lift your head to spot hazel eyes watching you, concerned, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. He sees the reaction, and sighs, opening the door a little wider so he can walk inside.

“Does Rhys know you’re here, Cassian?” You ask, a sad smile on your lips as you incline your head to look up at him, stood beside your bed. Before he can answer though, you here a derisive snort coming softly from the hallway, and a tender warmth unfurls in your chest, throat aching a little with emotion. “Az, you too?”

A figure wreathed in shadow steps guiltily into the empty doorframe, one hand resting on the wooden beam as if he might leave.

You swallow thickly, shifting comfortably beneath the crisp sheets, liking how they rustle with the movement, scraping against bare and clean skin, even if it hurts a little. “Did… Has Rhys told you…?”

Cassian watches you silently, an anguished look on his features, but Azriel pauses, then nods his head solemnly.

Your lips press together into a thin line, unsure what to say if they already know. There’s no use in lying then, or trying to get out of it. Not without causing more concern. So you allow your shoulders to slump, resting back into the pillows. “I don’t really know how it happened,” you admit quietly, peering into your lap. “I just…I guess it had been building up for a while.” Your eyes shut briefly, hands rising to cover your face, rubbling lightly at your brows before falling away again, “I didn’t even know I was in it until I was out of it.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything,” Cassian says thickly, hand hesitantly settling over your shoulder, thumb stroking in slow, careful motions, ready to pull away if you don’t want the touch. But your lower lip wobbles, head dipping a little, before leaning into the gentle feel, the broad, reassuring warmth of his palm, the callouses rasping against your scrubbed-soft skin.

“We wanted to make sure you were okay,” Az murmurs, closer than he should sound from the doorway, but then you feel the slightly cool breath of his shadows curling against your cheek, and a tear drips down your face. You nod. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice thick, clogged with emotion, “now. I’m fine now.”

“Are you…” Azriel begins, trailing off when you glance at him questioningly, his heart aching when you turn your gaze to him, the small cuts peeking out from atop the duvet. Cassian takes up the lead, thumb still gently sweeping over your shoulder. “We want to hold you. Will you let us?”

Your lower lip wobbles, eyes growing hot and wet at the simple ask, somehow knowing exactly what you’re too afraid and embarrassed to ask for. “Yes…” you manage, voice small and quiet.

Neither of them comment on it, moving with swift certainty, collecting at your sides as their wings reorganise at their backs. It’s a rare sight to see them in anything other than their leathers, but the soft fabric is welcomed as they settle, the pale linen thin enough for you to feel heat through it, to almost be swept away by the comfort their scent brings, like returning home after weeks away, remembering the scent that you become too quickly accustomed to, to fully appreciate and treasure.

You lean into Cassian’s side, head tipped against his shoulder, Azriel pressed close enough to twine your fingers together in your lap atop the sheets, shadows roaming freely between the three of you, a sure sign you’re home again.

A long sigh comes from the doorway, sounding more resigned than disapproving—he knew this was going to happen at one point or another. There would be no separating any of you in a moment of need or vulnerability.

“I thought I told you to at least wait until she’d recovered a little more,” Rhys sighs, a gently scolding tone to his words, eyes displeased but softening when they spot how you’ve practically melted into his brothers’ sides. You switch subjects, eyeing the tray he’s brought, stomach grumbling as the promise of a hot meal dawns in your mind. “That smells good…” you murmur, watching him intently, and a fond smile curves his lips.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rhys replies. “Your favourite, if my memory serves.”

Your brows curve, lip wobbling again—you don’t deserve this. Them.

But Rhys has already leaned over Cassian, pressing a kiss to your forehead, smoothly sliding the tray into your lap.

“Eat,” he instructs softly. “If you’re still so inclined, you can cry afterwards, but eat first, okay?”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

#poly!bat boys #batboys x reader #poly!batboys x reader #batboys x reader fluff #poly!batboys x reader fluff #before the corn grows.

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piratefishmama · 1 year ago

Text

There was just something magical about a good Renaissance Faire. Something in the air that set Eddie’s little crow brain alight with excitement. Especially around December when Christmas loomed around the corner and snow dusted the ground.

Be it the shiny trinkets dangling from wooden hooks amidst the old wooden stalls, be it the haggling voices of stall vendors and customers, all dressed in garbs they’d likely sewn, dyed, modelled themselves, the smells of the food stalls, the glow of twinkling fairy lights reflecting on the snow, the music played on lutes and sang from haybales for gathering crowds, be it the energy of likeminded folks all there to be a little bit weird, joyously, freely, without shame or judgement.

He could be himself there.

Dressed to the nines in layered fabrics purposefully aged and torn to simulate era appropriate wear and tear. His hair held silver trinkets, tied up by lengths of dark fabric in a messy up-do that’d taken Wayne a good few hours to figure out, and would no doubt take them both a hell of a lot of huffing and puffing to remove without cutting it out later. He had a cloak made out of a thick set of curtains he’d thrifted, dyed, and repurposed.

He had his bag, something he’d sewn himself out of extra fabric from those curtains, made with plenty of little pockets and places to put his spoils, he’d saved up for months to get as much out of this faire as possible because things weren’t CHEAP there.

Most things were handmade, most things were lovingly crafted by gifted individuals. He didn’t even want to haggle, he had money specifically for the faire! He was going to spend money on the endlessly talented individuals at the faire!

He got himself a new journal, leather bound with thick blank pages for sketching in. it was embossed with intricate swirling patterns around a pentagram that he’d absolutely get shit for if he ever pulled it out in public but it was beautiful, and it had a cool swing lock clasp.

He got himself a pretty necklace, wire wrapped with a fancy gem that he’d keep safe to use as a prop at some point.

He found some beautiful homemade dice, made in such a way that it looked like liquid moved inside of the dice, little flecks of glitter sloshing around a cloudy liquid inside the green tinted gold leaf inlaid resin with every roll, beautiful, eye catching, immensely satisfying to his little crow brain. Surprisingly enough they were the most expensive purchase he’d made at the faire, tiny little dice, fifty whole dollars. Not the most expensive thing he’d seen there, but definitely the most expensive thing he now owned from the trip.

They came with an incredibly pretty velvet dice bag though, which he hadn’t expected to get as a little freebie but the girl at the stall winked at him when she handed it over and wasn’t that a trip. The fabric was dyed to look like some kind of galaxy, with little silver and gold stars embroidered into it.

It made those dice a steal and he would treasure it and them, always.

He perused the fabric stalls, getting himself a cool hand painted scarf, detailed with a beautiful dragon that he’d find a good frame for later to hang up because it would not be worn, no siree. He grabbed a cool hand carved wooden mug for Wayne that looked like something straight out of a Viking’s mead hall, he’d give it to him for Christmas.

He got himself some food. He watched a joust, got a photo with the riders and their horses, one of which tried nibbling his hair, tipped the riders, and very quickly found himself running low on cash.

All that scrimping, and saving, and dealing… worth it. So very worth it.

So sue him if he looped back around and walked through again, he couldn’t afford much of anything else, he’d spent his last ten spot on a fridge magnet, had five left for gas station snacks on the way home, but that was fine, he could take photos, he’d borrowed Gareth’s camera, Gareth would have come but his parents had one stipulation for him attending the faire, and that was taking his failing grade in biology, and upping it to something that at least predicted a pass before thanksgiving.

He’d failed, and no amount of grovelling could fix it. No Ren Faire for you good sir!

Jeff was out of town with his family on some ‘visit all the out of state family members before Christmas snowstorms lock everything down’ country wide tour. And Dougie couldn’t get the time off his part time job to go.

So Eddie had promised plenty of photos to show them what they missed out on.

It was the very last stall at the end of the strip that caught his attention. Maybe it was the way the dying sunlight hit it, or the way the wind caught the chimes dangling from its flimsy rafters, he felt… called to it. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame and who was he, but a lowly little moth, to ignore the call of the fire?

So he wandered over, let himself be drawn in, offered a friendly little finger wave to the greying woman sat behind a makeshift counter wrapped in shawls and decorated in silver jewellery that jingled as she worked a single crotchet hook into a slowly coming together wine red shawl. The woman offered him a simple bow of her head and a small smile in response but no sales pitch.

No conversation of any kind really, she simply sat there while he looked, crocheting away without a care in the world. He could appreciate that, not being bothered by pushy sales tactic, especially when he had so few funds left to play with, he always felt guilty when he couldn’t afford what they were selling.

Like why was he even there if he had no money to spend?

The old woman didn’t do that, allowing him to wander through her surprisingly large stall full of little trinkets and goodies uninterrupted, which was for the best because had she spoke, he might not have stayed long enough to spot it. Amidst the little boxes decorated with carved patterns and pretty gemstones, amidst the scarves, crocheted bags, amidst the leather work belts, and wallets sat a single, solitary little bottle.

Sealed with a cork coated in wax and pressed with a decorative seal in a shape too worn down to really make out but obvious that it’d at one point had a shape. The bottle was hand blown, not manufactured, lightly frosted a dark brown to a brilliant amber around its square base, the colour crept up the smooth sides towards its seal, like a diamond in shape.

The bottle wasn’t empty either.

Much like the dice that’d caught his crow brain hook line and sinker earlier, this little bottle was filled with some kind of liquid. It swirled like a galaxy inside, and at the centre a brilliant light that looked like it held its own sun, always at the centre of the swirl, never distorting or shifting out of place, eternal in its circular flow.

It was warm in his hands. He didn’t even realise he’d picked it up.

“Two dollars.” Eddie damn near jumped out of his skin, whirling around, the bottle tight in his grip. That old woman had moved. And she’d done so with a quiet stealth some might attribute to a ninja, which was impressive considering how much jewellery she wore.

“Huh?” So eloquent of him.

“Just two dollars, child. The bottle? It is… calling to you, yes?” He couldn’t place her accent, something foreign, European maybe, he had no idea but it definitely didn’t sound any parts American. “I take two dollars for it, will bring you luck.” He looked back to the bottle, eyeing the swirl that still held its pattern even as he’d jostled it, like nothing could knock it out of its gentle swirl, then back to the old woman.

What was two dollars, really?

He had five left, if nothing else the bottle could make a really cool prop, and if it did bring him luck, then hey bonus. Who was he to argue with a mysterious old lady at a Renaissance Faire? “You uh… you got yourself a deal, ma’am.” She smiled brightly at him, eyes alight with both happiness and… something else, something that reflected in the light that he didn’t think hard enough about. She accepted the five dollars he had left, she gave him his change, and a little paper bag filled with tissue to hold his new purchase, which he didn’t really need as he put it right into his own bag after receiving his change, and then she sent him on his way, uncaring as to whether or not he wanted to look at her other wares.

He’d gotten the bottle. Nothing else mattered apparently. Maybe he should have found that suspicious, but why would he?

As soon as he left the little stall, all thought of it seemed to wash away from his mind leaving him freely wandering back to the entrance where his trusty steed, his Van, awaited him to take him home. Blissfully unaware of the little bottle he’d just purchased. Blissfully forgetful of the stall he’d visited, of the old woman he’d just met, of her smile, her eyes, her mysterious accent.

All of which was for the best, really, as if he’d thought about it, if he’d taken a single moment to stop and look back to the little stall at the end of the row, the little stall that held more treasures than it should have been able to for its size, if he’d looked back to wave his goodbyes to the old woman and her treasures, he’d have found nothing.

No stall, no woman, no trinkets or treasures. Just a single row of recycling bins and benches.

But he didn’t look back.

Definitely for the best.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #warning: i've never been to a ren faire lmao #i also have zero self restraint whee

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stxrbxrn · 4 months ago

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claws and kisses …

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader tw: none, just fluffy word count: 1.5k ( give or take ) a/n: i have watched and rewatched deadpool & wolverine like 4 times. i love my boys ( but mostly logan )

you sighed contentedly as you nestled deeper into logan's warm embrace. the two of you were lounging on the worn leather couch in his cabin, a crackling fire casting a cozy glow over the rustic living room. outside, a gentle snow was falling, blanketing the wilderness surrounding the remote hideaway in pristine white.

it had been logan's idea to get away for the weekend, to escape the chaos of the x-mansion and have some uninterrupted time together. you'd jumped at the chance for a romantic getaway with the gruff but lovable mutant who had stolen your heart.

logan's strong arms were wrapped securely around you as you leaned back against his broad chest. one of his hands was lazily tracing patterns on your arm while the other cradled a bottle of beer. you held a steaming mug of hot cocoa, savoring the rich chocolatey aroma.

"this is nice," you murmured, tilting your head back to look up at logan. his rugged features were softened in the firelight, a rare contentment evident in his warm hazel eyes.

"mmm," he agreed, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "should've done this sooner."

you nodded in agreement, thinking back on how long it had taken the two of you to admit your feelings for each other. logan had been reluctant to pursue a relationship at first, worried about the dangers that came with his lifestyle. but you'd worn down his defenses, showing him that you could handle yourself and that the connection between you was worth taking a chance on.

a sudden gust of wind rattled the cabin windows, making you shiver slightly despite the cozy warmth inside. logan's arms tightened around you protectively.

"cold, darlin'?" he asked, a note of concern in his gruff voice.

you shook your head. "no, i'm perfect right here."

logan's chest rumbled with a low chuckle. he set his beer bottle down on the side table and brought his now-free hand up to gently stroke your hair. the tender gesture made your heart swell with affection.

you closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of logan's fingers running through your locks. he was always so careful with you, tempering his incredible strength to show a gentleness that few got to witness.

a stray strand of hair fell across your face, tickling your nose. before you could brush it away, logan's hand was there, calloused fingertips delicately sweeping the errant strands back.

you blinked your eyes open, gazing up at him with a soft smile. "my hero," you teased lightly.

logan rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but you caught the pleased glint in them. "can't have anything obstructing that pretty face of yours," he rumbled.

a warm blush spread across your cheeks at the compliment. even after months together, logan still had the ability to make you feel giddy with just a few gruff words of affection.

you set your cocoa mug down and shifted in logan's arms, turning to face him. reaching up, you traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble beneath your fingertips. logan's eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a contented sigh escaping him.

"i love seeing you like this," you murmured. "so relaxed, guard down."

logan's eyes opened, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. "only with you, darlin'," he said softly.

your heart swelled at his words. you knew how rare it was for the battle-hardened wolverine to let anyone past his gruff exterior. the fact that he trusted you enough to be vulnerable meant everything.

unable to resist any longer, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a tender kiss. logan responded immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. you melted into him, reveling in the feeling of safety and belonging you always felt in his arms.

when you finally parted for air, logan rested his forehead against yours. "what did i do to deserve you?" he murmured, voice husky with emotion.

you smiled, running your fingers through his wild hair. "you're you," you said simply. "that's more than enough."

logan's arms tightened around you, pulling you more firmly against his broad chest. you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing in his masculine scent of leather, pine, and bourbon

for a long while, the two of you simply held each other, basking in the intimacy of the moment. the crackling of the fire and the soft whisper of snow against the windows were the only sounds breaking the peaceful quiet.

eventually, logan shifted slightly, prompting you to lift your head and meet his gaze questioningly.

"your hair's a mess," he said with a fond smirk, reaching up to smooth down your tousled locks.

you laughed softly. "i wonder whose fault that is?"

logan's smirk widened as he continued to run his fingers through your hair, gently working out any tangles. his touch was so tender, such a contrast to the deadly weapons normally concealed beneath his skin.

you hummed in contentment, practically purring under his ministrations. logan chuckled lowly.

"if i'd known playing with your hair would make you this happy, i'd have done it much sooner," he teased.

you opened your eyes, not having realized you'd closed them. "mmm, well now you know for next time," you said with a cheeky grin.

logan's expression softened, his hazel eyes warm with affection. "there's gonna be a lot of next times, darlin'," he said.

your breath caught at the implications of his words. logan wasn't one for flowery declarations or grand gestures, but in his own way, he was promising you a future together.

"i like the sound of that," you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

logan's hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. you leaned into his touch, overcome with love for this complex, incredible man.

a myriad of emotions flickered across logan's face - vulnerability, hope, and a fierce protectiveness that made your heart race. then he was pulling you close, claiming your lips in a kiss that left you breathless.

when you parted, logan rested his forehead against yours once more. "i love you," he whispered roughly. "more than i ever thought possible."

tears of joy pricked at your eyes. logan didn't say those words often, making them all the more precious when he did.

"i love you too," you replied, pouring all of your emotion into those four simple words. "so much."

logan's answering smile was radiant, chasing away the last lingering shadows in his eyes. in that moment, you knew without a doubt that no matter what challenges lay ahead, the two of you would face them together.

as if to seal that unspoken promise, logan leaned in for another kiss. this one was slower, deeper, filled with all the words left unsaid between you. you wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

a sudden gust of wind caused the fire to flare, sending shadows dancing across the walls of the cabin. but wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the taste and feel of one another, you and logan were oblivious to anything beyond your own little world.

when you finally came up for air, you were both breathing heavily. logan's pupils were dilated, a look of hunger in his eyes that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. but there was tenderness there too, a depth of emotion that never failed to take your breath away.

"what do you say we take this somewhere more comfortable?" logan growled, voice low and husky.

you bit your lip, pretending to consider. "i don't know... i'm pretty comfy right here," you teased.

logan's eyes narrowed playfully. "that so?"

before you could react, he was standing, scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. you let out a surprised squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"logan!" you laughed as he carried you towards the bedroom.

he smirked down at you, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "still comfy?"

you nodded, nestling closer to his broad chest. "always, when i'm with you."

logan's expression softened at your words. he paused in the doorway of the bedroom, gazing down at you with such love and tenderness that it made your heart ache.

"i'm the luckiest man alive," he murmured, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "we're both lucky," you whispered against his mouth.

logan smiled - a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. then he was carrying you into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you.

as logan laid you gently on the bed, gazing down at you with a mixture of hunger and adoration, you sent up a silent prayer of thanks. for the moment, this man, this love that you'd found against all odds.

whatever the future held, you knew that as long as you had logan by your side, you could face anything.

#logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fluff #wolverine #marvel fluff #xmen #deadpool and wolverine #fluff

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steveslevis · 1 year ago

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delicate - chapter one

is it too soon to do this yet?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: singular mention of abuse & mentions of a shitty ex, mentions of violence, not much happening yet just lots of lead up <33

wc: 3.5k

a/n: first chapter!! i'm actually so excited for this i love it so much <3 hope you all enjoy!

The smell of coffee hits your nose as you slowly wake, the feeling of sun beaming in through a nearby window makes you squint and roll over, trying to avoid waking up for as long as possible.

Sleeping a little bit longer would be possible if it weren’t for the clanking of a pan and spatula a few feet away from your head. It’s in that moment that you become painfully aware that you’re on a cheap, cold leather couch and not in your normal, warm and cozy bed. You only groan and flop onto your stomach at the sound, hastily grabbing the pillow that was under your head in order to cover your ears and muffle the loud banging while trying not to think too hard about the situation you were in.

“Am I being that loud?” you hear a voice call across the room from beneath your pillow.

“I don’t think so, someone is just cranky and a light sleeper,” another voice says with a laugh, this one coming from closer to you, just before you feel the couch dip near your head.

You uncover your head at that remark, finally looking up from your spot on the couch to see your best friend, Eddie sitting beside you with a smug smirk on his face while his boyfriend, Alexander, was starting breakfast in the kitchen just behind you.

“None of those allegations are true, thank you very much,” you say matter-of-factly, sitting up while wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, “I just would’ve liked a little more sleep than I got, but your uncomfortable ass leather couch decided otherwise.”

Eddie only rolls his eyes and shakes his head, extending a mug full of fresh coffee your way. You give him a knowing look before taking it, eyes falling to the liquid in the cup, making sure it’s to your liking – even though you know Eddie knows exactly how to make your coffee at home, with just enough creamer to drown out the burnt taste from the cheap drip.

You can feel your best friend’s eyes on you as you take the first sip, unspoken tension holding in the air as you avoid his gaze. Eddie notices how you look like you barely got an ounce of sleep, just like the four nights before when you’d slept on his couch. The leather couch is partly to blame for your lack of sleep, but you and him both know that the thoughts of your now ex boyfriend is what’s really keeping you up at night. He knows you went to see him last night, so you definitely got not a minute of sleep. His eyes shift towards Alexander for a moment, who shoots Eddie a knowing glare, encouraging him to talk to you.

“So,” he says while clearing his throat, “what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Eds – you really don’t have to keep up with the pity small talk,” you say with a small laugh and a genuine, but sad smile, “you can ask me, I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Babes, I’m not gonna ask about that piece of shit if you don’t want to talk about it –”

“We’re done, Eddie.” you interject, a sad yet relieved look washing over your face as you finally say it out loud, “We talked and decided that no contact was for the best.”

“You’re telling me that Luke, that insufferable asshole who rarely ever let you get a word in and tried to control you in every sense, had a civil conversation about breaking up and agreed on no contact?” Eddie says with an incredulous glare in your direction.

Shit. You were lying straight through your teeth and got caught immediately. You should’ve just told him the whole truth, how you got yelled at for two hours straight about how you were such a slut, how you would never find someone half as good as him, and how he’s the reason you’re wearing a hoodie to cover up the bruises on your forearms from Luke’s drunken grip. But you knew better, you knew telling Eddie even half of the truth would end with someone in the hospital — and it probably wouldn’t be him.

“Okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went, but that doesn’t matter.” you shrug, shaking your head before taking another chug of coffee, “What does matter is that I am single and in desperate need of somewhere to live, so my search starts today —“

You reach for your laptop that sits on the coffee table in front of you, but Eddie swats your hand away, giving you another glare.

“You’re not gonna find anything for one person that’s reasonable anywhere around here, babes.” Alexander calls out from behind you while battling with a sizzling pan of bacon.

“He’s right,” Eddie replies, his face twisting into a look of genuine concern, “why don’t you just, you know, like I said before, live here? This dump is rent controlled and two bedrooms, I don’t need an entire office for playing guitar and planning DnD campaigns, y’know.”

“No—No way am I gonna continue to mooch off you and live here! You guys have done too much already, I can’t ask that of you too,” you shake your head quickly, a frown spreading quickly across your lips as you furrow your brow.

The room falls quiet as you shake your head, both boys staring back at you while you fight back tears you didn’t know were forming. You blink quickly and sniffle before looking back to Eddie, forcing a smile onto your lips to convince him that you’ll be okay.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, this time in a quieter, calmer voice.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll find somewhere to go, I’ll be fine.” you assure him.

“Will—Will you at least try to look for new jobs before you move?” Eddie begs, knowing you continuing to work as a bartender at the same bar Luke is a bouncer at would only cause trouble. “At least at a bar that’s a little nicer, where you can get good tips?”

“Yes, Eds. I’ll start looking for new jobs today,” you say with a small smile.

—————————————

Your eyes are tired and dry, your hands are sore from the amount of typing and scrolling you’ve been doing. All in the name of a job search, which was proving to be damn near impossible. Every coffee shop with an online application seemed to have a broken portal or no available positions, even the library and gym on campus had nothing for grabs.

There were probably fifty different tabs open on your laptop now, and you were close to giving up for the day. It was almost 5 pm at this point, and nothing was giving any positive signs. You were hungry and in need of time outside or you might end up going stir crazy.

So with a sigh, you begin to close all fifty tabs on your screen to spare your sanity.

Forty-nine tabs later, you’re left with one Indeed tab open in front of you. Before you close it out, a listing at the bottom catches your eye. You blink once to clear your glazed over eyes, leaning in to read its description.

The link reads, “HELP NEEDED: Full-Time Nanny in Manhattan wanted! Rent, meals and transportation included along with weekly salary. Please contact the following number with serious inquires only.”

You couldn’t believe what you were reading, it all seemed way too good to be true. Nobody in their right mind would fall for something like this, you thought. But, you didn’t feel like you were in your right mind, anyways.

You click on the link and it takes you to a simple Indeed page. The page itself was bare, only the description from the previous page along with a phone number next to the lister’s name, Steve Harrington.

“Find anything good?” a voice booms in your ear from behind.

You jump nearly a foot in the air at the voice, turning around quickly to swat Eddie in the shoulder for startling you like that.

“Ow!”

“Asshole,” you mumble, rolling your eyes at him as you try to hide a smile.

“I guess I deserve that.” he says with a laugh.

Eddie throws himself onto the couch next to you as you turn your attention back to the computer in front of you. He cranes his neck enough to read what’s on the screen, furrowing his brow as he reads the job listing.

“Well that seems like a dud. Too suspicious, not enough description.” Eddie murmurs, shaking his head.

You look at him, then back to your computer, then back to your best friend. He’s going to kill you for even thinking about it, you know it. But you can’t help but be curious about the whole situation, especially when it seems like too good of a deal to pass up.

“I—I don’t know, Eddie. I kinda wanna see what it’s all about.” you say with a meek smile.

“What?” he gasps, sitting up with a look of disbelief crossing his face, “hell fucking no, no way you’re actually thinking about this. That seems like a scam waiting to happen.”

“Eddie—“ you interject, grabbing your phone from your pajama pants pocket, “what will it hurt to try? If the texts are too sketchy or things go weird, I’ll block them and that’ll be the end of it, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head, you’re too convincing to him and he knows you’ve won without much of a fight. A sigh of defeat falls from Eddie’s lips as he stands from the couch, making his way into the kitchen for a drink.

“Fine, but I’m driving you to and from whatever interview processes there are if you do follow through with this ridiculous plan, just so I know you’re safe.” he suggests, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

“That’s fine by me,” you say with a triumphant grin, turning your attention to your phone.

You spend a few minutes curating a text to the mysterious Steve Harrington, reading it over multiple times before deciding to hit send. You wanted to sound as professional as possible, since there was no actual application process and one wrong text could ruin your chances. After reading it over approximately ten times, you finally decided to hit send.

Hello Steve! My name is Y/N, I was on Indeed in search of a new job today and came across your job posting. I am extremely interested in the position and would love to hear more about the opportunity. Is there any more information that you could provide me with about the position? Thanks in advance!

Once you sent the message, you stared at the blue bubble on your screen for another minute, rereading it once more.

“Alright, quit obsessing over that sketch ass job and let’s figure out what we’re gonna eat tonight.” Eddie calls from the kitchen, with a Chinese takeout menu in his hand, “wanna go pick up some lo mein, crab rangoon and some cheap wine? Alexander hates that place but he’s got a shift tonight, so it’s just me and you.”

“You know me too well, Munson,” you smile, shutting off your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

—————————————

The early autumn air bites at your cheeks as you walk down the street with Eddie, a bag of chinese food in your hands and a bag full of wine bottles in his. The two of you are laughing about something that Eddie said when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

You try to continue the conversation but stop mid-sentence when you see the text from none other than your potential future employer, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington: Hi Y/N. Thank you for your interest in the position. I would love to see if you’re a good fit and see if we can get things started as soon as possible. Would you be available tomorrow morning at 9 to meet us at Ralph’s Coffee on Fifth? I will have all of the details and contracts printed and ready to sign if you’re right for the position. Let me know ASAP.

“What’s up?” Eddie says as he peers at your phone, making you realize you had gone silent for too long, “oh shit, tomorrow? At Ralph’s on Fifth Avenue? That’s like, rich people territory that we’ve never stepped foot in before. What the fuck kinda job is this, Y/N?”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, looking up at him for some kind of guidance, “what do I say?”

“Say ‘fuck yes’?” Eddie laughs, reaching for the door of the apartment complex once you reach it, “shit, I don’t know. Just say something professional-ish about seeing him tomorrow.”

“Right—Okay, obviously. I’ll do that.” you giggle as you stomp up the apartment stairs.

You’re silent as Eddie unlocks all the doors on the way to their place, eyes glued to your phone as you type out a text that’s professional but not too eager.

Sounds great. I will see you tomorrow at 9 a.m. at Ralph’s. Looking forward to meeting you!

—————————————

Being awake before 8 a.m. on a Saturday felt like a crime to you, but you were hoping it was worth it for whatever job you were about to get yourself into.

You woke up bright and early at 7:30 just to make sure you had time to fully get ready and look decent before making your way across town with Eddie to Ralph’s. There weren’t many options for your outfit for the meeting, since you had to donate half your closet to save space in the shoebox apartment you once shared with Luke, but you opted for a nice pair of black wide-leg jeans, a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black Chelsea boots. You got ready in record time before you made your way into Eddie and Alexander’s room, attempting to wake up the curly haired boy.

Eddie was not happy to be up, but there was no way he was letting you go alone to meet a stranger about some random job, even if it was at one of the fanciest coffee shops in the city.

You led the begrudging and very tired man out of the apartment after he got changed, into the crisp morning air to start your walk towards Fifth Avenue.

“You owe me a nice coffee when we get there,” Eddie adds as he hugs himself, trying to create some warmth.

“You’re the one who wanted to come with, remember?” you remind him, shooting him a knowing glare.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I just wanna make sure you’re safe.” he retorts, shaking his head at you.

Before you can reply, a text buzzes through on your phone.

Steve Harrington: I grabbed a table off to the side in the shop, look for the crayons and coloring books on the table and you’ll find us. See you soon.

Your brow furrows in confusion at the text, surprised to see that he was bringing who you assume is his child along with him to the meeting. You shrug it off, smiling to yourself at the thought of getting to meet the kid today instead of after getting hired.

It takes only another 15 minutes to arrive, getting there a few minutes before 9 a.m. to make a good first impression. To shut the complaining Eddie up, you decide to get your coffee first, then find your future employers.

You order a hot vanilla latte for yourself, and a black coffee for Eddie, who grabs the drink hastily once given it. He bids you goodbye and wishes you good luck before finding his own seat in the coffee shop to occupy himself for the time being. With one last deep breath, you look around at all of the tables, trying to find the one with a coloring child.

Eventually you spot them in a far corner of the room. A little girl and her extremely well-dressed father sit at a table in front of you, both of them engaged in a deep conversation about which color she should choose for the fur of the puppy she was about to scribble on. Your eyes wander from the little brown-haired girl with a baby pink dress and matching shoes and up to her father, who you’re taken aback by immediately.

He looks only a few years older than yourself, and has the nicest head of hair you’ve ever seen on a man. You can’t help but stare at it for a moment, wanting to run your fingers through the chestnut locks. It isn’t until he looks up from the paper and actually makes eye contact with you that you realize how beautiful he actually is. His doe-eyes are like honey, your mind immediately runs to places it shouldn’t when you gaze into them.

“You must be Y/N.” he starts, shooting a smile your way as he stands up from his seat to extend a hand and greet you.

“Y—Yes, I am!” you stammer nervously, cursing yourself for seeming too excited as you throw your hand into his, “you must be Steve, it’s great to finally meet you.”

After you shake his hand, he gestures for you to have a seat, pulling the chair next to him out so you can sit. You quickly sit down and look at the young girl next to you, who has an excited grin and bright eyes when she looks up at you.

“Hello!” you greet her with a smile, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Amelia.” she says with a giggle.

Before you can continue talking to her, she turns her attention back to her coloring page, having decided on coloring the puppy in front of her with a purple crayon instead of the brown that Steve had suggested.

“She obviously has very important business to attend to,” Steve laughs, while reaching for some papers on the table in front of him, “and so do we.”

For the next thirty minutes, the two of you do a lot of back and forth, professional discussion about your life and what your job for the family would entail. You tell him that you’re in online courses at NYU, so you’ll need time for homework and exams, which he understands. You also learn that Steve is a CEO at Penguin Publishing, and that he is in need of a lot of help with taking care of Amelia, who seemed to be the best behaved child you could ask to watch.

The conversation was flowing between the two of you so easily, like you had known each other for years. Every time he cracked a smile at one of your remarks, it made your heart flutter. What the hell? What was wrong with you? You tried to push the fluttery feeling away as he spoke, not wanting it to get in the way of whatever this good thing was that you had going.

In the middle of your intense conversation about your schooling and working around it, Amelia pulls at your sleeve to get your attention. When you turn to her, she looks up at you with the same doe-eyes that her father has and shows you two crayons, one red and one green.

“What color for trees?” she questions, looking at you intently.

“Hm…I think red, it’s much prettier than green and it’s like all the fall leaves outside right now.” you suggest, which makes the little girl light up.

She nods feverishly at your idea, dropping the green crayon and immediately coloring the trees with the scarlet red.

“Well, it seems like we have a pretty good thing going here and that we’re in agreement for expectations and whatnot.” Steve says with a smile after watching the interaction between the two of you, “Although,I think there’s one thing that might make you change your mind about this whole thing that wasn’t specifically mentioned in the job description.” Steve starts, shifting in his chair nervously.

“I’m sure I won’t mind, whatever it is.” you say with a smile, now feeling desperate for this job after building such a quick connection to the two of them.

“Well, I would really, really appreciate if you moved into my penthouse, into the in-laws quarters that are obviously not being used. It would be so—so helpful for you to be there all the time and—that’s why I had rent, food and transportation on the description.” he rambles nervously, as if that had ran off past applicants before.

Who would wanna turn down living in a penthouse, especially if it’s with him of all people?

Fears and doubts flood your mind for a quick moment, but you shake them away, not wanting him to rescind his offer if you think about it for too long.

“A—Alright, when would you need me to start? Like when would I move in?”

“Tomorrow, if possible. I can send a truck and some people over to where you’re currently living to help move whatever you need—“

“Tomorrow?”

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things

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