#like if i have to use a ladder... :c

[reformedmercymain]

I have no desire to put this person on blast but my god it really shows when people didn’t play high elo overwatch pre role lock (not to mention how hard it was to have a completely stagnant meta for pro teams who weren’t the kings of it like titans and shock, which I wouldn’t bring up unless this person wasn’t mainly talking about OWL, which they were)

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵��. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[luulapants]

Existential despair is so common in a person's twenties, I think, because up until that point, we've had a pretty clear road map for what's expected of us and we haven't had much reason to question that map. There are still a few milestones outlined for us (start a career, get married, make babies) but more and more young people are entering the post-school world and realizing:

A) that career thing just isn't happening like they said it would

B) I'm not ready to get married/I don't want to get married/marriage isn't the sort of life-altering event that it used to be

C) I'm not ready to make babies/I don't want a baby/I can't afford to raise children right now (see point A)

And in the absence of these milestones to shoot for (which one could argue weren't the promise of fulfillment they claimed to be in the first place), what we're left with is this aimless abyss of "the rest of our lives" sprawling out ahead of us with no indication of how it will go or what we should be doing to shape it. Young people start their first jobs, find they hate them, and think to themselves, "Is this it? Am I just supposed to do this job until I'm too old to do it or die first?"

Which is, yeah, really fucking depressing!! So here's my best attempt at an alternate roadmap for young people that don't vibe with the old model. Please feel free to add in your own suggestions!

Learn how you work and what you want out of a job. Unless you've been in a job-specific training program that gives you hands-on experience, your first jobs should be experiments. Learn how a full-time job feels for you, what elements are more or less difficult. Different workplaces have different cultures and expectations - what do you need out of a job environment? Do you need to find fulfillment in your job or is it enough for it to pay the bills and leave you time to find outside fulfillment? Do you want to climb a corporate ladder or are you content to hunker down as long as your bills get paid? This period of experimentation is exhausting and may feel like it's consuming your whole life.

Learn how to make time for things outside of work. Adapting to a full-time work environment often leaves you feeling so drained that you can't do anything but go home and collapse on the couch every day. That's fine - for a little while. But it can also become a habit. You need to learn how to do things after work or you'll go crazy. Go to a trivia night. Start an exercise schedule. Take a class in your community. Find volunteer work. Join a band. You will find that putting more things into your day makes you feel like you have more time, not less.

Find a community. Making friends as an adult can feel impossible. Where do you find these mysterious friends everyone seems to have?? This goes along with #2, though. As you start regularly attending the same activities, you will find that repeat interactions with the same people turn into friendships or at least friendly acquaintances. Say yes to invitations. Get involved in your local community. Strive to be connected enough to bump into people at the grocery store.

Unlearn bad lessons. We all internalize some messed up things when we're growing up. As you start off your adult life, that's the time to actively work at unpacking the things you've brought with you from childhood and deciding which things are helping you and which things are harming you. This might mean therapy or joining a spiritual group or reading new things or just making special time to be in your own head.

Learn the lessons you missed. In this, I mostly mean practical things. "Adulting." Areas of your day-to-day practical life that are causing you extreme stress are probably related to a knowledge or experience gap. Do you hate cooking and cleaning or were you not taught how to do it properly? Are you afraid of making medical appointments or is it just something new you're not used to? Does money make you queasy or do you need to learn how to make a budget?

Find something fulfilling. This can be your job. It can be volunteer work. It can be faith. It can be a hobby. It can be creating things. It can be challenging yourself physically. It can be activism. It can be going for walks in nature. Everyone finds fulfillment in different places. If you're not finding it where you are, look somewhere else.

[landoslvr]

MRS CHRIS | c. dixon

summary: a scroll through your internet presence as 'mrs chris'. [social media AU.]

pairing: fem!reader x chris dixon (chrismd)

faceclaim: eva meloche

notes: first piece for mrs chris out of the wag universe. eva is gonna be the main fc I use for mrs chris, hopefully you like it!

liked by taliamar, faithlouisak and 4,398 others

yourinstagram charity match this week, plus some other fun tidbits

view all 129 comments

user that outfit 🤩

user I knew she was a rhode girly 💅

taliamar soooo pretty 🤍🤍🤍

stephan_tries the only person who is safe from my slander in the commentary box

yourinstagram it's because without me you would've been cancelled a loooooong time ago

stephan_tries best pr manager in the biz

user my idol tbh

user you radiate good energy

chrismd10 another day, another slay 😚

yourinstagram please never speak again

liked by yourinstagram, wroetoshaw and 180,837 others

chrismd10 there's norway this is my job

view all 398 comments

faithlouisak my daughter's gonna see that picture one day

user get y/n on it now!!!

user creating more work for y/n by posting ethan's ass pics

user couple goals 😩💅

user when he makes her job harder 🤩🤩🤩

user chris hitting the glow-up hard 🤤

user y/n knew what his potential was 🤍

user they started dating and he just got hotter??

user that harry shot was lethal 🫣

user sick video 👍🏽

yourinstagram why must you do this to me? do you hate me?

behzinga I'm sorry

yourinstagram I'm letting you go

chrismd10 sorry mate

yourinstagram you're next md

liked by miniminter, chrismd10 and 4,982 others

yourinstagram norway for the week <3 at shoots and scrubbing ass pics from the internet 🫶🏼

view all 187 comments

user she's just so pretty 🫠

chrismd10 good luck with that 🫣

yourinstagram you can explain to olive why her dad's bum is all over the internet one day christopher

faithlouisak aunty y/n would NEVER do that to her beloved neice

yourinstagram my literal baby girl 😭

user y/n drinking wine to ignore her boyfriend and other clients being stupid

user literally every person in the new video, apart from danny, is a part of y/n's client base

user how does she do this shit

user girl has managed to stop HARRY LEWIS from getting cancelled, I'm convinced she can do anything

liked by georgeclarkeey, freyanightingale and 5,019 others

yourinstagram mixing work with pleasure apparently..

view all 213 comments

user EAT HIM UP Y/N

user in the words arthur television: she gagged him

calfreezy send kart 21 down the river

user chris on a ladder is so funny to me 😭

maxbalegde sexy pr lady, come over right NOW, you look too good to not be at my place of residence

yourinstagram be right there xx

user casual london fashion week pic on the 2nd slide x

yourinstagram humble bragging 😩

user I want her life 😭😭

user ikr literally hanging out with all your friends because you manage their image? sign me up

yourinstagram rlly easy guys, just date a famous youtuber and have a media and communications degree xxxx just so easy!!

chrismd10 never forget where you came from.. me

yourinstagram okay mr arsenal bedsheets x

liked by chrismd10, willne and 5,193 others

yourinstagram I got my Greece trip- I mean video... and got to pick which extras to bring along......

view all 287 comments

user quick everyone act shocked that chris is there

user oh my gosh.. no way, chris? I am so surprised

yourinstagram I appreciate the effort guys 🥲

user she just is that bitch 😭

user you know she's got every single one of those men wrapped around her finger

arthurtv i wasn't one of the chosen ones 💔

yourinstagram because im tired of you and chris sharing a bed and me sleeping on the hotel couch

chrismd10 foiled again arthur

calfreezy send me this pic you traitor

user pr manager/photographer

yourinstagram I need a pay rise

chrismd10 thanks for stowing me away in your suitcase xx

user she's mothering I love it

user so hot

user major fitty ❤️‍🔥🤩

taliamar so true

liked by yourinstagram, freyanightingale and 178,399 others

chrismd10 constantly reminding me who she is in that first photo. happiest of birthdays to my pr manager and nothing else!

view all 412 comments

user happy birthday y/n the pr manager!!

user a y/n photo dump is my favourite kind!!

user spoil us chris!!

wroetoshaw happy birthday y/n!

faithlouisak my wife's birthday 🤩

ksi happy birthday to the goat

user chris and y/n be sappy challenge

callux the queen! happy birthday!!

vikkstagram happy birthday mrs chris!! thanks for everything

yourinstagram thank your lucky stars you posted all nice pictures or I would've deleted your youtube channel xxxx

user Y/N PLEASE 😭

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[heatherholes]

i get that the lack of individuality is the appeal of bimbofication for many. but what i like to see, personally, is all the wonderful different types of girls learning their place. their unique personalities kept but warped. the most obvi example is the nerdy weeb girl who loves hentai and ahegao and slutty cosplay, the desk pet gamer girls. unlike some less interesting misogynists, i don’t think they’re faking their interests for male attention. they just don’t know how to express themselves any other way and that’s super hot!

i wanna see it everywhere. the horror fanatic watching shlocky b-movie rape scenes like they’re porn. the girl who loves cars getting bent over the hood. the ren faire attendant dressed as a tavern wench. the tabletop gamers and larpers doing mediaeval fantasy, getting treated medievally. the skater chick who laughs loudest when a girl face-plants, the metalhead demanding you name five albums. the goth who draws a pentagram on the floor and kneels naked, thinks of her punishment for eve eating the apple and whispers ‘hail satan.’

barstool type girls are a favourite of mine. you know, they watch football, eat wings, are all too happy to go to strip clubs and participate in the locker room talk. who proudly proclaim that they’re not like other girls, they’re one of the guys because they put on a sports jersey, while still looking every bit the bleach blonde fucktoy. still pretending she doesn’t know how to shoot pool so he can show her.

and the gym bunnies with an intense discipline and determination; are strong physically and mentally. what motivates their commitment to self improvement? looking good for men, of course! she’ll work herself to the bone keeping toned for you and won’t whine for help hauling the groceries. let her tell herself it’s because you respect her strength if it makes your life easier.

similar are the boss babes, hyper productive and entrepreneurial. proud to have her own money, apartment, car, small business. she’s a big believer in splitting the bill on dates. why? she heard men don’t like gold diggers. she doesn’t want him to think she’s putting out cause she gets something out it. she’s not doing it for anything but him. whether or not she expands her “online brand” as a pornfluencer into onlyfans will depend entirely on him. he okays it, but only for a split of the money? wow, now she’s the provider. how empowering!

that’s to say nothing of the actual girl bosses. the salaried power player at a fortune 500 company. what does she do there? discourage employees under her from going to HR, cut funding for the women in business initiative and giggle at sexist jokes to show she’s a team player, mostly. she has the economic freedom to do anything, a career she fought tooth and nail for, a spot in the c-suite someday. she’s a winner, not a trophy. she’ll give it all away once a man further up the ladder knocks her up.

well, what about the marxist punk yelling no gods, no masters? no way she’s gonna submit to a man. no, but she’s gonna suck dick for the communal spirit and promote collective ownership of her holes.

the shy girl into art and literature? her love of culture gives her unique insight into the history of male supremacy. everywhere she sees herself through the eyes of men. not just any men, creative geniuses. in the museum she looks at the ancient vases that use the same iconography to depict marriage as rape. from the nude statue of a goddess to the painting of a peasant girl — both are objects, never the subject. in the library she reads the taming of the shrew and thinks, who am i to argue with shakespeare? quietly, she lets her dreams of being an artist die and resigns herself to the life of the muse.

tldr: cater to the male gaze and serve patriarchy but most importantly be yourself

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what to think about the price of this 1980 "storybook cottage," according to the real estate description, b/c it has 1bd, 1ba (which is separate from the house, and called a "wash shed w/some bathroom facilities.") Located in Coupeville, WA, the asking price is $315k + $39mo. HOA.

Enter the living room area. Lots of windows, so it's light and bright. The wood stove is the only heat source, but there is electricity and water to the house. (The description says that the heat source is a wood stove and fireplaces, but I don't see any fireplaces.)

Next to the living room area there's a ladder to the bedroom on the 2nd fl., and a little kitchen.

This is cute. I suppose that you can use a cooktop, and there's a microwave on top of the little fridge, which are included in the sale.

There's a sink, but I'm not sure about a water heater.

The stairs have a cute branch decor. If there's electricity, I would put in electric heat. There's a 30 amp hookup for an RV, also.

Upstairs there's a loft bed and a tiny home office.

I don't see a heat source up here, though.

This is actually cute.

Outdoors, there's a large open storage structure.

And, this is the wash shed.

What is the little square thing connected to the electricity? Is it a heater?

Well, there's a sink & a composting toilet, but I don't see a shower.

Is that a tub? There are other outbuildings, also.

The property is 4.71 "established acres." I don't know what that means.

There's a local trail system and the description says that the new owner can make their own. There's also access to a community beach.

Look at how cute. If there's hunting allowed, it would be a deal breaker for me.

This is weird- are those the neighbors' names? Looks like this is one of the largest properties. I think that the little house can be expanded and improved upon.

[jolalibrary]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part four

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 5.6k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T F O U R 🎶 the elevator, lizzy mcalpine

“Alright. We’re gonna take care of things at the Creel house and your job is take care of things here,” Steve leveled with Eddie, thinking he was out of earshot for everyone else, but you heard it. Knew what he really meant.

Take care of things.

Fight monsters.

Try not to die.

You’d dropped Lucas, Max and Erica off, drove halfway across town to Eddie’s, dumped all your weapons through the gaping hole in the ceiling and threw yourselves in after them. Had outfitted the exterior of the trailer with metal fencing and cages, ladders and locks, hoping – no – praying it would hold and begged the universe to let everyone come out the other side of this.

“Robs, you and Nance are with me.”

Steve pulled taut the belt around his waist and clicked his flashlight on, looking for once like he actually knew what he was doing, and for a split second you thought maybe this just might work. Thought if Steve was that confident, if Nancy was willing to go with him, then maybe it would be alright.

But then it came time for you all to split in half again and you walked with Steve and Nancy and Robin to the front door and out into the ash choked air. Half-hid behind Eddie as they double checked their gear and started to walk away, but Steve stopped at the last second and turned back around.

“Listen. If things here start to go south, I mean at all, you abort. Okay?” he said brows tugged together with conviction, the weight of his words causing you to start trembling. “You draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two, and we’ll take care of Vecna.”

And as you looked at the axe slung over Steve’s shoulder, the shotgun held tight in Nancy’s grasp, heard your molotov cocktails clinking together in Robin’s backpack you realized you didn’t want them to leave because what if they didn’t come back?

“And don’t try to be cute or–or be a hero or something. You’re just–”

“Decoys. Don’t worry. You can be the hero, Steve,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, unable even now to let go of the consistent needling that happened between him and Steve, but you could read between the lines.

I care about you.

Don’t get hurt.

Please be safe.

“Absolutely. Agreed. I mean look at us…we are not heroes,” Eddie admitted shaking his head, his nail covered garbage can lid swung over his shoulder and hair tied back out of his face. Trying so hard to just do his part in all this and after Steve nodded his acknowledgement, he looked at you.

Held your gaze for a minute. Parted his lips with words held heavy on his tongue, but unsure if he should say them. Knowing if he set them free, they would make the stakes unbearable and instead gave you a small nod.

A slight smile.

An attempt at quiet reassurance and as he turned to leave you felt a tangled knot of worry start to swirl at the pit of your stomach and the further he walked away the more knotted it became. Snatched up with it regret, possibility, second and third chances and trying to start over until the sound of someone’s voice shouting into the dark broke your concentration.

Your voice.

“Steve! Wait!”

He had never turned around so quickly, the sound of your voice stopping him dead in his tracks and he waited. For you. Waited as your boots crunched in the dead sticks and leaves on the ground, cracking and snapping with each step until you reached him, breathless and unsure of what you wanted to say but insistent on saying something.

“Everything okay?” he asked, trying to be casual. Unattached. Felt Robin and Nancy’s eyes on you both, but shot them a look and they gave you some space.

“Yeah–I mean, no? I just–we’re about to get swarmed by bats from hell and I...well, I guess what I wanted to say is–” you tripped over your words, felt clumsy and stupid, but desperate. Wanted him to know you wanted to work on things. Wanted to give him another chance, but it just wouldn’t come out and his expression softened as he realized what you were getting at.

“Slow down,” he murmured and you drew in a breath.

In.

Out.

Try again.

“I just want you to know that...I wanna try,” you said, still a bit clumsy, one word falling out after the other. “I wanna work on–on forgiveness or…shit. I don’t know,” you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help you gather up your thoughts and Steve waited. Patient. “Just come back, okay?” you finally asked, opening your eyes to see his mouth tugged up at the corner in a lopsided smile.

“You want me to come back, Princess?” he asked wryly and you scowled.

“I’m gonna let that one go cos ‘end of the world’ and whatever,” you snarked and it made him laugh. A low rumble in his chest that filled you up to the brim and spilled over at the edges.

“Gee thanks.”

“Yeah, you owe me now,” you teased.

“Alright, deal. Promise I’ll get you back when this is all over.”

When this is all over.

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” you said, your voice wobbling a little despite your efforts to keep it even and the sound put an ache in Steve’s chest. Pulled his hand to your cheek. His fingers gently tucking your unruly curls behind your ear.

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” he said quietly, only to you, and then took a couple steps back. Put space between you quickly to try and make it easier, but it stung. The sudden realization that your want for reconciliation was mutual and having to watch it walk away with the possibility of not returning.

The possibility of death.

“Good luck,” you whispered, your throat closing around the sob that had lodged itself in your chest, and watched as Steve disappeared into the dark.

❝ JUST ANOTHER TIME THAT I GO DOWN, BUT YOU ARE KEEPING UP, HOLDING TO A HOPE YOU’LL UNDERMINE ❞

“Eddie, Eddie! It’s working!” Dustin yelled after Eddie helped you back into the trailer.

“Shit–” Eddie handed you his nail covered garbage can lid and grabbed hold of your shoulder. “Listen to me. You leave this trailer no matter what, you hear me? Doesn’t matter if I’m yelling at you for help or–or covered in these fucking bats, you leave.“

“Wha–”

“No. It’s not a discussion.”

“Eddie, I’m not leaving–”

“Yes. You are, sweetheart.”

The ache in your chest swelled unbearably, painfully, tight and squeezing around the possibility that your best friend might not come back through that gate with you and the tears came. Hot against your cheeks as they cut paths down to your jawline.

Swiping his thumb gently across the line of your lashes Eddie gave you a sad smile.

“It’s not the plan, honey, but just in case. Now take this and get inside.”

All you could do was shake your head as Eddie popped back out of the trailer, shouting at Dustin to hurry the hell up, and as you walked back to the angry, gaping hole in the ceiling you could hear scratching on the roof.

“Eddie!” you yelled through your tears.

“I know, I know!” he called back.

“Eddie, they’re on the–”

“The roof! I know! Dammit, Henderson, get the hell in here!” yanking the younger boy into the trailer, Eddie slammed the front door shut and barricaded you in. “Fuck!” he shouted into the door, “I hope this works.”

“It’ll work, it has to work,” Dustin muttered, eyes glued to the air vent above you.

“It has to,” you echoed, quieter and under your breath as an image of Steve wielding his axe in front of Vecna flashed in your mind.

The squeals and shrieks in the air vent were getting louder and louder, scratching closer and closer and the ache in your chest twisted into something uglier, dread, fear.

“Eddie…” Dustin looked over his shoulder, “Eddie can they get through that?”

“Uh–I don’t think so–”

SCREEEEEEECH!

The vent burst open as a demobat clawed it’s way through the plastic cover, it’s long, sharp talons cutting deep gashes in the ceiling.

“FUCK! FUCK!”

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”

Eddie and Dustin were on it before it could get all the way in, jamming their spears into the hole, Die, die, die!! until Eddie slammed one of the garbage can lids over the top of it and sealed it shut, heaving holy shit, holy shit from his lungs.

“Nice,” Dustin gasped from the floor.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t realize you were watching everything through your fingers, face buried in your hands, until Eddie glanced up and saw you.

“Oh, god. You okay? You’re okay. It’s okay,” he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay, they can’t get in now. It’s okay.”

“Eddie…” Dustin was still on the floor, eyes looking down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom. “Are there any more vents?”

Eddie tensed against you and froze for a second and then let you go in an instant, “Oh shit.”

“What? Eddie, what??” you shouted as he turned and ran down the hallway, Dustin on his heels, both of them just yelling shit so much now that it didn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“There’s a vent in my roo–”

As Eddie yanked open the door to his room the hissing slap of wings against wood paneling almost drowned out the shrieks that followed.

“That’s not gonna hold!” Dustin screamed.

Eddie shoved you back down the hallway, “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But the others–”

“We don’t have time!” Eddie shoved at you and Dustin, the younger boy already halfway up the knotted bedsheet hanging out of the ceiling as Eddie snatched up the spare garbage can lid.

“C’mon!” Dustin yelled from the other side.

Grabbing Eddie by the jacket you shook him, “They need more time!”

He met your gaze and sobered, chest heaving as he gasped for air and realized what you were implying.

“They need more time,” you said again, quieter, throat tight around your words as Eddie looked up at Dustin through the gate.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered harshly, squeezing his eyes shut against he knew you needed to do. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” he said looking back up at Dustin.

“What? What d’you mean sorry?? Eddie what d’you mean sorry?? What are you doing? What are you–”

Grabbing a spear, Eddie sliced the bedsheet in half and you watched as the other end fell to the floor in a pile at your feet.

That was going to make getting back just a tad more difficult.

“EDDIE! EDDIE, NO! STOP!” Dustin was screaming now, strained and painful and you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“C’mon,” Eddie grabbed your arm and pulled you with him back to the door.

Steve’s bat was heavy in your hands, your fingers readjusting their grip in anticipation of putting your training session back at the meadow to good use.

…wide stance right?…choke up on your hold…it’ll make your swings hit harder…follow through with your hip.

Sucking in a breath you could hear Dustin still screaming at you from the other side.

“Come back!! Don’t do this! Please, don’t do this!”

And your body went numb as Eddie put a hand on the doorknob, “This is for Stevie. For Nance. For Robin and Max and everyone. And we come back alive, okay?” Eddie said to you, brown eyes soft like brown sugar, crinkled at the edges as he tried to smile and you tried to give him one back.

“Okay. Together,” you said.

“Together,” he echoed and then yanked the door open to a swarm of bats from hell all screeching and clamoring to get their hooks into you.

The bat in your hands hit hard against the body of the demobat flying above you with a sickening crunch. Caught it mid-air as you swung it down into the ground and twisted it, shouldered down and killed it with another pop! but you were far from finished.

Pushing loose hair out of your eyes you glanced up to see Eddie wrestling with his own hoard of nasties that the Upside Down had coughed up.

THWACK!

You swung again in a half circle, taking two demobats down with one swing and a grin flickered at the corners of your lips. Steve would be proud.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart!” Eddie shouted over the slap of desiccated wings and sharp, gnashing teeth.

A little longer, you told yourself, swinging the bat again and again, Eddie keeping up with his spear and shield.

Pulling back, you swung heavy at a particularly nasty looking demobat, a sneer on your lips doing as Steve instructed and following with your hips, but it didn’t connect and you stumbled forward, scraping your hands on the ground.

Fuck, was your immediate first thought, your bat clattering a few feet away with the impact, and again, fuck, when claws sliced through the heavy canvas of your tactical vest and into your back.

The cuts burned, hot and angry, the fabric against your back growing damp with blood, but you couldn’t stop. You had to get Steve’s bat. It was just out of reach as you scrambled against the dirt, fingers fumbling on the handle until something slipped through your hair at the back of your neck. Gritty like sandpaper, slithering as it crept around your throat and wrapping around and around and your eyes grew wide when it squeezed.

“Eddie!” you croaked, hands scrambling against the demobat tail tightening at your neck, cutting off your air supply.

“Wha–shit! Hang on, sweetheart! Hang on!”

The look on Eddie’s face scared you, like maybe you were going to die and god you didn’t want to die, and then the demobat yanked at you and everything went sideways as you hit the dirt, back first. The cuts there screamed and your head thunked hard enough against the ground you saw stars. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the demobat tightened its hold so that now and truly you could not breathe.

Your fingers scrambled against the flesh of the monster, struggling to loosen its grip, but it felt impossible. It was too tight.

Little pinpricks of light appeared against your vision as you watched red cracks of lighting split the sky in two. You couldn’t remember what it was like to take a breath. How long had it been? Thirty seconds? A minute? Longer? Where was Eddie?

A fuzzy feeling crept around you, warm and wrapping around your body as a shadowy haze blurred in at the edges of your vision. Closing in further and further and melting your pain along with it. You couldn’t feel the scrapes across your back, the cuts on your knees, the burning in your throat.

Were you going to die?

But what about Steve? You promised. He promised.

I’ll get you back when this is all over.

You needed to tell him how much you wanted to try. Wanted to hear him out. Wanted to see the real Steve, the one Eddie trusted so much, the one you were starting to feel like might actually prove you wrong, but you weren’t breathing. Hadn’t been breathing and you were dying and–

“God dammit–die, asshole!”

Suddenly the tail loosened at your neck and your body heaved you from the ground, writhing at the ability to breathe again. Gasping and gulping and pulling in ash-thick air, your hands pressed to your throat to make double damn sure it was really gone.

“Christ–” A hand, wide and warm was at the small of your back and the voice in your ear made you feel like you couldn’t breathe again.

Steve.

“Told you I’d come back, princess. You alright?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it wouldn’t go away and your fingers smoothed over the angry, swollen skin.

“Look, twins,” Steve tried to joke, tugging his shirt down so you could see the same marks on his neck and it pulled a hoarse laugh from your lips, but it hurt. “*Shit–*I’m sorry, don’t talk. C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

You wanted to stop for a second and look at him, the moles dotted on his cheek and neck, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the cut on his cheek and wipe the dirt from his forehead and just–

“We gotta go!” Robin yelled from the trailer and Steve scooped his hands under your arms and pulled you to your feet.

Nancy was with Robin back over at the trailer door yelling something about not jumping through gates like that anymore – Dustin? But didn’t he…and then your stomach lurched.

“Eddie?” you croaked, fingers digging into Steve’s waist, “Where’s Eddie?”

“Shh, don’t talk. He’s okay, he’s already in the trailer.”

“Where–”

Steve stopped for a split second and looked down at you, brows pinched together, his eyes dark, worried, “I’ll explain everything, but we need to leave.”

You nodded and he picked up the pace again dragging you both into the trailer and, as Robin says, by some miracle you all piled through and came out the other side.

❝ I FEEL IT COMING ON, YOU CAN BE WELL AWARE, IF I EVER TRY TO PUSH AWAY YOU CAN JUST KEEP ME ❞

When you all stumbled out of Eddie’s trailer into Hawkins it felt like nothing had changed – it still looked like the Upside Down.

Ash fell from the sky, dark clouds hung heavy overhead and smoke rolled up from downtown as you struggled to process what had happened. They’d killed Vecna, or at least blasted his ass out the window and onto the ground below, but when they went to check he was gone and that was when the clock chimed. Four chimes, four deaths.

Everyone was worried about Max, but everyone was also in various states of injury, so you all decided to split up. Nancy and Robin took Lucas, Max and Dustin to the hospital and after you’d suffocated Eddie with hugs he said he wanted to hang back and look for Wayne. Part of you wanted him to stay, but Wayne was the only family he had so you understood. With Vecna ‘gone’ there were no real pressing threats – for now.

So, all that was left was you and Steve.

“Let me give you a ride?” he asked, dirt flecked across his cheeks and forehead, bottom lip split.

“I can’t go home like this,” your voice had made a return, but it was hoarse, sounded rough like gravel and every time you spoke Steve winced.

“Oh, right. Okay, yeah–uh–we can go to my place. My parents are out of town on business, so no one’s there. Get cleaned up and then I can take you home.”

Piling into Steve’s BMW you could feel the adrenaline starting to melt away. The pain that your body had held at bay starting to push against your skin, your very bones, a deep ache that threatened to break you and you fought it as hard as you could.

“Thank you,” you half-whispered into the quiet of the car and Steve’s fingers twitched on the gear shift.

“For…?”

You looked across the center console at him, “For saving me.”

That pulled his attention and he met your gaze and for a split second everything felt suspended, held in mid-air, floating in the space between you and Steve’s lips parted. Trying to find the words.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, still looking at you, then he flicked his eyes back to the road. “I know you said I owe you, but…I really do. I–I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we left the trailer. How fucked up everything was and how I didn’t get to say everything I wanted.”

You watched his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way it ticked when he clenched his teeth and fought back the lump in his throat.

“I owe you a lot more. A lot more.”

“Steve–”

“No, I mean it,” throwing the BMW into park he turned to look at you again. "You've made me feel...so many things I didn't think were possible anymore and–god–I thought about losing you and I just..."

"I did too," you admitted to the dark and it pulled his gaze.

"You did?"

"Yeah, Steve. I think I–ouch," a sharp pain punched in you leg and you doubled over from the force of it.

“Wait. Are you hurt?”

You sucked in a breath and tried to sit back up, tried to play it off. "Yeah, I mean, aren’t we all?”

“No...your back," Steve ghosted a hand over the back of your vest and pulled his hand away damp with blood.

“I–the demobat–” stuttering over your words Steve didn’t let you finish and stumbled out of the car and around to your side to get you into the the house.

The Harrington’s place was out of a stupid catalogue. All the art, the vases, the plants and furniture – it all looked staged, not lived in. If you hadn’t felt like you wanted to throw up you would’ve lingered a bit longer in the entry, but Steve was pulling you up the stairs and you were too weak to fight it.

“Shower’s in here,” he said, opening the door to his parent’s room.

Exquisite sky lights cut large rectangles into the ceiling and washed the room in the dim, cool light of the moon above. A clearing in the smoke. Somehow his house hadn’t been swallowed up by the gashes in the earth. A large sleigh bed sat against the wall, a large painting of a garden hanging above it and two matching nightstands with lamps perched on either side. Nice, but cold. Not lived in.

Too busy looking around, Steve came back out of the master bath and called your name, but when you didn’t look he took the few steps to stand right in front of you.

Warm. Safe. Steve.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry, uh–yeah, I'm okay.”

He looked at you, skeptical, but needed to gather more supplies and so didn’t push you on it.

“Alright, princess. I got the shower going in there, but don’t move too quick. Take it slow, one step at a time and I’ll be back with a towel and some bandaids.”

“Okay–”

“Seriously,” he said, “I mean it. Slow.”

“I will,” you insisted, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips and he gave you a little grin.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Even if he hadn’t asked you, you couldn’t go faster than one foot in front of the other. The pain was almost unbearable now, screaming all over your body and you didn’t know if you could handle a shower, but it wasn’t an option. Infection would finish off what the demobats couldn’t, and so, layer by layer, you pulled your clothes from your body.

Your jeans, your vest, your shirt, your socks, your shoes. All of it a muddied brown and red pile on the floor leaving you in your bra and underwear. Your back was burning, felt like fire and when you stepped into the shower expecting more pain, you found peace.

Carefully shuffling on the tile floor, the steam billowing up from the shower floor felt like it was swallowing you whole. Filled the air around you and made everything hazy. Made it feel otherworldly, like heaven, and as you stared you watched the water falling down your body turn rusty. Mixing with the dirt and ash and blood from your skin and carrying it down the drain. Washing away any remaining proof that interdimensional monsters are real and that you’d nearly died killing them. The only things left hinting at what had been life or death, would be all the little silvery scars after your wounds healed.

You turned the heat up and as more steam clouded the stall, you felt a warmth wrap itself around you. One that felt deeper than the hot water. Like a heavy cloak draping over you and you wanted to let it swallow you whole. Wanted to nestle into it and succumb to the deep, soft feeling it was pouring into you and your vision started to blur at the edges.

“Oh–” you half-gasped. Stumbled as the world swam in front of you. Pressed a hand heavy against the wall to steady yourself and your fingers slipped against the tile.

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Suddenly someone was opening the shower, sucking out the steam, and a shock of cold air hit you as Steve filled the door frame.

“Shit, hang on–” he swore softly and stepped in with you still wearing his jeans and ripped up shirt. Water soaking him from head to toe, he gently looped an arm around your waist and held you steady. “I got you, I got you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, and it pulled your gaze up.

Water clinging to your lashes, your lids were heavy as you blinked and when he finally came into focus it made your heart ache. A deep pinch between his brows, eyes searching yours and trying to work out what he needed to do to fix you. What he needed to do to keep you here.

God, he wanted to keep you.

“I’m fine,” you insisted weakly, pushing against him as your lips tried to twist into a scowl and it pulled a huff of a laugh from him.

“No, you’re not,” his tone was firm, but gentle. The rough pads of his fingers pressing into your side as he eased you onto the seat at the corner of the stall. Made doubly sure you weren’t going to fall and half-stepped back out onto the bathmat.

Shrugging off his shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it into the tub. Kicked off his wet Levis and left them in a pile on the floor. Grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and stepped back in with you and closed the door behind him.

Kneeling, Steve sank down through the steam, putting himself at your height for once. Water running hot and soothing both of your aching bodies as he wetted the wash cloth. Then, pushing up on one knee, he started to gently scrub the dried blood from your forehead. Rinsed the cloth out and moved to your hand. Looked it over for any obvious wounds and softly cleaned the dirt from your palm. Then, satisfied with what he found under all the grime, he turned to your other hand. Moved up your arms and paid close attention to the cut on your right shoulder. Winced and snuck a glance at you when you sucked in a pained gasp through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he said and when he looked up at you it was a thousand sorry’s, so fucking sorry, and it made your chest ache. “Let me look at your back,” he said, standing to see the three nasty cuts across your skin there and he huffed a sigh. “These could be worse,” he assessed, shaking his head, “I’ll look in the light when you’re out.”

He bent back down and knelt in front of you again, water splashing against his back as he took your hand in his. He started up again at your feet. Skipped over the bruises on your shins and the angry-looking scrape on your left knee and as he gently shifted you to reach your upper leg, the water running off your body turned bright red.

“Oh shit..." he breathed, a deep frown pulling at his features as his eyes frantically searched for the source, worry tugging at the pit of his stomach. It couldn’t have been your back…where was it coming from?

And then he finally saw it. The nasty gash on your thigh courtesy of the same damn demobat as it dragged its claw down through your skin. “Christ,” he hissed under his breath, moving to let the water run over it, “We gotta clean this–”

“Fuck, Steve–” you choked out, the pain in your leg white hot as you pressed a hand heavy into his before he could use the washcloth. “It hurts,” you half-sobbed and he quickly blocked the shower with his back again.

“Shit–I’m sorry–dammit–” a string of curses fell from his lips as he leaned closer to get a better look.

The few seconds of water had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he could see now how deep it was. Probably needed stitches, just like his stomach would, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.

Pulling in a deep breath he went to the place in his mind he knew all too well. The one where he closed out the sick feeling of worry blooming in his chest, the thoughts of 'what if' that didn't end nicely and hardened against it all so that he could do what he needed to keep you safe.

“Alright, princess,” he reached over his shoulder and turned off the tap, then looked back up at you, still on his knees. “I gotta get you out and dried off, okay? Get this fixed up,” he said, nodding at your leg, “Will you let me do that?”

A soft scowl pulled at your features and it almost made him smile – how pretty you were even when you were mad. Even like this.

“I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice,” you tried to snark around the sob in your throat and that finally cracked a tiny grin on his face.

“I’m not,” he gently agreed and with that you let him lift you from the seat. Let his hands, warm and wide at your waist, guide you from the shower and wrap a towel around your tired body.

Setting you at the edge of the sleigh bed, Steve dug around in the box of medical supplies he’d slowly put together during his time with the Upside Down. Bandages, rubbing alcohol, peroxide, antibiotic ointment, wraps, gauze–

“Steve,” you whispered and it pulled his gaze.

“What is it? Are you okay? Are you dizzy?”

You gave him a weak smile, “I promise I’m fine.” He nodded, not wholly believing you. “What is that for?” you asked, pointing at a needle and thread and his expression shifted.

“For cuts,” was all he could manage and it made your stomach lurch.

“Like mine?”

He chewed on his lower lip, fingers twisting the thread dipping through the eye of the needle. “Like yours,” he agreed quietly and you squeezed your eyes shut.

No. No, no, no. Not here. Not Steve.

“Hey, hey,” Steve pressed his hand into yours, warm and safe, “I promise it’s gonna be okay. Look, I’ve got my own shit I need to do too.” He moved his arm aside to show you the cut along his stomach from the lake gate. “See? Right?”

You were crying, but it was too quiet to really know and when Steve saw your tears silently slipping down your cheek he caught them with the pad of his thumb.

“I know how scary this is,” he finally said, voice a low vibration you could feel in your chest, reassuring and true, “But I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

And the way he was looking at you was something you’d never seen from him before. Features pulled in pain, agony, but not from his wounds. Searching for something in your eyes he wasn’t sure of, but knew he’d find if he looked long enough and you lifted your hand to his over your cheek.

“Okay,” came out cracked, wobbly, crying, and he gave you the tiniest smile.

You watched as he pulled through a new line of thread, knotted the end and dipped the needle in rubbing alcohol and a wave of nausea crashed over you.

“Here,” Steve caught the look on your face, the way you were shaking, “Lie on your back and hold this to your face. Scream into it if you have to, okay? I’m going to go as fast as I can.”

He handed you a pillow and thank god because you were sure if you’d had to watch, you were going to pass out.

Doing as he asked, you laid back on the bed with the pillow pressed to your face, still only wearing your underwear and bra, and a thought struck you – if this had been literally any other time, what would Steve had said? Would he tell you how beautiful you looked? How he liked the lace trim across your bra straps? How he wanted to trace his finger along the hem of your panties? How–

“Oh, fuck–” slipped out of your mouth, muffled against the pillow, but you didn’t get a chance to finish because everything went black.

“Hey, hey! Oh, shit. Dammit. Princess? Are you with me?” Steve had just finished the first stitch when you suddenly went limp on the bed.

Quickly leaning up he put his ear to your chest for a heartbeat and heard a steady thum, thum, thum. Happy with that he sat back up and took even more solace in the even breaths falling from your lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered to you, “I didn’t do well with it the first time either.”

Then, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead he finished stitching up your leg. Cleaned up your back and applied a few bandages there where needed. It’d looked worse than it actually was, thank god. He pulled back the covers and lifted you up to the head of the bed and tucked you in, checking your breathing again to make damn sure.

He made quick work of stitching up his stomach. Pausing only a couple of times to swallow down his own nausea, and when he was done, he changed into a Hawkins Athletics shirt and shorts and crawled in next to you.

Despite the world on fire outside his window and despite the fact they couldn't find a body for Vecna, it was all okay for right now. In that moment. With you there in that room, hidden in the indigo shadows as he clicked off the light, promising he'd finish saying what he'd started in the car. And soon enough exhaustion claimed Steve too, pulling him into the same deep, dreamless sleep that you'd thankfully found.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART FOUR OF A FIVE – POSSIBLY MORE – PART SERIES, PART FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[katyawriteswhump]

top of the world, steddie microfic

For @steddiemicrofic May prompt ‘Top’.

Rating: T  CW: None WC: 510  Tags: kid fic, flashback, established Steddie, mild angst.

Inspired by a discord plot bunny from @bananahoneycomb that I've totally not done justice to (where steddie have been dating for a while before they realize they once knew each other before. ) Thank you anyway <3

... 

Eddie’s gotten Steve squished between him and a tree, and they’re kissing each other stupid. When they break apart—breathing is tragically necessary—Eddie glances to the treetops to snatch a giddy, Is this real? moment. Steve dabs his tongue around kiss-swollen lips and leans in to start the kiss over.

Eddie’s still staring upward: “Holy shit!”

“What is it?”

“I remember this exact tree. Some kid I once knew got stuck in it.”

Steve glances skyward, tenses, colour draining from his face. “Jesus, Munson—that was me.”

…

1977

“Johnny?”

On hearing his friend shouting from the treetop, Eddie cringed. If he’d known he’d pass the best month ever with this kid, he wouldn’t have lied about his name.

“I’m at the top, Johnny! C’mon!”

“Still gonna pass, Han. Not a huge fan of heights.”

“Wuss.”

“Ever coming down?”

Eddie waited. And waited. Han shouted, “Sure you won’t climb up?”

“Look, you win. You’re the dude. I’m a candy-ass dweeb.”

“Johnny, please.” Han’s voice turned wobbly. “You gotta help me. I’m stuck.”

…

“Hey, kid?” A voice rumbled from the bottom of Steve’s tree. “It’s Deputy Hopper. Got a ladder here. You think you can climb down?”

Steve’s arms and legs ached from clinging to the branches. He’d been AWESOME going up. Descending, he’d peeped downward, totally frozen up.

“N-not sure.” Steve sniffled. “C-can’t move.”

He daren’t even wipe his tears. This epically sucked. Being rescued like a stranded kitten was humiliating. Knowing he’d made a dork of himself in front of Johnny hurt worse.

“It’s Han, right?” called Hopper, ascending the ladder. Steve cringed. The dumbass things he’d done to impress Johnny! Then again, who wouldn’t want to be Han Solo for a summer? “You local?”

“It’s not Han. It’s Steve Harrington.” He bit his wibbly lower lip. When his parents discovered he’d been playing with strange kids in the forest, he’d be in deep shit. Right now, he didn’t care. “I want to go home.”

…

Eddie and Steve start garbling as one:

“Seriously?” Steve plants his hands furiously on his hips. “You deserted me up the stupid tree! I never saw you again!”

“Got help, didn’t I? I was scared too. When I knew you were safe, I basically fled—inherited my Dad’s healthy suspicion of the police, okay? Anyhow, you never showed again, either.”

“I was grounded till fall!”

“My mom moved away for work! I came back to Hawkins, years later, and then… I guess I had tats, the rocker hair. I looked for you, but… You used to be blonder, right, Han?”

“Yeah, Johnny?”

“Wanted to be Johnny Rotten—my short-lived Sex Pistols phase. Felt bad for lying. I didn’t expect to like you.”

“Well, I did all that shit to impress you. I guess you were my first crush. I was miserable for ages when you literally vanished.”

“Back at ya!”

They glare. Eddie’s fingers return to the nape of Steve’s neck, stroking tenderly. “Guess this makes us childhood sweethearts. How vomit-inducingly sweet.”

Steve huffs, rolls his eyes, and they launch into another blisteringly hot make-out session.

[simplyholl]

The President’s Pet

Summary: Trying to survive in the Void, you find yourself in President Loki’s possession.

Pairing: President Loki x F Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. minors DNI. CNC. Dom Loki. Rough sex. Biting.

This is darker than what I usually write.

W/C: 1.3K

A/N: This idea came from the wild WhatsApp ramblings of me and @wheredafandomat

See my Masterlist here

You run as fast as you can, Alioth was too close for comfort. You had survived two days in the Void, and you intended to make it a lot longer. “Follow me!” A tall man said, running beside you. “I’ll help you.” You look behind you, the giant cloud monster was gaining on you. You didn’t have a choice.

You follow him underground to his hideout. As soon as the entrance door shuts behind you, two other men surround you, tying you up. “She will do nicely. I heard the President is bored with his whore. She will make a great addition for him. She will ensure our protection for at least a month.”

You struggle against them, but it’s no use. The man you shouldn’t have trusted leads the pack as they carry you across the vacant land. When you reach their destination, you’re thrown to the ground in front of a man sitting on a makeshift throne. He’s wearing a suit with a tear near the shoulder, horns on his head, his dark hair frames his face so beautifully. You notice a button on his suit jacket that says “Loki for President”.

You wonder what his story was before he got pruned. He looks at you with a sinister smile. Rising to his feet, he grabs your hair at the nape of your neck lifting your face to meet his gaze. “Oh, I like her.”

With the clap of his hands, another woman is brought out. “Give her to Alioth, I’ve grown tired of her.” Your new captor continues, “Bring this one to her new room.” You’re lifted to your feet and brought to a tiny room. A bed and a cage are the only furnishings in the room.

You sit on the bed waiting for the man who now controls your fate to give you instructions. He keeps you waiting for what feels like hours, but it could be mere minutes. Time seems to move differently in the Void. He enters the small room, strutting over to you.

“I am President Loki. You belong to me now. What happens next is entirely up to you. If you sign this paper-“ A flash of green shines in his hand as a sheet of paper and a pen appear. “And you’re a good little pet, I will care for you. You will be fed, safe, and rest assured, I take care of what is mine. Any jewelry, clothes, sweets, any frivolous thing your heart desires. If my men find it out there, it will be yours. If you disobey me, you will be punished.”

He gestures to the cage. He hands you the paper. You take your time reading it carefully. Basically it says if you please him sexually, you will be safe, more importantly alive. “Apparently, you run this place. What’s with all the paperwork? You could just have your way with all the women who turn up here.” He thinks about your question for a second before answering.

“Consent is still important, even here darling. You make the choice. You can agree or be Alioth’s next meal. I need you to satisfy my needs. You need me to stay alive. We could have a mutually beneficial relationship here.”

He smiles and you see the politician in him. How he used his charisma to climb social ladders in his own timeline. You take a moment to study his face. He is the most handsome man you have ever seen. You weigh your options. It could be a lot worse. He could be hideous. This will ensure you’re alive for a little longer. You sigh, “Give me the pen.” You reach toward him as a wolfish grin appears on his face.

You hear the thud of his boots on the floor outside your door. This is the second time he’s come in to bed you. He was rough, leaving bruises scattered all over your body. You were still sore from last night, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

You want to be the best he’s ever had. That way, he won’t get bored of you so easily. You quickly strip your clothes, laying on the bed spread for him like a feast. He spots you immediately, nodding his approval.

“My perfect little slut, this is how I expect to be greeted from now on, understand?” “Yes, sir.” He removes his belt from his pants, slowly pulling it from each loop. You place your hands in front of you, ready to be tied up. He did the same thing yesterday.

He fastens the belt around your wrists tightly. You watch as he undresses. He gets on the bed, presenting his fingers to you. “Suck.” You take them between your lips sucking and licking them. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them out rubbing your clit with his saliva covered fingers.

“So wet for me.” He observes. “Yes sir, only for you.” He drags his cock against your lips, and you open for him. “Let me use your pretty mouth, pet.” You take him in slowly, your wet tongue traveling his thick length.

You moan around him as his fingers explore you. He grabs your head, making you take him all the way to the back of your throat. Your nose hits his pelvis, drool drips down your chin. He watches as you struggle to take him. You choke when he thrusts forcefully.

You let your jaw go slack, letting him fuck your face. You whine when he removes his fingers from you. “You look so beautiful choking on my cock.” He tells you, his thumb caressing your full cheek. You feel his cock pulsing on your tongue. You know he’s close. You suck your cheeks in and he empties in your mouth.

You swallow most of it, leaving some in your mouth. You stick your tongue out, showing him the release you saved before swallowing. “Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.” He praises. “Good girls get rewarded.” He pushes you against the mattress, raising your belt restrained hands above your head. He licks a stripe up your neck, rough fingers pinching your nipples. He bites down on your shoulder, you cry out reaching for him.

He slings your arms back up with force. He spreads your legs, settling between them. You gasp as he buries his face between your thighs. He tugs on your clit, you writhe underneath him, bucking your hips up into his face.

President Loki’s large arm lays against your stomach, holding you down. He dines on you like you’re the first decent meal he’s had in ages. Considering where you are, it’s probably true. His tongue lashes against you, he’s not gentle. It’s almost like he’s punishing you with the skilled muscle.

You feel your orgasm building. You look down at the beautiful man between your legs, wishing you could hold onto his horns for support. The band low in your belly snaps and you fall apart, shouting his name. He bites your inner thigh as he removes his face from your center. You shutter with anticipation as he parts your legs slowly.

He plunges inside you, bottoming out immediately. “It’s too much.” You tell him, feeling way too full. You’re still sore from last night. “You can take it.” He confirms by pulling out and thrusting back in harder this time. He lifts your leg to his broad shoulder, this new angle making him drag deliciously against the special spot inside you.

“Tell me you love taking my big cock.” He commands. You moan as he looks over your bruised covered body, appreciating his handiwork from the night before. “I love your big cock, sir. It’s all I can think about.” You stroke his ego as he sets a brutal pace. “Good fucking girl.” He growls.

“I want to see this pretty pussy dripping with my cum.” He reaches between you, pinching your sensitive clit. “Please cum inside me. I need you to fill me up, sir.” You beg him. His thrusts grow sloppy, then he spills inside you releasing with a grunt. He pulls out quickly, rough hands spreading you apart.

He collects the cum dripping out of you with his long fingers, pushing it back into you. “You were so good for me.” He coos. “Don’t clean up yet. I’ll be back to do it later.” A hot plate of food and mouth watering desserts appear with a green flourish. “Don’t tell the others I can do that.” He winks at you, magically putting his clothes back on before leaving.

Tags

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @loz-3 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lokischambermaid @lamentis-10 @muddyorbsblr @itsybitchylittlewitchy @anukulee @xorpsbane

[littlefanficprincess]

Below The Surface

Tmnt 2012 x (Fem) reader

2k

Synopsis: The turtles reunite with a childhood friend.

(A/n): The timeline is changed a bit, they are let out to the surface for the first time but before April was kidnapped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moving to a new place is not something you can used to easily, especially a big city like New York. It wouldn't be surprising that parents would lose their child on the first day.

"Ow..." A small voice mumbles as a girl falls on her arms and legs, her shoes, socks and (skirt/shorts) were soaked by the sewer water.

The four years old had tripped into an uncovered manhole and fell in. Who would even leave open a manhole like that?

"You shouldn't have gone up there, what if master Splinter finds out?"

"It was only a peek, he won't know a thing"

"Wait, what was that noise?"

"It was coming from over there"

(Y/n) pushes herself off the ground, trying to shake the water out of her shoes. She squints her big (e/c) eyes when she sees four sillouettes heading her way. They were a bit shorter than her.

When they get close enough, the light escaping through the manhole illuminate their forms. Short humanoid green creatures black eyes, slight differences between them. They looked like they were straight out of an alien movie, but just with shells instead.

"What is that thing?" One with a bandaid on its cheek asks, disgust on its face."It looks like us, is that fur coming out of its head?" The tallest one observes.

"We shouldn't go near, it could be dangerous" The plain looking one warns the others.

"So cool!" The one with freckles smiles, didn't seem to be listening. He approaches the girl with curiosity "What are you?"

(Y/n) tilts her head as he leaned in closer. "I am a human, nice to meet you...turtles?"

"It can talk!" The bandaged turtle yells, pointing at her. They haven't seen any other species beside the rat that had cared for them since before they could even remember.

Then it was the tall turtle that began walking up to her. He stands behind her, pulling on her hair. He watches as her head would slightly tilt back as he pulled.

"Ow, that hurts" (Y/n) complains, pulling away from his grip. "It's not fur, it's hair"

"Hair...interesting" The tall turtle mumbles in amazement.Hesitation leaves the bandaged one's mind, deciding to join his brothers.

"Wait, Raph–" The plaine turtle calls out, but was ignored. First they break the 'no going to the surface' rule and now they are interacting with a 'you-man'.

'Raph' scowls, eyeing the human child. "Are all of you 'you-mans' this ugly?" He questions, poking at her cheek. "Why is it so squishy?"

The remaining turtle sighs as he realised he failed to get his brothers to listen to him. He follows after, standing next to the others. He judges aside Raph, looking straight into the girl's eyes. "Your eyes" he mentions.

His words catches the attention of the turtle with freckles. He leans over, looking at her eyes aswell. (Y/n) just saw two pair of black beady ones. "They're pretty! Like that big shiny rock master Splinter has"

"It's called a gemstone, Mikey" The turtle next to him corrects him.

"Gemstones, I like it!" Freckle throws his arms around (Y/n)'s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against hers. "Can we keep it, I will care for it real good!"

"I'm not a pet, you know" (Y/n) pouts, crossing her arms.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes"

"We can't, we have already been away for too long" Plaine argues.

"Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo?" They hear someone calls out.

In a flash, the turtles had dissapeared. (Y/n) looks around confused, wondering where they went. She looks back up the manhole opening, seeing a ladder on the wall below.

Not having much choice, she climbed up it. She snuck out of the alleyway, being met with the sunlight. She was soon found by her parents, her dads didn't believe her story about talking turtles. They wrote it off as it being her imagination.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

Then twelve years later, (Y/n) lays awake in her bed. Everytime she closed her eyes, she finds them open again. She gives up trying to sleep and gets out of bed.

She opens the door to her balcony and takes a seat on her balcony. She looks up at the sky, she would see stars if the air wasn't so polluted. She squints her eyes when she sees something on the roof of the building that was in the other side of the street.

(Y/n) gets up and leans on the railing, trying to get a good look. Were those...turtles? Each wearing a different colored badana, blue, purple, red and finally orange.

The shortest turtle stops in place, turning towards her. The two make eye contact, both not moving an inch. She hears one of the other turtles call out to him, so he runs off.

'Those guys were real this whole time. I'm not hallucinating, right? Are they ninja now? Would they remember me? Probably not'

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

(Y/n)'s eyes snap open when she hears knocking on her window. She pushes aside the curtain to see the shortest turtle hanging upside infront of her window.

She gets up from her bed and opens the door to her balcony. She watches as he lands on the balcony, a big smile on his face. She barely gets time to react as he pulls her into a tight hug.

"Gemstone! I thought I'd never see you again" He says, excitedly. Then letting go of her, bouncing up and down.

"You still remember me?" (Y/n) says surprised. She regonised as the turtle with freckles, his skin was more on the lime side compared to his brothers.

The turtles grabs her face, squishing her cheeks. "How could I forgot this cute face. Also I remember you by your eyes, so shiny like gemstones" He cooes.

(Y/n) graps his three fingered hands, pulling them down, but not letting go. "You have a great memory. My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you"

"The name is Michelangelo" He steps back, pulling out a pair of nunchucks and spinning it around. "But most people call me Mikey" His eyes suddenly light up, getting an idea. "What if I bring you to lair, I can't wait to see their reactions"

Looking back into her room, the girl thinks. "My dads aren't home, so they won't notice... It couldn't hurt, right" She slightly shrugs her shoulders.

She watches as he turns around and hunges over. "Get on!" Hesitantly, (Y/n) does as he says and climbs onto his back. She grips tightly his shoulders as he holds her legs. She tries her best to not scream her head off as Mikey jumps off the balcony and onto the next roof.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

Quietly, Mikey leads (Y/n) into lair. She hides behind his shell as he shuffle towards his room. His brothers didn't pay too much attention to him. Leo was watching a tv show, Donnie was in his lab and Raph was reading something.

The turtles and his human friend sneak into the bedroom. (Y/n) tenses up when the foul smell of dirty clothes and moldy food hit her nose, it was definitely worse than the smell of the sewers.

"I'll be right back, gotta do something real quick. stay here" Mikey says, as if he was he talking to a dog. He slowly walks out and closes the door behind.

(Y/n) looks at the mess covering the bedroom. She folded the dirty underwear, questioning why he would even wear them.

Raphael eyes his brother as Mikey walks out of his room. He hears something coming from the room, sounding like things being moved. It couldn't be any of his brothers, meaning there was an intruder.

He gets up from the couch, pulling out one of his sai. He strolls over to Mikey's room, slowly opening the door. There he finds a girl, folding clothing. She didn't seem to have heard him. He puts the sai towards her. "What do you think you're doing here?" He questions her.

Flinching at the unfamiliar voice, (Y/n) realises she had been caught. She slightly turns her, looking who was standing behind her.

A turtle, a bit taller than Mikey. He wore a dark red bandana, which was a bit tattered. There was a small crack in the front of his shell, makes (Y/n) connect him with the turtle who had a bandaid on their cheek. Then she notices the weapon he had pointed her. "Um...I come on peace" She akwardly smiles.

-

Walking out of Mikey's room was Raph, pointing his weapon at a girl who was walking infront of him. "Look at what I found doing laundry in Mikey's garbage dump".

Leo looks away from the Tv, wondering what his brother was talking about. His face turn to surprise and then to fear "A human!?".

"Apparently Mikey got followed back here, not sure why you would good his underwear" Raph mutters, poking the girl's back with his sai.

The door lab opens, revealing Donnie. He pulls his goggles from his eyes, putting it on his forhead. "What is going on, I heard yelling" He looks at Lei, than Raph and then... "A human!?" He puts his hands over his mouth, realising that he could've alerted master Splinter.

"That's what I'm asking"

(Y/n) holds up her hands, trying to not get stabbed. "Listen, there is a good explanation for this"

A door slams open and Mikey comes running in. He stand between (Y/n) and his brothers, waving his arms. "Guys, guys, it's chill. It's just gemstone"

"Gemstone?" Donatello repeats, confused. He cautiously approaches.

"You mean the one we found in the sewers when we were little?" Leo asks, getting up himself. (Y/n) suspected him being the plain one and the tall one, being the tall one obviously.

Mikey crosses his arm, with a proud expression on his face. "The one and only" He brags, smiling.

Now being surrounded by the four turtles, (Y/n) realises how much they have grown. When she first met them, they were a bit smaller. But now they were almost towering over her.

Suddenly she feels a tug at her head, making her head tilt back. She realises it was one with the purple bandana, just like when they were little. "Ow, it's not fur..."

Donnie's eyes widen at her words. "...it's hair" He finishes the sentence. "Yeah, alright. It's her" He admits, feeling the texture of her hair.

"Anyways, my name is (Y/n). It's nice to meet you all again" (Y/n) introduces herself, fiddling with her sleeves.

The turtle with blue bandana places his hand on his chest. "I'm Leonardo, the one pulling your hair right now is Donatello and the angry looking one is Raphael, you already seem pretty familiar with Mikey"

"What is going on here?" Everyone seem to freeze when they hear master Splinter's voice. They turn to see him, looking stern at them.

"Sensei, I–" Leo tries to explain, but his defenses seem to melt away when he sees his father's gaze. Him and Raph step aside to reveal (Y/n).

"I let you go to the surface and you being back a human?" Master Splinter says, infuriated by his sons' decision.

Before any of the turtles could speak, (Y/n) steps forward. "Please, don't get angry at them, sir. It's not their fault. I had accidentally fallen into a manhole and wandered my way here, they were trying to get me out". The four brothers look surprised at her, not expecting her to lie for them.

The humanoid rat looks down at her, stroking his thin beard. "I must admit, taking the blame for them is quite honorable. But falling into the sewers is something you usually don't do twice".

"Twice? Wait, you knew?" Leonardo asks him.

"I have keen sense of smell and hearing, also you are pretty loud" Master Splinter explains, looking at (Y/n) once again. "Do you promise to keep our existence a secret from the rest of the world".

(Y/n) nods, looking up at him with a determined expression on her face"I won't tell a soul".

Master Splinter smiles, knowing that he could trust the girl. "Then you are welcome to reside here when you see as needed"

"Oh yeah!" Mikey cheer, pumping his fist. The other three couldn't help, but also be happy she gets to stay.

Their first human friend, reunited with them once again.

[seriesxwriting]

Give us a chance

W Rafe Cameron

Series- outer banks!

Summary- He’s been ignoring you lately? But now you and Rafe get stranded in the middle of the sea. Just you two. Alone. You can’t both hide your feelings foreverrr.

Warnings- swearing, kissing, Rafe saving your character from boys taking advantage.

(No season three spoilers in this)

Request are open for all and anything🫶

“Are you serious right now” Rafe stormed over to me pulling me away from some guys lap. I don’t even know who he was but- alcohol makes you do stupid things. “Rafe- get off me” I giggled pushing him away from me. “Are you serious y/n” “what are you moaning about now” my eyes rolled as my arms folded. I tried to look at him but my eyes began falling shut.

“Your fucking hammered- you can barely stand up” he stepped over catching me with one arm around my waist. “That’s because you dragged me up from my seat too fast” I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m taking you home” “Rafe no! I’m havi- having fun” I shook my head trying to pull back.

“Y/n!” “Why! Why are you taking me home why are you looking out for me- you do it all the time I see you watching me at parties, you’ve been watching me all night here” I frowned raising my voice slightly. “Because we’re friends” he frowned stepping close to me again.

“We were friends!” I scoffed, turning away from him as my eyes filled up with tears. “Before you so randomly started blowing me off and ignoring me- I’m not leaving with you unless you tell me why”. Rafe stared at me blankly before bringing his hand up to rub the side of his head. “Fine we will talk but on the way home” he bargained with me throwing me a stern look.

I gazed around at the rest of the party on the little near by island we had found. “Fine- how did you get here” “my boat” Rafe nodded his head towards it. “Come on- on then” I stirred spinning around a bit too fast, as I took my first step my legs began to wobble. Rafe lifted me in one Swift move, holding me in his arms walking to the boat.

“Unnecessary” I whispered wrapping my arms around his neck, kind of liking being up here. He stoped at the steps of his grand yacht to look down at me with his baby blue eyes. Holding the eye contact. Hot. How easy it would be to lift my head up right now.

“C-can you climb up?” Rafe shook his head tearing away from me. “Yes- yeah” I nodded gripping the ladder as rafe put me down on land. We both climbed up and went to sit in the wheelhouse. “I’m going to make you a coffee first- sober you up” “are you just delaying your answer?” I curled up in a ball on the sofa removing my shoes. Rafe looked at me with a knowing look and smiled before disappearing.

The music was fading when Rafe closed the door, the sounds of the party drowned out while I waited for him to return. He took about ten minutes before coming back with a blanket, slippers and a coffee in his arms for me. I smiled when I saw him, that was cute. “Five sugars?” Rafe smirked putting the cup down on the side table. “You remembered?”.

“How could I forget that, I’ve never met anyone else that takes five sugars” he chuckled, laying the slippers on the floor and opening the blanket for me. “Thank you Rafe” I nodded my head once. The boy kinda brushed past it, he wasn’t much of a sappy person and he couldn’t take a compliment or a thank you from anyone. Ever.

He started up the engine on the boat and slowly we started sailing away while I sipped my coffee and watched the island fade away. “So tell me” I looked over at him after a few minutes of silence. “What did I do wrong” “nothing” he replied bluntly staring into the pitch black ocean. “So what happened then? Why did you start pretending like I didn’t exist”

“We’re not doing this, I just said that so i could get you home” “I know” I answered softly. “it was worth a try” my shoulders shrugged sadly. “I also know I haven’t done anything wrong, because I’d never do anything to upset you rafe” I told him truthfully. “What ever it is you can talk to me we can sort it out- I don’t want you to stay away from me”

“That’s easier said than done, even if I wanted to I clearly couldn’t stay away from you” he told me in the exact same tone and facial expression. “Did- you want to?” I asked lowly hoping for a no. “No” Rafe turned to look at me now for the first time in this conversation. “I had to- I have to”.

“Why?” I questioned feeling full of confusion. “Why” Rafe laughed looking back into the night. “Why did you get so drunk tonight, there’s many why’s” he replied.

“I- had another argument with my parents” I told him after a few seconds looking at the floor. “That still happening?” “They want me to follow in the family business- I don’t want to, it’s never going to be solved” “well, I want to be in the family business- I feel like my dad doesn’t want me there sometimes” Rafe laughed to himself.

I looked over at him smiling at our similarities, just as I did the boat engine began to stop. Rafe frowned and hit the petrol sign on the panel like that was going to solve something. “What the fuck” he whispered to himself turning the key again and again. “Out of petrol?” “No I’ve still got half a tank- something must be caught it’s too dark to go out and see” he sighed putting his head in his hands.

“Fuck!” The boy slammed his hand into the steering wheel making me jump and spill the coffee down the blanket. “Shit- im sorry” Rafe jumped up when he noticed to grab a pack of tissues. “It’s- its okay, we just have to wait right? until the morning” “yeah” he nodded wiping the coffee off me whilst knelt down. He looked up at me and chuckled raising a hand with his thumb out.

He dragged it across my cheek wiping the splashes of coffee off me. I caught his hand when he tried taking it back. In this moment it was just me and Rafe in the world. The sounds of the sea were the only thing that could be heard. He was staring into my eyes and I did it back. I didn’t want this moment to end.

But something had to ruin it. A boat noise appeared and it sounded like someone was parking next to us. “Who’s- that?” I whispered feeling a sense of fear take over me. “Stay here” Rafe rubbed my hand with his thumb before standing up to go and see who it was. He opened the door peering down the side of the boat.

“Rafe? That you?” A voice yelled up “yeah” he called back down. “It’s just Tommy” Rafe told me when I stood up. I walked over to the side of him to see a very drunk Tommy, Daniel and Carl in the little speed boat beside us. “Y/n? What you doing here” Tommy asked loudly. “going- home” I answered.

“So Why are you guys parked in the middle of nowhere- you Two been up to something?” Carl giggled swigging the bottle again. “Nah engine is fucked we’re just waiting it out” Rafe told them taking precautions it looked like. Seeing Rafe looking at them like that made me feel kind of scared. What was he thinking, what were they up to?

The three boys started giggling and whispering to each other about something. “Tell you what, we will take y/n home, take real good care of her for you so she’s not stuck out here huh” Tommy offered up with a grin. I didn’t want to go with them something was off, but I didn’t know how to say no. I moved forward to go down the stairs but Rafe cut off my exist with his arm. Thank heaven. No thank Rafe Cameron.

“Yeah i Don’t think so” he shook his head with a smiled on the corner of his mouth. “What’s the problem Rafe? Don’t you want her safe at home” Carl laughed wiggling his eyebrows “she’s safe here, you can go now” “all kinda threats out here” “I said you can go, or are we going to have a problem? Because I promise you will lose” Rafe leant over the rail of the boat.

“It really should be the ladies decision- we could have some real fun together” Tommy smirked undressing me with his eyes. “Of course that part probably wouldn’t have been the ladies decision” carl shrugged and the three boys laughed. Rafe slammed his hand down on the pole before racing down the stairs. Tommys face dropped and he tried starting the boat up again.

Rafe reached over the side grabbing Carl by the neck. “You talk about her like that again I’ll fucking drown you” Rafe spat, as he drew his arm back to punch Tommy started the speed boat and Daniel held onto Carl. Rafe dropped him watching closely as they sped off panicking. My heart pounded against my chest and when Rafe turned around he saw it in my face.

“Your okay there gone” he told me walking back up to me. I ran down the stairs meeting him half way. I’d hugged rafe a thousand times but this time, he instigated it. His arms were open. And I hugged him tight as a tear fell onto his top. “I won’t let anyone lay a fucking finger on you y/n, ever” he whispered into my hair running his hand though it.

“How can you say that to me when your never with me anymore” “I’m always watching out for you, I’d never let anything happen” Rafe told me pushing my head up by my chin. “But yet you still can’t tell me why you can’t even be seen with me” I pulled away drying my eyes. “Y/n it’s in your best interest if you don’t know” he told me sadly and tried to walk up the stairs.

“No it’s not Rafe! I need to know what’s going on it plays on my mind constantly!” “You don’t, you think you do but you don’t want to know” he shook his head gently moving my arm so he could ascend to the top. “How can you possibly know that!” “Because if I tell you y/n! Everything is ruined everything changes!” Rafe shook his head, I noticed his eyes were a little watery too.

“I’m a big girl rafe, i might take you by surprise” I called out desperately still waiting on the steps. “You really… you really want to know?” Rafe chuckled shaking his head. But I just folded my arms and raised one eyebrow up. Rafe looked at me for a second before bolting it down the stairs. He stopped inches away from me, inches away from my lips. “Do you get it yet?” He whispered looking at my lips and then back up to my eyes.

My heart pounded against my chest as I leant in hitting his lips. Rafe pulled back instantly and looked at me with wide eyes. I held my breath waiting for him to say something but instead he came back to me pulling me towards him by my hip. I held onto his neck as we kissed for the first time ever. Rafe was right, this had ruined something. But this could be way better than what we had, change can be good.

He moved a hand to my faces as we pulled away breathless. I didn’t know what to say, neither did he apparently. So we kissed again until one of us knew how to react. “I’m still going to need an explanation here” I told him smiling not letting go of him. “Only if I get one too” Rafe shrugged holding onto me tight. “Can we sit down?”. He nodded taking my hand and we made it to the sofa. Rafe pulled me down by my waist on top of him as I squealed.

“We just kissed” he giggled like a boy with his first crush. “I think I’ve liked you for a long time rafe, I just didn’t realise until you stopped talking to me” I ran my thumb up and down his arm. “That’s why I stopped talking to you” “that doesn’t make sense? Why didn’t you just tell me?” His eyes dropped as if he didn’t want to talk about it. “Didn’t think I stood even a one percent chance really”

“What?” I frowned pushing his face to look at me. “I’m fucked up y/n, you can do better” “your not fucked up rafe! I won’t have you talking about yourself like that- I don’t want anything else I- I only want you rafe” I whispered playing with the bottom of his hair. “Your sweet you just don’t let people see it, but I see it and I always have” “so I haven’t ruined anything?” He questioned holding my face too.

“You made it better- presuming you make me your girlfriend of course” I giggled excitedly. “That was a given the moment I kissed you- I don’t kiss anyone like that” Rafe told me seriously. “I want you, your all I want all I’ve ever wanted” “I want you too rafe” I leant our foreheads together.

“You’ve got me”.

[jay-m3]

Situationship

*Warning: Minipulation, Toxic relationship, depression, stalking, power imbalance, abuse, dead dove, toxic, obsessive reader, delulu reader, I'll add tags that you guys think I should add.

Read at your own risk. Male reader! This is how I imagine Alastor gets a partner

Alastor

A bit of time with Rosie for some gossip did wonders for Alastor, especially since he's been gone awhile.

Can you imagine his curiosity of a sinner called (M/n) is quickly climbing up the social ladder? A new Overlord seems to be quite famous from what he has heard.

When he finally meets you in the Overlord meeting room, his eyes seems to stay on you.

The sinner who is dressed so... cheap. This is your first impression? He has to call you out on it of course.

The insults from him irrated you so much over the past few months that you decided to change your wardrobe. He wants style? Fine.

The next time you see each other, Alastor can't help but smile wide in victory. This he could get used to.

With that, the more he interacted with you, the more desire you felt for him. The familiar feelings of your human self is returning, that feeling of sweaty palms, heart thumping, and scenarios inside your head play wonderful interactions with him.

That glance he gave you? He was totally checking you out!

Oh! He's questioning about the extermination? You need to jump in and support your man!

Alastor has noticed the change immediately of your bored hollow self to this Vox like persona. No, worse than Vox.

Sure Vox has cameras around to keep an eye on him but you... you were basically crawling at his feet with a tail wagging behind you.

Like a mutt, eager to please even if he says something out of pocket towards you. It seems he can't get you off his back unless he kills you.

But that will be unproductive. You are an Overlord no matter if you were new to the scene. You must be powerful and he doesn't have history with you unlike Vox.

This is a chance for him he can't miss out on so he'll play along a little.

He'll give out compliments as rewards for you when you comply his orders like a treat to a puppy.

Slash at you when you step out of line, for example trying to hold his hand. You pout up at him, not getting up from the ground, wallowing in sorrow. You disappointed him.

Next time you're around him, you don't touch but stay close. Almost purring when he pats your head with a 'Good boy. You're a fast learner.'

That was it. That is what you wanted to hear. The snap inside your head connected that you're his as much as he's yours.

No matter how much you flinch when he initiate physical contact, your mind tricking you as excitement of affection from the man.

But sometimes, you return to that hollow person. The one that stares off to space. The one Alastor seems to get the most entertained from.

This switch is something he can't predict but its always fun to watch.

That glaze in your eyes as you talk to someone. Imitating aura oozing out as you seem to get more aggravated towards everyone around you.

The way you display your powers sends tingles down his spine, especially when he's the only one that can snap you out of that trance, looking up at him like some sort of god.

And you do. Which is the reason why you sold your soul to him.

But not so fast, you are an Overlord for a reason though. The contract was thoroughly read and rewritten which was unfortunate for Alastor.

It seems like this contract was more of a...relationship term. Alastor had a decision to make and if he didn't like it, nothing can stop him from leaving.

But.

'Alastor, the owner of the soul, can dictate expectations, boundaries, and responsibilities within the relationship. (M/n), the seller of said soul, must obey and follow the guidelines and maintaining it.'

What a waist of power if Alastor doesn't agree.

It's a good thing he does though.

Cause you'll be lost once again to that hollowness if he doesn't.

A blast of green and (f/c) crashes around them both. A thick silver chain around your neck connects to the other side of the chain which Alastor holds on to, the handle rusty heart shaped.

'Now let the fun begin'

[romanoffsbish]

We All Have Scars

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Fem!R x GN!OC (Robin)

WandaNat x F!R

Request | WC: 8,088

Warnings: Shitty Partner | Mental Breakdown | Breast Reduction (Insecurities) | Angst -> Fluff (H/C)

Smut: Oral (R) | Fingering (R) | Thigh Riding (R) Enchanted Strap (R receiving / All affected) | Overstimulation | Soft & Dirty

"Did you see Y/N?" You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard your name come from the agency creeps mouth. You were meant to only be passing the break room. Being an Avenger now you hardly ever came to Shield's HQ, but their agents missions would occasionally overlap with more serious affairs, and when they did you were brought here to debrief.

What you didn't expect was to hear people talk about you so casually as if this wasn't still a work environment. Eavesdropping was taboo, but you justified it after hearing your name.

Part of you wished you'd never stayed...

——

"Of course I have Marvin," the familiar voice of your partner startled you, the fact that they'd engage in a conversation with the company sleaze threw you off, but it was their following words that really left you feeling uneasy. "I fuck her dumb on the regular, or did you forget?"

"That's actually why I'm asking," he chuckled, you could just picture the sinister expression as he goes on, "Why would you let a woman like that lessen her greatest asset? Those boobs of hers were once the center of my wet dreams."

You'd felt bile rising, and as they spoke next your mouth was overtaken by a putrid film.

"Let?" They sneered in question, "I begged her not to, but she's stubborn, and didn't listen. Honestly, she'd have been better off for it had she because her chest is all scarred up now. I can't even fuck her without the lights off."

Everything came crumbling down for you in that clarifying moment, the clipboard in your hand tumbling to the ground, and alerting the people to your presence behind the oak door.

You didn't stay long enough for them to see you though, it was purely instinctual the way your legs were taking you to the only place you felt like you could find solace. Running so fast through the place that once employed you, and failing to see the looks of pure concern on your friends faces as you brushed right by them.

Wanda heard snippets of your thoughts as you rushed right by her and Natasha, and her heart absolutely shattered at just how little you thought of yourself. She was desperate to know why, but invasion was never an option for her. So against her hearts desires for understanding she didn't dive deeper, but with the way you were crying so openly, and the emergence of your bewildered looking partner she knew.

The witch shared a look with her girlfriend, and after a moment of eye contact the redhead was bolting it down the hallways in line with the route she knew you'd be taking. It was the only place you felt safe when in such a space.

As Natasha left she knew your, likely to be ex, was in for a world of hurt. They'd been hoping for the dissolution of your arrangement for ages now, but they would never have wanted it to be at the expense of your very wellbeing.

Nonetheless, Wanda would handle them well.

After a minute of sprinting she came to a stop outside of the very oak tree she and Wanda had spent months building a treehouse on for you. The house itself was put together by Natasha and Clint, the retired archer who came around one day and took an instant liking to you, in a similar way as the longtime couple had. But the homey decor was all Wanda's work, as was the enchantment that kept it invisible to others.

Only the Avengers could see it. It was also even more restrictive with entry privileges, as only you, and the couple could enter uninvited.

As the redhead used the sturdy ladder to climb up she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. The adrenaline, spurred on by her need to reach you was quickly wearing off. Her body was begging her to just take a deep breath, but she could hear your distinct, hysterical sobs so she settled on taking in a labored set of breaths as she just continued to overexert her body.

Upon entering she saw you hunched over in a corner of the room with your head in your hands as your body shook uncontrollably. Natasha wanted to hold you, to scoop you up and shield you from the looming darkness but she knew you needed the option to choose.

"Y/N," Natasha cautiously approached you, her hands were reaching out for you but you were hesitant to accept her touch. You knew she was good, that she'd never hurt you, but your gut also reminded you that you thought the same thing about your parents, who used to patch up your "boo-boo's," until they sold you off to Hydra at five once your brothers were born.

They couldn't afford three mouths to feed, and they deemed yours the one worth sacrificing.

Then there was Strucker, the man you'd once called papa before he became the actual devil. One second you're playing with his monocle while perched upon his desk, then the next you're becoming another one of his lab rats. He made the decision to become ruthless with you as soon as you'd turned ten, and were ready to physically undergo the life altering trials.

Your mistrust fully bloomed with that betrayal.

Every time you made a connection, the other person would be shocked at your eagerness to trust in them. Most people pitied you really, so desperate to be loved by another that you'd easily settle for mediocrity. With every single partner you'd give them all of you, and they only ever found new ways to tear you down.

You finally thought you got it right with Robin, but you realized now you didn't. They were just like the rest of them, and you were finding it increasingly hard to cope with another loss.

Robin was a dream, they were the same person who flashed you a warm smile a little over six months ago after a rather exhausting mission. They bought you dinner, and kissed you softly on the cheek before bidding you farewell. As time went by they'd be the one to hold your hand through the countless stormy nights. It never occurred to you that they'd become a nightmare too, the kinda person who would happily humiliate you in front of your peers.

You trusted them; poor, silly girl that you were.

Everyone around you warned you not to date the person in charge of spinning stories. Their literal job came with the responsibility to twist the truth until it looked presentable to people.

It really shouldn't be a shock to you that they'd embarrass you like this, taking your newfound insecurities and broadcasting them even after they'd assured you that you were still beautiful.

As if your former colleagues needed to know about what you looked like beneath your bra.

You were a mess of emotions, but mortified took the prime spot as you envisioned the word spreading like wildfire. Shield was one thing, but the idea that the people you now called family would get an insight into the situation.

Well, that was enough to lead you right here.

To a place that shielded you from the curious looks, and the invasive whispers. It was your only escape, where you thought you'd have at least some time to be alone in your shame, before your saviors would come along. But in your rush to escape you'd forgotten the couple was just as present on the prior mission.

"Detka please," Natasha was desperate in her pleas, she could see you already withdrawing, and it terrified her. It'd been years since she last saw you like this. At the time they were hesitant as well, but after a few hours with you it was clear you were nothing short of docile.

They had placed you into a containment cell after retrieving you from a Hydra facility. You were so incredibly broken, and too easily pliant to be seen as a threat. You were soft spoken, and cooperative, yet you clearly held mistrust.

From the very first day Natasha knew you'd become someone she cared about. With her and Wanda being in charge of training you it wasn't much of a shock that you let them in. They accepted you just the same, but with the distance starting at shield created they never got to have you the way they wanted. Then as you were transitioning to the Avengers you met Robin, and it nearly sent Wanda off the rails.

The brunette knew they were trouble, and she didn't even need her powers to tell her that. But the collective warnings fell on deaf ears as you chose to pursue the apparent dead end.

Natasha knew too, but she held her resentment closer to her heart, and remained the only one capable of keeping Wanda focused on the fact that you weren't theirs to claim. You were not something to be owned, but earned. So, they settled on being a solid base for you, and if they play their cards right now, once you've healed they'll finally get to call you theirs outwardly.

As the redhead caught your shifting gaze she could see your resolve softening, so she settled on the ground before you. There was a good five inches between you though, giving you any space you could want. "Can I hold you detka?"

It was tense, staring into her loving gaze as you weighed out the options. You could either stay where you are, cold and broken, or you could crawl into her awaiting lap, where you knew intimately that it brought warmth, and peace.

After a few minutes of chaotic deliberation you scrambled into her lap. Her arms wrapped around you just as fast, and you cried against her chest as her unyielding love overwhelmed your persistently aching heart. "It's okay sweet girl, I don't know what they did, but I promise you didn't deserve it. They're a dumbass..."

You froze in her embrace, your mind and heart were now at war with one another as you chose to stutter in their defense, "N-no, Natty, don't be mad at them. They were just being —."

"Don't do that," Natasha shook her head, her own lip began to tremble as she really looked into your eyes to see your mind in scattered pieces that required mending. "They don't deserve your forgiveness, don't defend them."

"Th-they didn't mean it, they couldn't have.."

It broke the redhead to see you trying to give Robin the benefit of the doubt, all the while you are trembling in her arms as you tried to process your overwhelming feelings of hurt. Which is why she decided it was best to offer you comfort while being brutally honest.

"Sometimes people are just terrible Y/N, there's no rhyme or reason, and there's no changing that fact no matter how hard we want to. It's easier to pretend they had a valid reason for being so cruel, to bury that intimidating surge of anger and fill the new void left behind with a faux sense of personal accountability."

Natasha's callous thumb softly ran over the wet skin of your cheek, she smiled warmly at you as she let the abrupt silence linger for a moment. Offering you as much comfort as she could while she carefully gathered her thoughts.

"Because facing the truth that they're a vile person that we let in to hurt us is harder than rightfully condemning their behavior." Natasha saw you coming to terms with her words, but it only proved more devastating as more tears streamed down your temples and soaked into the cotton of her hoodie. "So please don't do it, because when you do, you're only masking the hurt instead of feeling it. You have to face the truth detka, feel the betrayal and the hurt long enough to free you from it and to let you heal."

"W-why does this always happen to me Natty?" Natasha firmly pressed her lips to your hairline and took in a shaky breath through her nose as she willed the tears in her eyes not to slip. "I don't know Y/N/N, but you deserve better."

Natasha's voice wavered, she truly didn't get it, because if given the opportunity to have you at their side, she knew that Wanda and her would love you right. You'd never have to question their intentions, or the strength of their love for you because it was true. It would be perfect...

"It hurts so much," your voice was barely above a whisper, but your hands were strong as they clung to her in sheer desperation. "Make it stop Natty, please, I-I can't." You began to shiver, and in an instant her hoodie was slid over your head and within seconds your body calmed.

"Yes you can detka," Natasha shushed you, with a warm smile reserved for you once your bleary eyes had found hers again. "You're strong enough to face it detka, and we're right here. Wanda and I got you now, you're safe."

"I'm safe," you repeated a bit unsure, but as her arms tightened around you it was made clear. You timidly smiled up at Natasha, and she returned it with ease. She saw your exhaustion clear as day with her eyes locked on yours, so she shifted her body, then kept her hold on you firm as she took you both to the grey recliner. She put a playlist Wanda made for you on shuffle, then kissed your cheek. "Now rest."

Natasha enjoyed cradling you, even if her arm had long since gone numb holding up the deadweight of your upper body. With you nuzzled into the cloth of her shirt she could feel your warm breath against her skin exposed by the v-neck of her blouse. Her heart practically leapt out of her chest, she missed having you close ever since you entered your relationship.

They'd nearly had you, but you slipped away, and that had the gravest of consequences...

"How is she?" Natasha looked up to see her girlfriend hovering by the doorway, almost afraid to enter the space you both currently occupied. "Okay for now, did you figure out what that wretched fool did to her?" Wanda shook her head as she approached, her hand gently cupped your face, and she smiled as you leaned into her touch. "I didn't really ask..."

Natasha furrowed her brow in confusion as she peered up at Wanda for clarity, but then she silently understood the witches loving gaze.

It was your story alone to tell.

Wanda handled your ex, and the agent with the easiness of a call to Fury. The matriarch of Shield held no hesitation after he caught wind of what was said. He nipped the spread of the scenario in the butt with a hardened glare. It wasn't enough for Wanda though, so with a flick of her wrist she ensured that the last hour of all of their lives was a muddled memory.

Whatever was said, was forgotten by all except for the guilty parties who were thrown out on their asses. Wanda glared at Robin as they rushed out of HQ, sending a shiver down their spine that let them know to never return.

Natasha was satisfied with the information, but she also knew you'd likely be devastated. To find that you were abandoned again is going to hold you prisoner to thoughts of inadequacy.

All the couple can do is be there for you, and hope that with time you'll be made anew.

"What's in the bags?" Natasha moved the conversation on, and Wanda held the bag out to give sight to the contents. "I made Y/N/N her favorite meal, and I ran to our old Shield rooms to collect some pajama's for all of us."

"We're sleeping here tonight?" Natasha asked with a pout, her back instantly feeling that familiar ache that the air mattress brings.

"Suck it up kotenok," Wanda snorted, "Y/N needs to not be bothered by the guys tonight."

With their chatter above you it wasn't shocking for Wanda to be the first to witness your eyes fluttering open. You looked rather adorable as you tried to piece together how you ended up in her lovers arms, and then she saw clarity wash over you. For a moment you frowned, then you yawned and reached out for her.

Wanda set the bags down on the coffee table with a soft chuckle then she pulled you up and into her warm embrace all as she smiled down at a pouting Nat in a gloating manner. "How does a treehouse sleepover sound sweetie?"

"You guys don't have to do that, I'm okay now," you mumbled into her shirt, she hardly caught your words, but she merely tightened her arms around your waist and swayed your bodies. "Detka, you don't have to pretend with us, you don't need to go through this all alone. So, I am going to get some bowls, and you'll go pick a movie while Natty here sets up the projector."

You knew by her tone that there was no room for debate, so you did as you were told. In the end she was right, you were far from fine, but as you laid between their bodies as the film continued to roll, you knew as long as they were around that the healing was possible.

——

In a years time, you knew with certainty that was true. Wanda and Natasha, your now lovers of three months, had saved you from ruin.

You were a shell of yourself at first, hardly speaking to anyone upon reaching back to the compound, and reverting back to your old ways of solitude in a blink. Always polite, but never forthcoming with your presence or words.

Robin leaving over something so personal to you broke you into shambles. It was never a fair trade, but your mind couldn't help but to regret ever giving into the advice given to you.

When you first joined the Avengers you were given an off planet mission. Thor was not one to go on missions Earth-side often, unless it was the end of times level, but Fury did offer him agents when necessary. Your powers were crucial to Thor, so you found yourself on a planet where fire was the peoples kryptonite.

With one flash of a flame you were able to help him without much of a fight. Their leader knew Thor wouldn't hesitate to let you bring ruin, so they gave into the God who towered over them.

He'd taken you back to Earth, and for your "valiant effort" he took you to a diner, where even though you'd done hardly anything, you were rubbing at your lower back and wincing.

"Lady Y/N, why don't you get your boobs cut into smaller ones?" He'd said, you immediately went to cast an offended glare at the pig of a man, but then you saw into his eyes, and they held an innocence that told you he was only offering a genuine suggestion. "My ex, Jane, has a friend—Darcy. She used to talk our ear off about how reducing hers was the best choice she'd ever made. Her back problems vanished, and her clothes fit more smoothly."

His suggestion seemed fruitless at first, but after a mission a couple weeks later, where you felt the pain increased by your exertions you took it seriously and scheduled a consultation.

Robin said no, but it was never direct. They just teased you, and therefore you believed it to be a tasteless joke. They never said anything to you after, but you could see the way they no longer lit up at the sight of your bareness. It didn't change your sex life though, at least not in the rate at which it happened. Only the way.

Still, you remained naive up until the moment their truth was spewed out like venom. Sinking into you, and holding you captive in your mind.

They had no right to make you feel insecure, it was your choice, and it was meant to be joyous. You made it with your own body in mind, to better your life, and you were ecstatic. It was one of the first ones you'd ever been able to make of your own volition and they tainted it.

For the first month you refused to leave your room unless it was to go on a mission, or to sneak off to the treehouse. Everyone gave you the space, even when the couple didn't want to.

Wanda kept you fed with meals outside your door, and Natasha kept you safe by going on the missions you were still expected to go on. They hovered, but never in a way that was suffocating, only in a way that said they were there and cared. Which eventually paid off because when you did finally show up to movie night you were quick to settle down with them.

It was your first big step towards healing.

Months flew by, and with time you found the ache in your chest was never for Robin, but instead for companionship in general. You wanted a love like Wanda and Natasha's, and after a drunk kiss shared between the three of you it was made clear you just wanted them.

It was a no brainer really, when you woke up with your head on straight you felt the same. They'd breathed out a sigh of relief when you simply smiled at them and snuggled even further into the warmth of their bodies instead of running out of their room screaming.

That night they took you on a date, and swept you off your feet in the most romantic of ways. Literally, Natasha scooped you up, and kissed you beneath the light of the moon, and Wanda danced with you in a field as the stars twinkled.

You felt free; they were the breath of clarity you'd always been searching for, you'd just only ever delved into a sea full of wrong people.

Being with them made you realize that you were never the problem. They loved you so incredibly well, reminded you how beautiful you were everyday, even when you looked like a troll as your arose from your slumber or a hot mess after a grueling mission. It was never a lie, your beauty was more than skin deep.

Still, even with their reassurances, you'd been terrified to give yourself over completely. You knew they'd never treat you like previous partners had, but still, in the back of your mind you were left with the fleeting insecurities.

Every time something would be close to initiated you'd find yourself blocked. Heavy petting and sloppy make outs would progress with ease, then a hand would skim over your heated skin beneath your blouse and you'd bolt up, and excuse yourself. They never questioned you, they gave you your space, and made sure the vibe in the room was tranquil when you would come back in with a guilty expression.

Wanda would cradle your head to her chest, and Natasha would kiss your cheek as if they weren't hot and bothered only an hour prior.

They've been patient, which is only fair, but you also knew that they were sexually driven women. You've shared a wall with them for long enough to know that, but ever since you'd joined their arrangement they've been celibate.

Neither seemed impatient with your pace, they offered you abundant warmth, and stability. It was you that was growing frazzled with need, the pit in your stomach was taut, and after making out with Natasha, with your body pressed against a wall this morning you'd decided that there wasn't any need to wait.

That's why you're in their room, the one that had basically become yours, with only silk a robe layered around your bareness. Against the insecurities of their unknown reactions, you were ready to take a chance on them, and you had faith that they'd love you regardless of the perceivable imperfections. Plus, the source of your greatest insecurities lessened with time.

The once dark, and angry surgical scars had actually faded some, they were still prominent, but nowhere near as noticeable as they were a year prior when you were shamed. On top of that, you'd decided to take a cosmetic approach to distract yourself, and others from the marks.

You took a steadying breath, and shook off the building anxieties. You chose to focus on the potential for a night of bliss. Natasha and Wanda were downstairs finishing mission reports, completely unaware that they were about to stumble upon you. That element of surprise actually made you even more aroused.

It was embarrassing really, the way your slick dripped down your thighs, and cascaded over the slope of your knees as you kneeled on the bed in wait. You'd texted them a simple 'come to your room please,' and smiled when you heard the familiar steps of Nat's combat boots and Wanda's heels in only a minutes time.

"Detka?" Natasha called out, but it was Wanda who first walked into the room, and who felt the colliding of her lovers body as she stilled at the sight of you on their bed. The energy was shifted from inquisitive to sinfully so as the women let their eyes trail over your form.

"What is this?" Wanda's accent was thick, her flushed cheeks and darkened eyes giving way to the carnal second nature of your loving witch. Natasha pushed Wanda forward, hand reaching behind her to shut and lock the door with ease as she spoke huskily, "Yeah, we're not complaining love, but we're seeking clarity."

Without a word you reached out your hands and each of them took one into their own. Natasha linked her fingers with yours, and Wanda held eye contact with you as she brought yours to her lips to kiss your knuckles.

"I'm ready," you spoke with absolute certainty, and allowed them to pull you from the bed. Wanda spun you so that you were facing her, and offered you a gentle, yet questioning smile. Natasha moved her hands to your hips so she could pull your body flush to hers, her lips pressed beneath your ear, hot breath tickled your skin as she whispered: "Are you sure?"

"There's no rush," Wanda added, and you leaned forward to kiss her, it was soft, and she melted into the affection. Then you boldly laid her hand onto the tie of your robe. "I think we have all waited long enough, so take it off."

Both of them pulled away from you, and though you enjoyed the redheads warmth from behind, you found her eagerness to see you in all your naked glory a bit more comforting. Wanda swirled her hand in the air, causing the knot to untwist, and the robe to fall. "Woah."

You chuckled nervously, "Woah? Is that good?"

Wanda smiled as she bit her lip, and beckoned you closer with the crook of her finger, you quickly obliged, settling into her open arms. A sigh left your lips as Natasha once again stood behind you, and pressed you into the witch.

Neither of them answered you with words, but instead you found yourself with your head thrown back as they lavished your body with the most sinful of attention. Nimble hands groped you all over, and brought you to moan as their lips worked you over in tandem.

Natasha and Wanda were honestly floored by the initial sight of you. Their eyes had nearly bulged out of their heads when seeing the way your thighs had glistened for them—they knew without need for vocal confirmation that they get you all worked up. They see the way your thighs harshly clench, and in this moment they could smell you from a few feet away and they were salivating at the idea of being able to finally taste you after all these years in wait.

Then their eyes slowly rose higher, admiring every perfect curve of your body that they'd only had the luxury of seeing beneath clothes. Eventually seas of green reached the holy grail as they froze on your chest, your nipples were pert, and breasts were perfectly rounded.

Sparks of jealousy ignited in their hearts at the realization that someone else was near your body within the last year upon gazing at your fresh tattoo. Just between your breasts sat a gorgeous piece of artwork, it was an intricate array of lines that all came together to create the image of a sturdy castle. It took over the entirety of your upper abdomen, and the tip of the extravagant looking building laid within the valley of your breasts. It was moving.

You'd gotten it to represent the overall concept of conquering fears, to symbolize that no one else could dictate the making of your intricate story, it was yours to write; you were queen.

They also noticed your scars, but it wasn't even a thing they focused in on, neither woman cared about something so inconsequential.

Why would they when they had your body at their disposal to cherish until the sun set?

You were perfect, and they were desperate to have and show you that, to wipe away the insecurities they know you've felt for months.

After a particularly loud moan that Natasha pulled by groping your ass, Wanda had bit down into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Her fingers drummed against your sides as she steadied her skipping heart, then she pulled her face from the side of your neck as she had caught a whiff of your increased arousal. The need to be between your thighs was no longer something she could ignore, and with how you squirmed about in their hold she knew that the overall need was reciprocated.

"You're fucking breathtaking Y/N," she held onto your hips with a tight grip as she felt her body dizzying from her need for more of you. "I'm so—, please detka, tell me this is all okay, let me know when I can drop to my knees and worship you like the queen that you are."

You gulped when looking into her eyes to find only remnants of green remained. The lust was all consuming for the lot of you, you were all but certain Natasha's eyes were just as wild.

"Come on sweet girl," Natasha rasped against the shell of your ear as her hands slid around to grope your breasts from behind, you gasped and nearly broke down as her thumbs rolled over your nipples. It'd been so long since you felt the hands of another on your body, but more specifically your chest and you were overwhelmed with settling grief and pleasure.

"Let us take care of you like you deserve," she continued with an urgency in her tone that sounded close to a whine, it was as if she was in pain being made to wait, "Fuck, you're just so perfect Y/N, sat here patiently waiting for us."

Wanda was already on her knees when your eyes had finally fluttered back open, you locked gazes with her, and offered her a reassuring smile that made her heart flutter wildly, and once your head nodded she surged forward.

Normally they'd ask you to speak, but there was no doubt with the urgency of your nod.

Natasha held your body firmly in place by your hips as the other woman flicked her tongue through your folds. It excited her to no end when you tried to squirm away, but found yourself incapable of doing so with her bruising hold. You were gripping onto her neck with your arm thrown back for stability while your other hand fell and twisted into fiery locks of auburn so that you could keep them close.

Wanda hummed against your clit just as one of Natasha's hands slipped downwards from your hip, and just as her fingers slid inside of your cunt she was prepared with her plump lips on yours to catch your throat scratching moans. With only a few strokes and a harsh suckling of your swollen bundle of nerves you fell apart.

The redheads arm wrapped around your waist as your body tried to slump forward, because it'd been so long since you felt this intense of a release, and Wanda didn't even stop to breathe. It was no wonder your knees buckled as her tongue continued to lap at your center, and her fingers harshly dug into your quivering thighs.

Natasha aided her in her attempt to pull more from you before ever making it to the bed as her fingers buried themselves back inside of you and moved with a vigorous effort to do so. It was a pleasure you'd never felt before, her long fingers reached into your greatest depths, making your stomach burn as you were built back up, and tears collected in the divots of your neck as you cried from the pleasure.

"I-I'm gonna cum," you got out before an ear piercing moan left your throat, "O-oh shit!" You could feel the coil tethering with each harsh thrust, and it finally unraveled as the redhead curled her fingers and pressed them into your g-spot. "I, oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Your slick came gushing out, and soaking Wanda's face while your walls pulled your other lovers fingers in even deeper and held onto them for dear life as they continued to spasm uncontrollably from the pleasure. It took a few minutes for your cunt to relinquish its hold, and as soon as she slid her fingers from you Wanda was there to replace them.

"What a good girl," Natasha purred against the skin of your neck. "I bet you taste so sweet, hm. I mean look at Wanda, she's already addicted and you're just letting her devour your pussy."

Wanda grinned against your thigh after she finally pulled away from your sensitive walls, and if the look she sent her lover wasn't enough the confirmation she got when she sucked your slick from her fingers was enough to prove it.

"A real fucking delicacy she is," Wanda mused, accent thick with her Sokovian roots as she felt and stored the entirety of her lust in her chest. "Those mission reports will be defaulting."

Natasha chuckled, "Oh, yes they will..."

Wanda stood to her feet, and kissed Natasha over your shoulder while you came back down. Their tongues danced harmoniously, and you felt the warmth blossom in your core again at the sounds of their altered salivas swapping.

Fortunately for you they handled your tired body once they were satisfied with parting. Their main focus was on taking care of you, and making love to you until you couldn't take it anymore, they wanted to hear you plead with them to stop, then bring you over the edge a final time just to see you writhe all over again.

When your mind caught up to your body you could hear the choked up moans that left you as Wanda slid your cunt against Natasha's bare thigh. Her nipples brushed against your back and you internally screamed at the feel of them bare against you. Your eyes were screwed shut, but you willed them open so you could see them, even if you were restricted in many ways.

The swell of Natasha's breasts was enough to make your body tingle with excitement and for your thighs to try to clamp shut, but the tight grip of Wanda's hands, and obstacle of Nat's leg kept you spread wide open, and in bliss.

The redhead smirked, "Like what you see?" You smiled bashfully, and stuttered out a quiet yes that made the women share a humored glance. "Feel free to suck on them then detka." The permission granted and way that she hotly winked at you had your walls clenching around nothing, and at the feel of your cunt pulsing she knowingly flexed her thigh, and as Wanda harshly pressed you into the muscle you fell into Natasha's shoulder with rushed pants to indicate what the slick on her thigh already did.

You came, again, and fuck were you feeling it.

Never in your life had a partner made you cum more than twice, you'd believed it to be an impossibility at this point, so the fact that they'd even managed a third time was actually insane to you. Your teeth had sunk into the skin of the redheads supple breast, and latched on tight, for a brief bout of comfort it seemed as your lower half went momentarily numb. It was a foreign sensation, the way your vision had spotted over, and your muscles ached.

Your body was obviously spent, you were sure to fall over soon, but they weren't even done with you. Something you realized after the witch lifted you up, then spun you around. They left you over Natasha's lap, with you on your knees, keeping your legs spread wide over Natasha's. The sight of a strap made your eyes widen just as much, and Wanda smiled wide.

"You like it detka?" You visibly gulped, but nonetheless nodded along rather dumbly. "It's enchanted, so when I fuck it into your pretty little cunt, Natty will feel it too, and I will get to feel as you clench around me with every inch I slip inside you. Oh my, I can't fucking wait..."

Wanda's words were a warning you didn't read, so when the tip pressed inside you seconds later you weren't prepared, but your pussy was. It swallowed the thick silicone up, and left you with your mouth agape as it stretched you out.

Natasha panted wildly against your neck as she felt the phantom strokes of the enchanted strap as it slid in and out of your slicked up walls. That alone nearly sent you spiraling over into another climax, but you managed to keep it at bay for a bit longer to ensure both woman got to fall over with you. "I'm so close, please..."

"Just a few more minutes detka," Wanda grunted as her hips continued their relentless pace in the race to bring you all over the edge. "I'm close too, I want to cum with you love."

Natasha squeaked, "Me too," as her entire body felt like it was on fire. Every nerve ending she had was on high alert as she felt every single pleasurable pressure that you did with Wanda rutting into you like a woman gone mad. The pleasure melded into pain from time to time for you, but it faded out fast enough to derive an even deeper, appreciative overall pleasure.

It was driving her wild, finally having you in the way they'd always dreamed of. Spread out, and dumbed down. It had her teetering, and she knew with absolute certainty she'd fall soon, especially when you or Natasha would moan right in tandem with her soft grunts. 

As the witches pace steadily increased it became near impossible for any of you to bare. With every thrust into your g-spot you'd flutter around the silicone, which would cause a firm sensation to be felt against Wanda's very own.

Natasha's upper body gave out, causing her to fall back into a low pile of pillows, and with her your body followed. Wanda didn't take this new vantage point for granted either, her eyes first focused on the way your tits bounced with every single thrust, and then they moved on to gawking at your glistening, puffy cunt that took her thick, veiny strap without any resistance.

"Fuck, look at this Nat," she groaned, then in an instance both yours and Natasha's minds were overtaken by the live image of your cunt being rutted into without any reprieve in sight. Natasha cried out against your cheek, her thighs trembled beneath your ass, and even in your blissed out state you managed to smile.

Wanda found your triumphant smile adorable, you knew just what you were doing to them, it was a cocky, yet sweet little expression. You soon whimpered as she lifted your thighs up into Natasha's hands so that she could fuck into you even deeper. Her plans to wipe the smile off your face a success as she worked to remind you that they were the ones in charge.

Her body lurched forward so that she could lavish your upper body with attention, her tongue swirled around your nipples, making you gasp out at the unexpected touch. Then she began to press shaky kisses all over the ridged skin around the curve of your breasts as she grew overwhelmed by the way that the harness pressed firmly into her clit with each thrust.

Wanda wanted to see you coming undone, so she stretched her torso and brought her face to hover over yours as she kept her hips pace up. While she stared into your eyes she noted the way your pupils contracted ever so slightly, there was a haze that heavily overlayed them, and she felt her chest swell with pride at the effect their ministrations were having on you.

Then she frowned as they soon shut. "Open your eyes pretty girl," she coaxed, her lips pressed to yours briefly, and she beamed when you listened to her gentle command. "Keep them open for us, we wanna see you let go."

Natasha softly cursed in Russian from beneath you, her hot air coasting over your skin, and you imagined Wanda was sharing in the sight.

"I need," you choked on your words as she applied a firm pressure to your engorged clit, the touch was too much and everything all at once. "Please, let me cum, I can't take it anymore... I need to..." You words cut off once again as she had slammed her lips to yours, and whispered, "Cum with us detka, let go..."

You came with a scream of their names in between slurred curse words, and Natasha followed suit within seconds, screaming in line with your own before she bit into your shoulder to suppress her insanely loud noises of bliss.

It was a glorious sight for the witch, Natasha's skin was flushed and her eyes were drooped, and when she focused back in on you she about died at the alluring sight that followed along with you cumming. Her hips came to an abrupt stop as she was blinded by her own orgasm, holding eye contact with you as you came down was rather dizzying. Like an intimate fireworks show on display for just her with the way the swirls of lust exploded within your irises. 

Wanda’s body collapsed atop yours, she softly kissed the skin of your neck, and smiled when your arms lazily wrapped around her body. The three of you remained like that for awhile, breathing out of sync on the come down, and exchanging the sweetest of touches up until Natasha ruined it with a gravely whine, “I can’t feel anymore, I’m paralyzed beneath you two.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, then you squealed as she did the same with your bodies. “Fine, but don’t complain about missing our warmth.”

“Ah yes, because that’s what I’m getting,” she teased further, “You’re just so warm Wands.”

“Careful now, or I’ll tell Fury to send you off.”

Natasha chuckled, then looked over to see your face was nuzzled into the witches chest, and the other was smiling like an idiot. Her heart was near to bursting at the seams with just how much love she harbored for the both of you.

“Share the detka,” Natasha whined, no longer content with being alone after sixty seconds. Wanda smirked, then taunted her, “I warned you, yet you still chose your silly freedom.”

“I didn’t want to lose my limbs!”

You giggled tiredly against Wanda’s bare chest, and she smiled widely at Natasha who was already wearing an adoring smile of her own.

“How are you feeling love?” Wanda whispered, and with the help of Nat she’d rolled you onto your back. For a moment you’d gathered the post sex confidence to speak, hut then piercing orbs of emerald stared down expectantly and the pure deepness of the green in them gave the allusion as if she was staring into your soul.

"I-I," you paused, taking in a massive inhale to steady your rapidly beating heart. The after effects of your multiple orgasms not helping your mind to process either. Natasha's cocky smirk hovering over your face wasn't helping, but Wanda's nails scratching over your side was. "What's on your mind there pretty girl?"

"Thank you."

Natasha frowned, and your brows turned down at the sight of her disappointed expression.

"Why are you thanking us?" Wanda asked the question on both of their minds. Suddenly you felt the weight of your former insecurities crashing back down on you, and for the first time since it happened you decided to be more open with them. "For being patient with me..."

"Oh sweetheart, that's not worthy of thanks," Wanda negated with a deep sigh. "You deserve nothing less than the bare minimum, and that is exactly what respecting your autonomy is."

You felt the warmth swarming around in your stomach, as if a case of butterflies had been released within you. The ability to be honest with them only furthered as you saw the loving look in their eyes that screamed of safety.

"And for," you paused momentarily, pouting your lips as you got your thoughts together. "For not making me feel bad for the ugly scars beneath my chest. Robin, they, um —..."

Neither women needed further explanation, it made both of them irate to think that the pain you felt last year, that nearly cost them you for good, was over something so grotesque.

"I'll kill them," Natasha growled, and you were not foolish enough to leave that unchecked. "Natty, I think that it's time we all move on. Robin is a thing of the past, and I'd like to keep them that way. I much prefer our future."

Our future rang out in all of your heads, and you smiled reassuringly up at them in truth.

Natasha settled on her side beside you, her arm crooked to hold her head up, and she reached out to grab your hand. She pulled it to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips before she was taking it lower. You quirked a brow, thinking this was a fast turn around into a round two, but then she settled your hand on her lower abdomen. You frowned at the feel of her mostly smooth skin being tarnished by the familiar ridges. Hers were a bit more faded, but the raise of the skin never planned to go away.

“We all have scars detka,” she spoke with a great sadness in her tone, but her smile reflected the hope that lived on inside her chest. “Some of ours we wear outside,” as she paused, Wanda turned your face to hers, and you held intimate eye contact as Nat finished, “Some of ours live in our souls, and for the three of us we’ve got a mix of both. They don’t define us detka, they’re just a piece of a story.”

“You’re beautiful now, just as you were then,” Wanda carried on the topic of discussion. She took a momentary reprieve so she could kiss your lips while her thumbs wiped away at the once budding tears that had began to fall. “We always saw you Y/N, when you were in that cell we just knew you were special, and every day since you’ve gotten out you’ve proven us right.”

“I love you guys so much,” you cried, and rolled into Natasha’s chest to hide your face. “We love you so much more Y/N,” Wanda challenged, and in a gentle sway she maneuvered herself behind you, and wrapped you up in her love. Natasha mirrored her exact sentiments with a contrast in approach as she pecked your tear stained cheeks, and ran a comforting hand up and down your side. “Now rest up angel..”

Wanda chuckled tiredly into her pillow then kissed your neck “We’re far from done detka…”

——

[i-amm-mj]

Convenience - Katsuki Bakugo x Reader - Angst

Part 2 here!

You just rejected Katsuki Bakugo´s marriage proposition after 3 years of relationship in front of a full restaurant... The reason? You know he doesn´t love you, at least not as much as you love him.

And you know that because he mentioned twice that he hasn´t contemplated marriage on his short-term plans. The first time he mentioned it, you both were having breakfast. He said he didn´t want to get married, not before he got to the Top 3, and right now he were the fourth, but his agent and the press have been pressuring him to get married and start a family because Deku, the Number Three hero already did, which was helping him to get the approval of the citizens. “There´s nothing better than a man of family to protect civilians” they had said. 

You are sure Deku got married because he wanted to. Everyone noticed how in love he was with his wife when he started to cry after seeing Ochako in the beautiful dress you and the girls helped her choose. And you are sure of what Katsuki thinks too... You know him too well to know that the explosive blonde would never waste the opportunity to compete with Deku and show him that he was better than the “fucking nerd”... and as a girlfriend, you were good with it. You admired Katsuki and were proud of him for being so compromised with his dream. You just never thought that he would use you to achieve it and it hurted you... it hurted you so bad that when he kneeled in front you, you started to cry, but not because of happiness, your crying was a product of sadness. 

In other conditions, Katsuki proposing to you would have been the happiest moment of your life and you would have accepted him without any doubt. You really wanted him to be the man next to you at altar and the father of your children, but it seems that to him you are just a ladder to help him escalate the ranking, and you were not going to take it. You had dreams too, you wanted to do things by and for yourself and he didn´t considerate that at all... so you just left the restaurant without saying a word and headed straight to your apartment to cry even harder to your bestfriend... 

“Are you sure you are not overreacting?” your bestfriend asked through the phone “I mean... you´ve been together for 3 years now...” But no, you weren´t overreacting, you heard him yourself, but you didn´t want to remember the second time he mentioned it and his hurtful words. 

It was one week ago, when you finished your shift and headed to his office just like any other day. His secretary had gone home a few minutes before so there weren´t anyone to announce your presence. When you were ready to enter his office you stopped, there were voices coming from it. You recognized Kirishima and your ex-boyfriend´s.

“C´mon, man” Kirishima said “It´s not that bad. The press said that i look ridiculous in swimsuit and haven´t take it so seriously, they say shit all the time about everyone” 

“Those fuckers have been up my ass for four months since that nerd and Ochako got married...” Katsuki groaned “They even dared to say that marriage could help with my image of an asshole”   

Kirishima laughed “Yeah, that could be true, but you can´t force yourself into a marriage, can you?”

“Not with her at least” he murmured. Was he talking about you? You felt the pain in your chest but tried to ignored it, Katsuki would never talk about you like that, wouldn´t he? 

“Of course not! You couldn´t do that to Y/N” Kirishima protested. 

You then knocked the door, panic crawling your skin at his words: He was talking about you... and you didn´t want to know the rest. Your brain was processing. Did you really hear that? No, it was not possible. You have been together 3 years, he must love you. He wouldn´t say something so crude. You were in denial, yeah, he was just chatting with his best friend, it was just and inocent conversation between two legally single men, the type you would have with your best friend too.  

Ten seconds later he let you in. You fixed yourself and put on the best smile you could offer. 

“Hi, honey” you said “You ready to go home?” When he heard your voice, Katsuki got up from the chair and a grin appeared on his handsome face, matching yours. 

“What´s up, pretty girl?” he walked towards you and gave you a kiss on the lips “I´m ready when you are ready” 

You were now laying on your bed. Remembering. Crying. It was really hard to know that Katsuki Bakugo didn´t love you that much. And you really didn´t get it. You were sure of his feelings for you for a long time now, but all this happened so quickly that it didn´t give you time process it. You weren´t sure why Katsuki would do this to you...