#nope. never getting over him🥰 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!ex!rafe - part two

warnings: angst 🥰

You shouldn’t be here.

It’s stupid. Dangerous, even.

That’s all you can think as you stand at the bar, fingers tapping nervously against your glass. It’s packed, the typical crowd buzzing after another one of the games. It’s the usual fans, players, and people who’ve never touched a hockey stick in their life but still come to bask in the afterglow of a win.

You’d sworn after the last time — after that night — you wouldn’t let yourself get sucked back into this. But here you are. It’s only been three weeks since you accidentally ended up fucking him.

That night after his game, with your date somewhere outside, waiting for you, oblivious. You didn’t mean for it to happen. It was supposed to be closure, a final goodbye, whatever excuse you’d fed yourself when you let Rafe pull you into that dark hallway at the stadium. Maybe it was seeing him on the ice again, that high, that intensity, had done something to you. The way he’d stared at you in the stands, like he was winning just to prove something. Like he still had something to prove to you.

Now, you’re actively avoiding him again — which is hard, considering he’s everywhere. On the screens, in the tabloids, in your goddamn head.

“You okay?” your friend asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, just... crowded,” you lie, forcing a smile. But she knows better, giving you that knowing look that says, Yeah, sure, totally not about your hockey player ex who's right over there.

“Uh-huh. He’s here, isn’t he?” She doesn’t even have to ask. The answer’s written all over your face.

“I don’t care,” you lie. “I just—”

But you don’t finish because that’s when you see him. You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room out of habit. And there he is.

Rafe Cameron, in all his post-game glory, laughing with his teammates like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s still wearing part of his team gear like it’s his uniform for life, that stupidly tight team jacket stretched across those broad shoulders you used to run your hands down. His hair is still damp from the shower. He hasn’t seen you yet — thank God — but you know it’s only a matter of time.

He always finds you.

You suck in a sharp breath and look away fast, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever drink the bartender is making.

Why did you come here again? To prove a point to yourself? To what, show him you’re unaffected? Stupid. So, so stupid. He’s a mistake. A mistake wrapped up in six feet of cocky charm.

Your friend’s watching you, probably already figuring out what’s going through your head, but you’re too focused on him. On the way he throws his head back laughing at something his buddy says. You can’t hear it over the music, but you know that laugh too well, you can imagine the sound like clockwork. You should be past this. You’ve had closure. The kind of closure that leaves bruises and bite marks, the kind that shouldn’t have happened.

“Girl, you need to—”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. You know what she’s going to say. You know exactly what she’s thinking because it’s the same thing running through your head: Why the fuck can’t you stay away from him?

“Nope,” she says firmly, like she’s reading your mind. “Not tonight, okay? You said you were done.”

“I am done,” you murmur. Liar, liar, liar.

It’s downright infuriating how your body reacts to him, even now.

You can feel it in your chest, something that always pulls you toward him and hasn’t let up since the day you first met him. It’s maddening. You’ll ignore him, just like last time — except, okay, last time didn’t exactly work out. But this time will be different. You’ll stay cool, stay calm, stay—

“Leaving already?”

You freeze, your heart skipping for all the wrong reasons. You could walk away, pretend you didn’t hear him. But you don’t.

You slowly turn around, and there he is, standing right behind you, eyes on you with that same intensity that always makes it impossible to breathe.

He looks good. Too good. And he knows it.

“What do you want?”

He smirks, leaning against the bar like this is just another normal conversation. Like you didn’t fuck him three weeks ago after months of silence. Like that didn’t mean something.

“Can’t say hi to my ex?” He cocks his head, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Or are we pretending that didn’t happen now?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your drink, trying to appear unbothered. But your body hates you. He steps closer, just enough that you catch the scent of his cologne — that stupid scent that still haunts your bed.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you snap, meeting his gaze. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You were gonna pretend you didn’t see me?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” you mutter, turning to leave. But before you can, he grabs your wrist — not hard, but enough to make you pause.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his voice lower now, more serious. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. “Tell me you didn’t come here hoping to see me.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He’s still got you wrapped around his finger, and he’s not even hiding it.

You jerk your hand out of his grip, your jaw clenched tight. “You think I came here for you?” You can feel your pulse racing, the anger inside, because, fuck, maybe there’s a part of you that did. “You think I came here to throw it all away for you?”

He doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he steps closer, he’s huge and takes up too much space. “Maybe you just wanted to see me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have seen you, Rafe. You look like shit.” You take a step back, needing space, needing air. “Not everything’s about you.”

He chooses to ignore your little comment.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, and your body betrays you with a flush that spreads up your neck. That night. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way you hadn’t been able to get enough of him.

“It was the adrenaline,” you snap, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “That’s all it was.”

“That’s bullshit,” he fires back immediately, stepping closer again, eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t thinking about the game when you kissed me. Or when you begged me to—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, cutting him off, your cheeks burning with rage. “We both know what happened was a mistake.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know how fake they sound. The memory of that night — his body over yours, his hands on you, the heat between you—

“Mistake, huh?” Rafe tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if he’s daring you to say it again. “That why you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You want to kill him.

“We were both high off the win. I wasn’t thinking. It didn’t mean anything.”

His jaw tightens, and you can see you’re hurting him. He leans down, close enough that his lips almost brush against your ear, and you shiver despite yourself.

“You weren’t thinking when you came apart in my arms, huh? You weren’t thinking when you told me you needed me,” he says, his voice a low rasp that makes you clench your thighs.

“Stop.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. You feel like you’re losing control, like you’re getting sucked back into him, the one you swore you’d broken free of.

“You’re still thinking about it. I know you are,” Rafe murmurs, and his hand slides up your arm, fingers grazing your bare skin.

You swallow hard, pulling back slightly, needing space to think, to breathe. “You’re not as important as you think.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe not. But I’m still in your head. You still want me.”

You want to scream, want to shove him, want to do something to make him shut the fuck up because the worst part is, he’s not wrong. You’re still here, you’re still drawn to him like a magnet, no matter how many times you’ve told yourself you’re done.

And you hate him for it. Hate him.

“I don’t want you,” you say, but the words come out too weak, like you don’t believe them yourself, and Rafe’s eyes glimmer with amusement like he knows you don’t.

“That so?” he murmurs, stepping even closer, crowding you, his presence taking over your personal space in the best and worst way. His hand trails down your arm again, “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not—” you start, but before you can finish, his mouth is down on yours.

You don’t even think. You don’t have time to. One second, you’re angry, and the next, you’re kissing him back like you need him to breathe. Your hands fly to his chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket as you pull him closer. So fucking stupid.

You hate him, but you need him.

His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, hating yourself for how good it feels. Before you know it, he’s already pulling back, tugging you toward the back of the bar, weaving through his teammates with no hesitation, dragging you like you weight nothing.

“Rafe,” you hiss, trying to pull back, but he’s not listening. He doesn’t have to, he knows you’ll follow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you snap, but your voice cracks. Because you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve been here before. And despite every warning bell going off in your head, your body’s already reacting, already wanting this.

He doesn’t say a word at first, just spins you around and pins you against the door, his body pressing against yours, so close you can feel the hard lines of his muscles, the heat radiating off him. You open your mouth to argue, to push him away, to remind yourself why this is a bad idea — but then his lips are on yours again, and everything falls apart.

Rafe’s breath is hot against your neck, hands gripping your waist like every inch of space between you is unbearable. You’ve barely had time to catch your breath from him pinning you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours like he’s drowning in the kiss, like you’re still his to touch, to hold, to ruin.

And God, it feels like you are.

Even though every part of you knows this is a bad idea, knows you should have walked away the second you saw him, your body doesn’t give a damn. It wants him. It’s always wanted him. You’re making out like you’re about to fuck right here in this tiny, dingy hallway, and there’s no stopping it now.

He yanks your shirt higher, his fingers trailing over your skin in a way that makes you want to forget all the bullshit that came before this. His mouth is on your collarbone now, kissing down, down, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him.

“I miss you,” he murmurs.

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallow hard, shaking your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “Don’t— Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he says, his gaze locked on yours. “I miss you, okay? I—fuck, I hate this. Hate that you’re not there anymore, that you’re—” He breaks off, sucking in a sharp breath, like he’s struggling to find the words. “That you’re gone. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Just as he’s about to move lower, the door flies open. The sound scares you both, and Rafe steps back, his hands falling away from you instantly, leaving you cold, exposed, and pissed.

“Shit—” Rafe mutters, straightening up, turning around to face the door. And there she is.

Her.

Sofia, the team’s physical therapist — and the woman who’s been at the center of all your doubts, all your insecurities, since she was hired a year ago. The reason you and Rafe broke up in the first place. She’s standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of you. But it doesn’t matter. The sight of her makes your blood boil.

You freeze, your body going rigid with the shock of it. You can’t believe this.

Now? Of all times?

Sofia’s eyes move to Rafe, and it’s like you’re not even there. Like this isn’t the most awkward, tension-filled moment of your fucking life.

“Rafe,” she says calmly, too casually, like she hasn’t just interrupted whatever this is. “Coach needs you. It’s important.”

Rafe tenses, and for a second, he looks torn. But only for a second.

You can feel your chest tightening, your hands curling into fists at your sides. It’s always been like this. The way he looks at her, the way he drops everything for her, how they have this whole connection you were never part of. And it hits you again — she knew things about him you didn’t. Important things. Things that should’ve been yours to know first.

You remember the night you found out about the other team’s offer — how blindsided you’d felt when you saw it on the news. It wasn’t even that he rejected the offer. It was the fact that he didn’t tell you. Didn’t think it was a big deal. But he told her. You feel like throwing up by just thinking about it. The humiliation, the way Sofia had acted like it was normal, like she was so fucking in the loop.

And now she’s here, again, like she always is.

You push past Rafe, your voice cutting through the tension. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rafe turns to you, “It’s not what you think.”

You scoff, eyes burning into his. “Not what I think?” You can feel the fury bubbling up, your chest tightening with every breath. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Rafe?” You look between him and Sofia, your stomach churning at how casual she looks. Like she’s used to this. Used to being there—in the middle of things she has no business being in.

She’s standing there all cool and collected, glances between the two of you like this is just another day at work, another harmless interruption. She even has the nerve to offer you a tight, professional smile. Like she’s the fucking victim. Like she hasn’t been the fucking problem all along.

“Should I go?” she asks, voice sweet and calm, like she’s offering to leave a fucking brunch.

That does it. You snap. The adrenaline from the fight, from being caught, from everything just crashes through you like a wave. You glare at her, feeling your pulse race with rage.

"Are you fucking serious?" you spit, stepping forward, your voice shaking with barely contained rage. “Should you go? You shouldn’t be here. Ever. You’re not wanted.” Every word drips with venom, and the look on Sofia’s face changes slightly. She knows she’s hit a nerve.

She always does.

Rafe reaches out like he’s going to grab your arm, to stop you from escalating, but you pull back hard. You can’t even look at him right now.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You can’t believe this is happening. Again.

Rafe’s face falls, like he didn’t expect you to react this way, like he hasn’t been a complete idiot for months. You step back, creating as much space as you can between you, him, and her.

“Wow,” You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even to your own ears. “This is why we’re here. This right here. You, her—” You wave your hand dismissively at Sofia, who still stands there, too composed for what this moment is. “You’re so fucking blind.”

He looks like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but no words come out. Good.

You’re tired of hearing his excuses anyway.

“I don’t get why you couldn’t just talk to me,” you continue, feeling the familiar burn of tears threatening to sting your eyes. But you won’t give either of them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Not now. “But no, you had to go to her. She’s your go-to, right? You tell her everything. She makes you feel better, right?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he finally mutters, his voice low, strained. “I rejected the offer. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Of course, it was a big deal, Rafe. I was supposed to be the last to know? You think just because you rejected it, it didn’t fucking matter?”

Sofia clears her throat, shifting her weight uncomfortably, but you ignore her, your eyes still locked on Rafe. You can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this, like your feelings were an afterthought. Like you were an afterthought.

“And you—” You turn to Sofia now, your voice laced with venom. “You knew the entire time. You both did.”

Sofia opens her mouth, but Rafe cuts her off. “Stop,” he says, his voice sharp. “Just... stop.”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” you snap, stepping back, keeping the distance between you. “You don’t get to look at me like that. Like I’m the one being unreasonable. I loved you, Rafe. I trusted you. And you broke that. You broke me.”

This is between you and Rafe, and she’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of all the things he kept from you.

With a bitter laugh, you grab your jacket from the floot and push past them both, your heart pounding in your chest. “I hope you’re happy together,” you mutter, not looking back as you storm out of the bathroom, out of the bar, out of his life.

You storm out of the bar, your pulse ripping in your ears, heart slamming against your chest like it’s trying to break free from whatever this is. The cool night air hits your skin, but it does nothing to calm the heat in your body. You can still feel his hands on you, his mouth, the way he pulled you in like nothing had changed, like it was still him and you against the world. But nothing is the same anymore. He isn’t yours to touch, and you’re not his to ruin. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, letting him in just to tear you apart all over again.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, staring at the screen. It’s a text from your friend, asking if you’re okay. You blink, forcing yourself to take a breath. Right. Yeah. I’m fine. Just needed some air. I’ll be back in a sec. Lie after lie after lie.

You’re done. For real this time. You’ve said it before, told yourself that you were finished with Rafe, but it never stuck. This time though? You don’t think you could go back even if you wanted to.

You’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting for him to figure his shit out, tired of being second to someone else. Sofia’s just a reminder of all the ways he’s failed you, of the times he left you hanging in the worst way. But it’s not just her — it’s him. It’s always been him and the way he never truly opened up to you. Not the way you needed him to.

Your chest hurts so fucking bad as the tears finally start to blur your vision, but you don’t stop walking. You don’t look back. Not this time. You don’t make it more than a few steps before you hear it — his voice, calling your name. Loud, desperate.

You curse under your breath, not daring to turn around, but he’s quick. His footsteps are fast, catching up to you before you can get too far.

“Wait!” Rafe’s hand grabs your arm, pulling you to a stop.

You spin around, ripping your arm from his grip, “Don’t you fucking dare. Let me go, Rafe.”

He doesn’t. His eyes are frantic, like he knows he already lost but isn’t willing to admit it. “No, we’re not doing this again. You don’t just get to walk away like that.”

“Like what?” You scoff, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Like I’m tired of the same bullshit with you? Like I’m finally done playing this game?”

“You don’t mean that.” There’s something rin the way he’s looking at you, something that makes you almost hate him more. Because he’s right — you don’t mean it. Not fully. And that’s the worst part.

“Don’t tell me what I mean, Rafe,” you spit, shoving his chest. He barely moves. “Stop,” you snap, pushing him again. “Just stop. You can’t keep doing this, showing up, pulling me back in, pretending like you care when it’s convenient for you.”

“I do care.” He runs his hands through his hair, exasperated, “Why do you think I’m here right now?”

“Because you hate not being in control,” you spit back, chest heaving. “Because you hate it when things aren’t on your terms.”

“That’s not it,” he growls, stepping closer again. He’s towering over you now, but you don’t back down. “You think I don’t fucking hate this too? You think this is easy for me? I’m trying, alright. I fucked up, but I’m trying.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Trying? Trying is telling me the truth. Trying is not keeping me in the dark while you run off to her—”

He cuts you off, stepping even closer, until you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne again, “You brought a fucking date to my game!”

“After we broke up,” You hiss, shoving a hand against his shoulder, “God fucking knows what you did with her while we were together.”

Rafe grabs your wrist, pulling you back toward him. "Nothing happened with her," he snaps, his grip tightening for a second before he lets go, as if realizing he’s too close. "I never touched her."

You pull away, anger boiling over. "Does it even matter? You kept her close, closer than you kept me. You told her things! About us, like she’s some fucking therapist.”

He reaches for you again, his hand hovering near your arm before he drops it. "I never meant for you to find out like that. I swear, I was trying to figure it all out—"

"Figure it out?!" You laugh, but it’s broken. "Rafe, you made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was some... some extra piece in your life. But with her? You told her everything. What was I to you?"

He shakes his head, frustration evident. "You were everything! You are everything. But I didn’t want to put you through it. All the shit with the team, with the offer—"

"That’s not your decision to make!" you shout, the words tearing through you. "You don’t get to choose what’s hard for me, what I can handle. I could’ve been there for you. We could’ve done it together, but you shut me out. And now you expect me to just—what? Let it go because you say you didn’t mean it?"

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the same old battle he’s always fought—wanting you but not knowing how to let you in. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something—something real.

"Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?" he asks quietly, his voice almost pleading. "If you were hurting this much, why didn’t you—"

"Why didn’t I?!" You cut him off, tears brimming in your eyes now. "Because you didn’t give me a chance, Rafe! You made it clear you didn’t need me like that. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, you'd let me in. You chose her, Rafe. You always choose her.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he says through gritted teeth, and there’s something desperate in his tone. “I’m standing right here. You think I like seeing you like this?”

“Then why do you keep doing it? Why can’t you just let me go?”

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained, like the words are being ripped out of him. He grabs your hand, softer this time, “Because I’m still in love with you. I’ve never stopped.”

You remember all the half-truths, all the nights you waited for him to choose you.

You shake your head, “You only love me when it’s convenient. When you need me.”

“I told her things because I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rafe snaps, “I thought I was protecting you, keeping shit from getting messy.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief. “Protecting me? You let her in, told her things you should’ve told me. You think that’s protecting me?”

His face contorts with something like regret, but you’re not sure if it’s enough to change anything. His chest is heaving, eyes wide and wild.

But then he just blurts out, “You kissed Elijah.”

You freeze.

Of all the things he could’ve said.

“You think that’s why we’re here right now?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at you like you’ve ripped something out of him. Like you kissing someone else, even for a second kills him.

“You were already gone. We weren’t together.”

He flinches, “So, what? You kissed him to get back at me?”

“What the hell does Elijah have to do with any of this. You know what? Yes, I did. Because you didn’t even fight for us.”

“I didn’t fight for us?” he growls. “You broke up with me without even giving me a chance to explain. You didn’t even let me try to fix it. You just walked away.”

You ended things so quickly, so coldly, because you couldn’t handle the idea of fighting for someone who wasn’t fighting back. You didn’t even give him the chance to explain.

“You think I didn’t want to fight for you?” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you see real pain behind his eyes. “I was trying to keep my shit together, trying to balance everything, and I fucked up, okay? But I never wanted to lose you.”

“Don’t fucking— “

“I watched you kiss him. I couldn’t fucking look away.” He interrupts it physically hurts him to admit it. “I was right there, front and center, like an idiot. And I still needed you after that. Do you know what that felt like? Watching you with him, like I didn’t even exist anymore?” He swallows, his jaw working overtime as he tries to hold it together, but you can see the cracks forming. “It was like everything that I didn’t say, everything I was too fucking scared to admit... it didn’t even matter. You just moved on.”

“Elijah doesn’t matter, okay? He never mattered. But you—” You pause, the words dying in your throat, because you don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep he’s cut you. But you say it anyway. “You’re the one who made me feel like I didn’t matter. You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice is hoarse, worn from fighting, from trying to make him understand something he’s never been willing to face. “This isn’t about Elijah or Sofia or any of that. It’s about you. It’s about how you make me feel like I’m always one step behind, always waiting for you to choose me when I shouldn’t have to beg for it.”

His eyes well up, and for the first time, you see it — those emotions he’s kept locked away for so long. His lips tremble as he tries to say something, but the words get stuck, like he’s choking on everything he’s never been able to say before.

“I know,” he finally whispers, voice breaking. “I know it’s my fault.” His hands fall to his sides, defeated, and the tears spill over. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like this… weak.”

Your chest tightens as you watch him, his face crumpling in a way you’ve never seen. This man who was always so put together, so guarded, unraveling right in front of you. You never thought you'd see him cry — not like this. Not in front of you.

He takes a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper now. “You were always so strong. So… so good. And I was terrified, okay? Terrified that if I let you see the real me, the part of me that’s so fucked up, you’d leave. That you’d realize I’m not enough. Not for you.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, and suddenly you’re not as angry as you thought you’d be. You’re just... tired.

“Rafe…” you whisper, but the words stick in your throat, caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to protect yourself.

“I know I fucked up,” he continues, his voice breaking with every word. “I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to be what you needed. I didn’t know how to let you in. And now you’re gone, and it’s my fault.” He wipes at his face, but the tears keep coming, his chest heaving with the weight of it all. “But I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I’m begging you for one more chance. Please.”

You don’t know what to say. You’ve dreamed about this moment — him finally opening up, letting you see him. But now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would. You don’t feel victorious or relieved. You just feel... sad.

You want to believe that he’s changed, that this time will be different. But then you remember all the nights you spent alone, waiting for him to come home.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can go through this with you, only to end up back here. Hurt. Broken.”

“I’ll change,” he says desperately, stepping closer to you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you, not like this. Please.” His voice cracks again, and for the first time, you see it — the fear in his eyes. He’s terrified. Terrified of losing you for good.

But you’re terrified too. You’re scared of giving him your heart again, only for him to break it.

“You don’t get it. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure your shit out while I’m left in pieces. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love me the way I deserve.”

His face crumples again, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to break free. “You do,” he whispers. “You do deserve that. And I swear, I’ll be that for you. I’ll be better. Let me fix it,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Fix what?” you shake your head, “This isn’t something you can patch up with pretty words or promises. I don’t trust you. Do you get that? I don’t trust us. You say you love me, but love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to make me feel like I’m breaking every time I look at you.”

His shoulders slump, and for a second, he looks almost boyish, like a child who’s just realized he’s ruined his favorite toy. “You’re everything to me. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now that I was just... I was just pushing you away. Let me try.”

You close your eyes, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Please,” he whispers again, “Don’t leave me. I-I can’t do this without you.”

You don’t know who you are without him either. He’s been such a part of you, woven into your heart in ways that can’t just be undone. Your heart breaks all over again, because you’ve wanted to hear those words for so long — needed him to need you the way you needed him. But now? You already left.

You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, trying to calm yourself. You can’t fall apart now, not when you’re finally seeing things clearly.

“I’m not leaving because I don’t love you,” you say softly, each word feeling like a knife to your chest. “I’m leaving because I do. But I can’t keep waiting for you to be the person I need. I can’t keep putting myself through this. You had so many chances to let me in, and every time, you chose to shut me out.”

Rafe looks like he’s about to argue, but then his face crumples, his shoulders slumping forward as he covers his face with his hands. He’s breaking, right in front of you, and it takes every ounce of strength you have not to fall apart with him. He looks at you like you’ve just ripped his heart out of his chest.

“God, I’m sorry,” he sobs, his voice muffled behind his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening as the tears keep coming. You’ve heard his apologies before — after every argument, every time he made you feel small and insignificant, he’d say he was sorry. But those words have lost their meaning.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you’re sorry. But we’re not good for each other right now.”

“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so fucking much.”

You bite your lip, tasting the salt of your own tears as you choke back a sob. “I know. And I love you too.

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weird-is-life · 6 months ago

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Hello i have a request for spencer reid x reader. If you have noticed in the show, esp early seasons he doesnt really get jokes a lot and takes stuff literally. Can you write a reader who is the same way, and the team is partaking in a funny joke and they are the only two who dont get it??? They r so perfect for each other

Hiii, lovely🥰ty for the cute request, hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, clueless Spencer and reader, mentions of drinking and tea, (0.5k)

The latest case is finally over, and the whole team is more than happy about it. There are drink being passed around the jet in between, well almost everyone, except from you and Spencer.

You two are comfortably sitting next to each other on the jet's couch with the cups of tea in your hands. You didn't feel like drinking, and neither did Spencer, so instead he made you both some tea.

You are still very much present in the merry conversation happening between the team though, just without the alcohol.

And suddenly everybody is laughing, something to do with Derek and a bar, but you don't get it. You force a fake laugh out because you don't want to ruin the fun.

You find that Spencer is laughing as well, so even he must get the joke. It's only you that doesn't understand. You think of how embarrassing that is for you. Never getting the jokes.

The laughter dies down, and the conversation continues going as smoothly as it has been before.

Abruptly, you get an idea. Maybe Spencer could explain the joke to you?

It takes you a few minutes to find the courage to lean closer to Spencer, and ask about the joke.

"Spencer? C-Could I ask you something?" You whisper as inconspicuously as you can. Not wanting to get anybody else's attention.

Spencer looks at you with a soft smile, and he says, "sure."

You clear your throat, feeling a bit sheepish about it," did you....could you explain the joke to me?"

Spencer frowns in confusion, " what do you mean?"

You sigh in defeat," I mean the joke that everybody was laughing at. I didn't get it." Your cheeks go a bit red at your confession.

"You didn't get it?" Spencer asks curiously. Not mean or cruel about it, just curious.

You shake your head. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

"I didn't either," Spencer grins at you. Eyes shining with sparks of amusement.

"You didn't?" You baffle. You saw him laughing.

"Nope. I often don't. I usually just pretend that I know what they are talking about, and laugh at it," Spencer shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. The sides of your mouth go up.

"Did you pretend now too?" You question with a quiet giggle. You can't believe that he's done the same thing as you.

"Yeah. Did you pretend too? I saw you laughing," he raises his eyebrows. His own smile appearing on his pretty face.

"Yeah, didn't want to be the only one not laughing," you admit.

"Good," he laughs, bumping his shoulder to yours, "now we can pretend to understand together."

You can't contain the laugh as he says it. The both of you chuckling on your own inside joke.

"Oi," Derek draws your attention, your laughing gone, but the smiles remaining on your faces, " what are you two lovebirds laughing at?"

Your cheeks go impossibly more rosy, "nothing." It's an easy lie, you don't feel like telling them the truth.

And one look at Spencer you know he doesn't either, his own cheeks a bit more pink than they were before.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid

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carolmunson · 7 months ago

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2 ✨ Orange Colored Sky Eddie, if I may 🥰

‘don’t wanna wait on it tonight i wanna get nasty.’

ocs!eddie girls come get y’all smut juice (18+ drinking, p in v sex.)

"Tell me how good it feels."

Eddie's voice always got low and husky after a few drinks, confidence mixed with something dark and brooding.

You both got home from work with rough days weighing on both of your shoulders. He immediately made his way to the bar cart to make margaritas. Not even slipping off his shoes. Not even speaking.

You sipped them quietly on the sectional, just the lamp on in the corner. Then another, then another, until you both were stumbling when you stood up.

Not so drunk that you both needed to go to bed, but drunk enough that the couch was so comfortable. Drunk enough that when he looked at you and patted his thigh you slid over onto his lap like you have so many nights before. Drunk enough that getting undressed felt fluid and sexy, but to an onlooker - awkward and messy.

You breathed for each other, lips and teeth gnashing and kissing. Calloused tattooed fingers pulling at your skin, gripping the meat of your hips, pulling you in around your waist. He does anything to kiss more, to dip his tongue further into your mouth, to devour you whole.

He flips you around with your back to his chest, tequila breaths ghosting over that spot on your neck that makes you squirm while he parts your legs open wide on his lap. One hand pushes your face towards his while the other sneaks between your legs, teasing over your already damp panties — cotton, hunter green, thrown on this morning in an uncaffeinated haze. He'd never been more turned on in his life.

Your hips move against his fingers, whimpering into his mouth.

"Tell me how good it feels."

His innate need for praise made his acts of dominance seem like a farce.

"So good," you whisper against his lips.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, running over your panty line.

You nod, doing the job for him and getting up to take your underwear off. He pulls a face.

"What?" you ask.

"I could've taken them off all sexy," he complains,

"But you just — y'know."

"Did that!" he gestures toward you, naked in front of him.

"Are you upset?" you ask, turning around to grab a sip of your abandoned fourth margarita. You hear his dreamy sigh, a quiet 'mmm' at the view in front of him. The nectarines at Trader Joe's not the only reason the nickname Peach has stuck around so long.

"Nope," you hear the smile on his lips, "But don' make me wait, sweetheart."

You hear the shuffle of him pulling his boxers down, giggling when he tosses them at your feet.

You turn back around, offering him the glass where he down the rest of the drink in two gulps. In his post gulp breaths he looks you over, a grin flashing his teeth at you when he looks you over.

"What did I say?" he asks up at you, reaching forward to pull you by you hips toward his lap.

"Don't make you wait," you smirk, knees finding their way to the edge of the couch when you crawl on top of him again. He takes you in, nose and lips skimming your sternum up your breasts before his teeth graze over the side. He bites, but not hard.

"Yeah," he whispers like smoke against your skin, "Don't make me..."

In his distraction you take the moment to sink slowly down onto him, a needy whine pulling from your chest while you press down to the hilt.

"Mmm, shit — don't —" he groans.

"Don't make me wait..." Eddie sighs gruffly, eyes hazy in love while he leans his head back on the cushions to watch you. You're already nearly falling apart after a few bounces on his lap.

Needed this all day.

God, he needed you all day.

#ocs!eddie #orange colored sky #older!eddie munson #older!eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson smut

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iamgonnagetyouback · 2 months ago

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Heyyyy! I saw your post looking for AU Marauders requests so I thought I’d have a go.

I concept I’ve been loving recently is Doctor/Paramedic Remus so maybe something with that if the idea sparks your interest. Preferably something hurt/comfort (I will never get enough of that trop). I’ll let you decide on the rest 🥰

Hope you’re having a nice day!

doctor!remus lupin x teacher!reader who gets pushed by her students

You rubbed your head as you trudged into the hospital, the dizziness making each step heavier. Today had been... a disaster. Your students—well, they were good kids, but today’s rowdiness had gone too far, leaving you on the ground, injured, and with a splitting headache.

“Of course, I get pushed around by teenagers,” you muttered, glancing at your phone. You’d intended to head straight for your dad’s office, but fate had other plans. Because standing at the reception desk, clipboard in hand, was none other than Remus Lupin.

Your stomach twisted as your eyes locked onto him. He glanced up, and you saw the flicker of recognition in his gaze. His warm, amber eyes were now watching you with concern. But, oh no, you were not in the mood.

“Y/N?” Remus started to approach, but you turned on your heel immediately.

“Nope. I’m good. I’m fine. Just gonna go bleed somewhere else, thanks.”

Before you could get far, James Potter caught up to you, blocking your path with wide, worried eyes. “What do you mean, 'bleed somewhere else'? Y/N, sit down. Now.”

“James, I swear I’m—”

“Remus!” James called out dramatically, waving at the doctor like he was hailing a taxi. “Get over here! She’s being an idiot, but you’re a doctor, right? Fix her!”

You glared at your best friend. “I don’t need fixing.”

“Yeah, and I don’t need glasses. But here we are.” James rolled his eyes before turning to Remus. “Do something before she faints or worse.”

Remus sighed, clearly reluctant but professional. “Y/N, come with me. Let’s get you checked out.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t get a say in this.” He caught your arm as you swayed slightly, that damn dizziness getting worse. “Lean on me.”

“I’d rather not,” you grumbled, feeling the weight of his hand steady you.

Remus wasn’t fazed. “I don’t care that you hate me. Do you see anyone else here to help?”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to James for rescue, but your so-called best friend was... flirting with Lily, who you had called earlier for backup. He wasn’t even pretending to be concerned anymore, laughing at something she’d said.

“Traitor,” you whispered under your breath, your eyes narrowing at James before you let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, fine.”

Remus’ arms gently enveloped you, guiding you to a nearby room. The warmth of his hands settling on your waist as he helped you onto the hospital bed left an unexpected tingling sensation. He knelt in front of you, glancing up with that infuriatingly soft look. “Can I?”

“Just get this over with.”

He nodded and dabbed cotton in some antiseptic. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, his tone a little too kind for your liking.

You braced yourself, but the sting still made you wince, and before you knew it, his free hand was extended toward you. You blinked at it.

“Hold it,” Remus said. “It’ll help.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “What? Seriously?”

He didn’t waver. “Yes. Seriously.”

You sighed and grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard as he dabbed at your wound. He didn’t flinch, just kept working, and you had to admit—it did help, a little. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

Once he finished bandaging you up, he smirked. “You’re reckless, you know that? And your students are completely undisciplined.”

You shot him a glare, ignoring how his hand was still warm in yours. “They’re just kids. They didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“They threw you on the ground.”

“It was an accident!”

“Hmm, sure.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Maybe you should be a bit stricter, professor.”

“Oh, shut up, doctor.”

Remus chuckled softly and stood, calling James and Lily back into the room. They rushed over, their faces immediately turning into a picture of concern. Well, Lily’s did. James looked more like a frantic mother hen.

“Merlin, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me you were this hurt?!” James exclaimed, kneeling beside you. “Remus, she’s dumb. You have some medicine to knock some sense into her, right?”

“Hey!” you protested.

Lily, on the other hand, was far more composed. She gently patted your shoulder. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“She’s not fine,” James argued. “Remus, tell her.”

“I already did,” Remus said with a smirk, crossing his arms. “But she’s stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes as James and Lily continued fussing over you. But somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, your eyes found Remus’ again, and for just a second, you weren’t as annoyed by him as usual.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin hurt/comfort #remus lupin fluff #doctor!remus #doctor au #teacher!reader #teacher au

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ronearoundblindly · 11 days ago

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What are you thoughts on the Cevans characters (+ Bucky hehe) on giving & receiving oral? Who’s more into what, like which role do they prefer. Are any of them not into it at all? Do any of them like it more than actual sex?

Your takes on the Cevans characters are always so accurate 🥰🎀 Luv your blog <3

Ohhhhhh nessie. So spicy. So 😙��. Let's GO!

Warnings for, yeah, discussion of oral (both m and f receiving) with some references to other sexual acts for comparison, etc. We got there this time, gang, like all the way to hell...

Andy Barber

Into both but not his fave. Since Andy wasn't originally in my list of characters (and thus never got a favorite sex position), I'll tell you now that Mr. Barber is more of a face-to-face and hands-on lover. He enjoys a blowjob, sure, and he's by no means against going down on you, but his hands like to grope and wander more than those allow.

Ari Levinson

Really into both. Wow, just, really really into both. Can't say he enjoys it "more" than actual sex, but ohhh fuck it's close. Ari is a roar-as-he-comes-down-your-throat type of guy. He definitely is sloppy on you, not afraid to soak his beard before you even peak. I stand by my headcanon that Ari doesn't like his hair pulled though. He understands it'll happen sometimes, but he will move if you keep tugging hard. Much happier if you leave scratches across his shoulders instead.

Also, Ari strikes me as a man who would enjoy road head or pull over to go down on you if he's horny or bored or just because. I don't have a reason for that, but it's true. The end.

Curtis Everett

He's a giver 100%. Curtis isn't *against* getting a blowjob, but he can't enjoy it much if you aren't really into giving, too.

Maybe TMI, idk, but I also get the impression that Curtis really adds a lot of his tongue thrusting into you during the act. No reasoning, just vibes. He wants to actually fuck you with his face.

Jake Jensen

Whiny and needs practice but he appreciates both ways. Jake needs you to verbally tell him what to do and what feels good, so for a while at least, some of the fun is taken away from that. He also needs the practice not blowing his load about 30 seconds after your lips get on him. That visual--you kneeling or bent over trying to fit him in your mouth--just...does him in so fast.

Jimmy Dobyne

Nope, not really. Surprisingly, he has the skill to make you come without having to do it a lot, but Jimmy still crawls up under your skirt rarely. It's like The Best present when he does. Like, who the fuck did he practice this on to the point of expertise??? Makes no sense, but I'm telling you, Jimmy is the secret munch of the bunch. He'll let you go down on him, but he won't be the one to suggest it. That's purely up to you.

Johnny Storm

Eh--little here, little there. He enjoys the riskiness of oral in semi-public places more than p-in-v sex. Johnny is DTF always...mostly, so nothing is off the table...and he's fine being on the table, just for reference.

Lloyd Hansen

Lloyd is more of a receiver and a giant tease for going down on you. He talks a good game, and you'd think with the mustache that he's practically been groomed to be sat on. However, Lloyd likes to be smug as hell, telling you he'll take care of you but he just needs to unwind after his day. He doesn't really intend to put in much effort because Lloyd is good enough with his fingers and dick. He gets away with avoiding it.

James Mace

Similar to Andy for different reasons: he's into both but neither is his fave. Mace likes a lot of things a little bit. Every position is on rotation. He doesn't want you to get bored, or worse, to be boring, so Mace plays around constantly. Yes, you two still fuck in the bedroom 'the most,' but that's not from lack of other variety.

Ransom Drysdale

Mostly a receiver but in a less controlling way than Lloyd. He uses his tongue as torture on you, i.e. Ran has no intention of bringing you to climax and he wants for you to beg. He wants you to prefer fucking him. Ransom is too lazy for this to be a regular thing he has to do.

Now, again, don't ask me why but I truly believe Ran gets a kick out of choking you on his dick. There's a distinction here, though, because Lloyd enjoys watching you struggle to take him in your mouth while Ransom purposefully thrusts to choke you. It's not prolonged. It's just a kink he likes.

Steve Rogers

Will eat you out at the drop of a hat but thinks a blowjob is degrading to you. Steve has a very traditional notion of respect for the people he loves...and, no, he doesn't see the hypocrisy in that. His excuse is that he likes his mouth all over you, down there no different than anywhere else 🤷🏻‍♀️.

Bucky Barnes

Oh, fuck yeah.

What's there to expand on? Bucky 100% loves to watch you worship his body and loves to worship yours. This dude may have some social and professional hangups, but sex hasn't changed much since the '30s. Anatomy (more or less) is anatomy, and at least all of his romance bits are the same.

Does he prefer giving or receiving? It's pretty equal. You both go gaga over the other dressing up fancy...or dressing down...or when you're dressing...or, ya know, not dressed. Basically, it's just a 'yes.'

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm

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snoopyracing · 4 months ago

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14 from the fluff list + charles 🥺

here it is! hope you like it 🥰❤️

charles + person A's brain short circuiting at how good person B looks

charles adrenaline was still pumping even hours after crossing the finish line at the monaco grand prix. it still didn’t feel real to him that after so many years he had finally won his home race. the whole weekend had been surreal and he had wondered many times if this was all just one big dream and as he buttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt he pinched himself for good measure.

nope. definitely not dreaming.

there hadn’t been a moment for him to take a break today and really process his emotions. after the race it was press duties and then a small celebration with the team that may have involved jumping into the marina. then fast forward to his current task- which was getting ready for the gala dinner.

you had been back at the apartment getting ready for awhile. it was a big event and you’d be eating dinner with the prince and princess which meant hours would be spent making sure you looked your best.

you sang along to the music playing from your phone as you put the finishing touches on your makeup, not even hearing charles enter the bedroom until he spoke up.

“chérie you almost ready?”

your eyes flickered to his reflection of him standing behind you in the mirror. big smiles on both of your faces as you made eye contact.

“yes. i just need help zipping up my dress”

in an instant you were out of your robe and pulling the satin dress up over your figure. goosebumps forming at the feeling of charles fingers brushing over your skin and when he pulled your hair to the side to zip up your dress it caused a shiver to run down your spine. it was embarrassing how much of an effect this man had on you.

he placed a chaste kiss on your shoulder before letting your hair cascade down your back once more. and after slipping on your heels and grabbing your clutch you did a little spin for charles, showing off the final look. “how do i look charlie?”

charles had never been at a loss for words before. his brain was short circuiting and the line from his brain to his mouth had been severed. you looked so beautiful, so radiant, so perfect, like an ethereal being- but he was too stunned too speak. how he had managed to have someone like you by his side he wasn’t sure, but he thanked the gods everyday for you. he didn’t realize he was stood there like a dumbfounded fool until your angelic voice broke him out of his trance.

“baby. close your mouth. you’ll catch flies.”

he could feel the heat radiating to his cheeks as he choked on his words. “sorry-“ he reached his hand out for yours, pulling you into his embrace “but mon coeur you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen. think you scrambled my brain there for a minute.”

your giggles only made his already rapid heart beat even faster. “thank you. you’re very handsome too charlie.”

he’d never felt more in love than right now and when you two made eye contact he knew your were it for him.

you saw charles start to lean in to give you a kiss, but put your finger up to his lips instead. “um no. i love you, but i worked too hard on this makeup for you to mess it up.”

a playful groan escaped past charles lips. “chérie! come on! just one little kiss?”

you patted his chest as you walked past him and towards the door. “we are gonna be late. plus i think the race winner deserves a good prize later no?”

charles didn’t need to be told twice. he was hot on your heels ushering you out the door.

come chat it’s sleepover saturday!!

#nervous writing anything for you lilli..:#but i hope you like it #🥺😭#charles leclerc x reader #sleepover saturday #maddie answers stuff #hctknives #charles leclerc drabble

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hereforhalstead · 1 year ago

Text

CPD Gala

*GIF NOT MINE, full credit to the owner*

Requested?: Nope! Wanted to get something posted now I'm back :)

• Warnings: N/A

• Summary: Jay reminds you of the annual CPD gala but knows it's not your idea of fun

Words: 1,321

• A/N : I’m not gonna apologise again for being gone as god knows how many of these I post with that intro but I’m hoping to be back in the swing of things as I have a tonne of requests to get through and I don’t want anyone thinking their request is being ignored as I promise it isn’t!

Meh I don’t love it as I defo need to get back into the comforts of my writing (its gone so downhill lmao) but here we are..

Hope you enjoy🥰

****

Jay knew you weren’t the biggest fan of social occasions, so when you happily agreed to attend the annual CPD gala he had invited you along to, he was beyond surprised.

“I mean, I’ll ask her but don’t get your hopes up” he had joked with Kim a few days prior, following endless begging from her after finding out Hailey wouldn’t be there and wanting a familiar female face there.

“Tell her I’ll by her drinks all night” she quickly exclaims as Jay chuckles, eyes still firmly on the road as they drive back to the district.

“You do realise it’s a free bar?”

“Oh” she huffs, “more reason for her not to say no then” she happily shrugs, sinking back into her seat with a look of confidence.

As much as Jay could go on for hours about how he knew you better than anyone, least of all Kim who you had only met on a few occasions it was like talking to a brick wall sometimes and he didn’t have the patience.

You and Jay were homebodies and this suited you perfectly, he would come home after long shifts and you would still more than likely be sat in the same spot he left you at that morning. Countless half empty mugs filled with coffee that was now ice cold, papers scattered all over the table and floor with your eyes pinned firmly on the screen in front of you.

He would convince you to call it a night, you’d either order in food or you’d wander into the kitchen together to whip up dinner whilst he told you about his day. Depends on what you had, you’d either quickly tidy up the table as best you could or you both just slumped on the sofa with the pizza box balanced on your laps as you watched some trash TV.

You would always fall asleep before Jay, he would get too into the show you had put on and then couldn’t finish until he had got to the end whereas you probably wasn’t paying too much attention in the first place so would easily doze off to only be awoken with a light kiss to your head when Jay has turned the TV off.

It worked like clockwork, some may say boring but it just worked for you and you couldn’t picture it any other way. You were each others comfort, the feeling of home.

***

Jay had bought up the idea of going with him to the gala the previous year but you had only been dating for a few months and hasn’t told many people so you decided against it in mutual agreement.

The truth was it hadn’t left you mind since that exact day he casually asked you over dinner last year

“would be fun you know? “ he raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from his drink “having you on my arm all nice and dressed up” he teased

No Jay, it wouldn’t be fun.

Social outings weren’t your thing, you had a close family and the relationship you had with Jay and that was more than enough. An evening spent in Molly’s was something you had to build yourself up to, let alone a huge party with tonnes of people you had never met before.

Every week the thought would re-enter your mind on whether or not he would ask again this year, secretly hoping he would’ve forgot or they had a case on which meant they couldn’t go. You knew it was in August as Kim had mentioned it one night at Molly’s so as the month got closer, the more it played on your mind.

You even forced yourself one weekend to go dress shopping for the occasion to try and get yourself in the right mindset of being there to support Jay, after all you were beyond honoured he would want you by his side but sometimes the voice in your head would have a way of getting through.

“You know the CPD gala is this weekend?” Jay broke the silence, still chewing on his pizza as he flicked through the channels.

Shit

“I know it’s not your thing so I’m thinking of just third wheeling Kim and Adam, do you think they’ll mind?” he joked but you could tell there was something in his voice that had a twinge of disappointment.

“I’ll come with you”

Before you could register your voice to your brain, the words came out of your mouth.

“Baby, you do-“ he began but you were quick to cut him off in reassurance, placing a finger onto his lips as you smiled

“It doesn’t matter, you want me to be there so I’ll be there”

You placed a light kiss to his lips, the confusion plastered across his face but the light behind his eyes showing through in a gleam.

“Just promise me you will think about it first, don’t do this for me. You know I’d rather stay at home with you anyway but there isn’t many of us going to Voight wants us to make our presence known bla bla bla”

“I’ve already bought a dress” you lied, knowing it would be the thing to distract him

The chewing on his mouthful slowed, scanning your face with a slight narrow to his eyes as he tilted his head “what does it look like?”

“It’s just a little black dress, that alright with you?” you suggested, playful tone as he pouted his lips and nodded with a sign of approval “how comes I haven’t seen this dress?”

You lifted the pizza box from his lap whilst you began to tidy, scanning down to see him lift his hips to get more comfortable, slinging one arm to rest on the top of his head whilst the other clutched at the bottle of beer.

The gaze that was piercing into your back felt like it could burn a hole, the extra swing in your hips and swish of your ponytail was giving you the confidence you needed.

Placing the pizza box down on the side you turned to see Jay towering over you, one arm resting against the door frame with the other resting low in his sweatpant pocket.

“Seriously, let me see this dress”

You tried to keep your composure, acting like you couldn’t see the smile he was trying to hide despite the corners of his lips already turning up with his every word.

His eyes were pinned to you as you picked off a piece off fluff from his tshirt, following each move as you let your hand rest onto his chest.

Gazing up at him, innocence in your eyes as you could feel his heart pounding beneath your touch amongst the silence.

“You’re not allowed to see it until the Gala”

He huffed, rolling his eyes whilst running a hand across his forehead in stress

“but the guy in the store said I looked like a million bucks”

His eyes widened, smirk spreading across his lips as you felt his hand drop to your hip as he cleared his throat “did he now?”

You nodded, feeling his grip tighten as he let out a huff in laughter which you knew he didn’t mean in amusement.

Before you could think of what to come back with, his arm was slung over your waist, picking you up like you were a piece of paper and tossing you onto his shoulder. Marching towards the bedroom, not letting the fists you were prodding into his back stopping him.

“Jay?! What are you doing!” you exclaimed, being laid on the bed as he pinned his arms either side of your head to stop you from getting away from him. Dark glint in his eyes as he roamed about your body, taking in every inch as he admired.

“I think you need to show me this dress baby”

***

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ferida-kahlo · 1 year ago

Text

I can read it in your eyes

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Hanging out with your boyfriend at your apartment, you sense he needs something special from you, tonight. Something to lighten the load on his shoulders... so you provide.

Or: the one where Mikey has a praise k!nk 🥰

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, praise k!nk, Oral (m receiving), BJ, dom/sub undertones, light dom/sub dynamics, light soft!dom, established relationship, PWP, p*rn with feelings, aftercare, c!m eating (blink-and-you-miss-it). Minors DNI.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: I'm sorry in advance, this is pure filth that I needed to purge out of my system.

Read below the cut OR on AO3

‘Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing over there?’

You peeked at him from the kitchen doorframe to the couch, where he was slumping. You grinned. ‘Is that early onset dementia, babe? I told you I was getting us some popcorn.’

‘Yeah, and it’s been a thousand years. Come here already’. He patted the cushion next to him and made a face that reminded you of a small, abandoned puppy being kicked to the curb.

You stared right back with cold, narrowed eyes. ‘Michael. Are you fucking pouting at me?’

He tilted his head. ‘Is it working?’

‘Nope’, you said sweetly, blowing him a kiss and returning to the microwave, where the sporadic sounds of corn popping inside the bag let you know it was almost done.

A half-hearted grumble could be heard from the living room. You smiled. To be honest, you’d been spending most days anticipating these moments. Getting home after work, taking a shower, cooking some quick dinner, and eating it lazily whilst watching random stuff on TV… until the text notification came through. Be there in 10. The rush of excitement you got after that never got old.

You returned to the living room, triumphantly holding a giant bowl full of popcorn, and giving your boyfriend the most doe-eyed look you could muster. ‘Are you proud of me?’

He laughed at your attempt to be sexy – which if Mike was being honest… was kind of working. He loved seeing you like this, relaxed in your lounge wear – especially if that lounge wear consisted of tiny shorts and even tinier tops. He knew for a fact you weren’t wearing any underwear. You never did when he came around the house. And that was more than fine by him.

‘No offense, baby’, he reached over to the bowl, took it, and settled it on the floor, gently holding your hands in his big, rough ones. ‘But right now, I just need you to bring your beautiful ass over here’. He pointed to his lap and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Wow. So subtle, Mikey.’ You laughed, making no move to resist his pull. You sat across his lap with your arms around his shoulders. ‘You’re lucky you’re cute. And sweet. And funny. And hot. And caring. And oh my god, so perceptive. And…’. With each compliment you feel an irresistible urge to kiss his nose, so you do.

He smiled weakly. ‘You’re too much. I ain’t none of t…’.

You shushed him with a finger on his lips and a hard stare. ‘Mike, honey’, your voice was sweet, but lower than usual, ‘you need to shut up and listen more. I was talking to you, saying all these nice things, and you go and interrupt me like that?’. With a feigned hurt look down at his chest, where your hands started softly rubbing, you tsk-tsk, disapprovingly.

‘You know I…’, he begins, but stops as soon as you lift your eyes, staring hardly at him, and your previously soothing hand suddenly rests still on top of his heart. He holds his breath for a bit, caught in your gaze like a deer in headlights. Oh. It’s going to be one of those nights, then, you think, with a mix of trepidation and excitement deep in your belly.

Finally, he closes his eyes and releases a deep sigh. You feel his entire upper body go limp beneath your hands – shoulders slump forward, the hands gripping your waist drop to the couch, and his forehead slams between the valley of your breasts. It’s like the whole week is melting off him. In nights like these, he needs you to take care of him, but seldom has the courage to ask for it. You gotta work it out of him.

‘That’s right, sweetheart. God, that’s okay. I know you’re tired. But you are so good. So good for me. So good for everyone.’ You coo at him, holding his face close to your chest, fingers threading between his thick locks of raven hair and lips slowly kissing all over his nose, cheeks, beard, temples...

‘Babe…’ he whispers meekly, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

You halt your caresses, concerned. ‘Sorry, honey. Is this okay? Do you need to stop?’

‘No, please. Absolutely not. Please… don’t stop.’

‘Okay, then.’ You smile, stroking his cheek gently with one hand while the other moves tentatively lower, moving through his chest, reaching his belly. ‘… Mikey?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you gonna shut your beautiful mouth and let me take care of you tonight?’, you whisper against his lips.

He scoffs, defeated, looking at you like you hung the moon and all the stars in the sky. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. ‘Yeah, I guess I am.’

The pillow is soft against your skin. Mike never lets you kneel directly on the floor – even in nights such as this, when he’s so pent up with desire and longing that he turns speechless and melts into the couch, vulnerable to your every whim. Even though you’ve told him several times before that you like it – the stark contrast between the cold, hard floor and the warmness that seeps out of him, where he holds your cheek so softly. As if you were going to break.

His cock always feels really nice, too. Heavy against your tongue, a slightly tangy taste, a perfect girth stretching your lips. Right now, you’re looking up from under fluttering eyelashes, to check on him (sometimes, when his hand tightens in your hair, you notice he’s frowning with tightly shut eyes – something pulled him out of the moment and plunged him right back into the world, outside of the little bubble of love and bliss you created for him).

Thankfully, he looks fine. More than. He is staring right back at you, mouth agape, hair disheveled, chest heaving. It’s embarrassing how wet that sight leaves you.

You release his cock with a wet pop, giving the tip a kitten lick as you continue to stroke him, slowly. ‘Okay, baby?’

‘Yeah, honey… very okay. God, your mouth… can I fuck it? Please’, he pleads.

You smile sweetly, suddenly becoming aware of the silence that permeates the flat, and how both of you seem to be in tandem with it. You’ve been quietly delighting in each other’s touch for almost an hour now, speaking only once or twice, in whispers.

‘Of course you can, Bear. Can you be a good boy for me and hold my hair up, please?’

‘Fuck, yeah, baby, I can... Thank you, so much’. He sounds out of it, in the best of ways. Like he’s on autopilot, waiting for your instructions, the script of your dance engraved on the tip of his tongue, completely surrendered to the pleasure you allow him to take from you. It takes all your self-control not to lose it and pounce on him. But tonight isn’t about you – so you take a breath and recenter. Mike. Mikey. Michael.

Ever so helpful, he moves his hands to smoothly hold your lose hair in a makeshift ponytail. He never stops looking at you through glazed, fucked out eyes. ‘Too tight?’, his voice raspy.

‘No, Mikey, it’s perfect. Thank you’. You close your eyes and allow yourself a moment to revel in the grounding feel of his hands. You know he likes seeing you are enjoying this as well. When you lazily reopen your eyes, you realize both of you are smiling stupidly at each other.

‘You’re being so good for me, tonight… you know that, right?’. You rub his thick, trembling thighs, up and down. ‘So good at following instructions… trusting me to take care of you… Do you know what I’m thinking, baby?’. You can’t resist punctuating your speech by licking all around his shaft, red and throbbing and drooling with pre-cum at this point. A low moan rips out of him when you suddenly envelop almost the entirety of his cock with your mouth, lightly sucking…

His grip on your hair tightens and inadvertently lifts your mouth away from him, startling you. He gives you a regretful look. ‘Sorry, sweetheart… you gotta give me a few seconds, or I’m gonna shoot my load all over your face, like… now’. He chuckles dejectedly.

You pause to consider this. ‘Hm… okay, baby. But you didn’t let me finish what I was saying…’ You tilt your head to the side, a suggestive smile dancing on your face.

He frowns suspiciously, and you want to grab his face and cover it in smooches. ‘What?’

Slowly, never looking away from him, you slide your body between his legs, your arms gliding over the sculpted planes of his belly and chest, covering them in kisses, until you reach his neck, and with your arms around it, stroking his hair, your forehead against his, you sigh into his mouth.

‘I think… good, well-behaved, and polite boys should get rewarded’. You look up at him. ‘I think they should be allowed to cum wherever they want… as a treat.’

He sits there, immobile, lips parted – suspended in the exhilarating expectation of what he knew you were going to say.

‘Mikey… I want you to fuck my mouth and cum on my face… now. Can you do that, baby?’, you whisper against his lips.

You think you hear ‘fuck’ right before he roughly grabs the back of your head and smashes your mouths together in a searing kiss. You whimper, surprised, but allow yourself to relish this loss of control. After all, you did say he deserved a reward.

For a few seconds, you let him maneuver your head freely, fucking your mouth with his tongue – like he’s saying ‘here, sweetheart, take this appetizer, the main course will fucking reck you’. His hands paw at your breasts, thighs, waist, and ass, like he’s a starving man presented with a seven-course meal, not knowing where to start or finish. You desperately press your thighs together for some relief to your neglected core.

When he starts thrusting up his pelvis, unconsciously trying to fuck your tits, you decide it’s time to take back control. With a bite to his lower lip, you steal a startled noise out of him and push him firmly back against the couch.

You school your face into a stern, disappointed expression. ‘That’s enough, honey’. You are proud of how smooth your voice sounds, considering how horny you are.

He looks absolutely defeated – his hair all messed up from your hands, chest heaving, panting for air. You want to eat him whole.

‘God, baby… that must hurt’. You say in mock pity, looking sadly down at his fully hard cock, an angry red, shiny from spit and semen. You look back up at him. ‘Are you gonna be a good boy, and do what I told you to do, Mikey?’

‘Fuck, yes, please, sweetheart, please, just… fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I need your mouth, please…’. He’s babbling, overwhelmed, his eyes watery with unshed tears. By this point, you know the teasing is over – he needs release, and you need to give it to him.

You cup his face gently. ‘It’s alright, baby… you’re alright. Okay? Hm?’ he nods frantically. You kiss his nose sweetly and get back down on your knees, never taking your eyes away from his.

‘I’m gonna take care of you now, baby… my big, soft, sweet Bear’, you whisper, sliding down his chest until you reach his cock. His hands are immediately back to their native place, holding the hair away from your face.

You open your mouth and begin enveloping his cock, slowly. He watches you intently, thighs trembling and mouth quivering, new tears ready to burst from his eyes. Waiting for permission.

A slow blink and small nod of your head are enough for him. Go ahead, Mikey. Take what’s yours. He releases a broken moan, a dam of want bursting open with his first thrust into your mouth. He bottoms out, because he knows you can take it. He knows that, right now, all you want is for him to let go.

You never stop looking at him. Even as his thrusts lose rhythm, and his hands start slipping from your hair down to grip your jaw, and his cock his constantly hitting the back of your throat, cutting off the air supply.

Your eyes water and tears run down your cheeks with abandon, as your mind enters that stage of pure bliss. No thoughts but a loop of keep mouth open, tongue out, breathe out of nose in time with thrusts, check if he’s OK, keep mouth open, tongue out, …

‘Baby, baby, baby, I can’t, I can’t anymore… I’m gonna cum, please, g – fuck’. Shaking, he takes his length in hand for the first time tonight, pulling it out and stroking it with abandon over your face.

You nod frantically, closing your eyes and crying out as soon as his cock is out of your mouth, a desperate string of yes, yes, yes, yes, baby, please –. Tongue out and mouth wide open, you feel a smile forming on your face as the first strings of cum hit your chin and cheeks. You lap up every drop that falls near your mouth.

Everything goes very still, suddenly – like time stops. Your body is frozen, but so is your mind. Light as a feather. A hand swiping your cheek gently brings you back to the present – you look up, fucked out of your mind, to see Mikey looking down at you, equally exhausted, but smiling so sincerely, he reminds you of a prophet. Maybe it’s the beard. That makes you laugh.

‘What’s so funny, lady?’ he asks softly, joining you on the floor, your face between both his giant hands, kissing it all over, taking his time to wipe off the cum with his tongue, then bringing it to your mouth in a long, languid kiss. Griping his strong arms, you try to pull him in as close to you as possible, eager for his touch. He chuckles.

Then, one of his hands cups your entire pussy roughly through your soaked shorts.

You moan into his mouth and, like a lightning bolt, you’re coming so hard it knocks the air out of your lungs. You’re shocked, but Mike doesn’t stop the kiss for a fraction of a second, managing to blabber out a string of filth at the same time.

‘Oh, fuck yeah, baby, that’s it, let go… holy shit, you can come just from getting your mouth fucked and a little kiss? Jesus Christ… go ahead, sweetheart. What the hell did I do to deserve such a sweet, beautiful thing in my life…’

‘God, Mikey, shut the fuck up’. You don’t know when you started crying, or why you are also laughing like a maniac – nothing makes sense, and yet everything is so right.

‘How do you feel, baby?’, you ask, sniffling and stroking his face.

He laughs. ‘I feel so good, sweetheart. You took care of me, and I didn’t even know how bad I needed it. But you always do. And you put me in my place… fuck… you break me into pieces and put me back together. Thank you’. He whispers that last part, his mouth hovering over yours as his fingers wipe away the tears from your barely open, reddened eyes.

You smile, contented. ‘You are a good boy, Mikey’.

‘And you are an amazing girl, who needs to go to bed now’.

You let him lift you up like a sack of potatoes and throw you over his shoulder, barely complaining. ‘You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or you would regret this’, you mumble.

He slaps your ass, and you yelp. ‘Wanna square it up in the morning?'

‘I’ll kick your ass in 30 minutes, asshole’.

He arrives in your bedroom and puts you down on the bed with a chuckle, following right after. ‘I’m sure you would, sweetheart’.

After he cleans you up with a warm, wet towel, you snuggle against him beneath the sheets. You feel yourself drifting off, but before that, you pull yourself up, grab his face, and kiss him sweetly.

‘I love you, Mikey’.

He smiles. ‘I love you, baby’.

#the bear #the bear fx #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #mike berzatto #mike berzatto x reader #fic #smut

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steviewashere · 6 months ago

Note

Hi possible prompt for your ask box celebration (congrats on 330 btw!!)

Eddie is one of those street poets w/ a typewriter that will write people on the street a poem abt anything they ask for, in exchange for tips or like $5

& Steve walks by & asks for a poem & Eddie is immediately like 😍😍😍

& then maybe Eddie flirts outrageously through the poem, or he tries so hard to keep it #professional but he’s so goo-goo over this (Adonis of a man) guy that he fails miserably, or whatever direction you would want to take it

anyway Steddie meetcute street poetry 🥰🥰🥰

This was such a fun prompt. And before we get anywhere with this, I did have to write a little poem here and it does sort of suck. Apologies in advance for it. Steve Harrington is usually not my main muse, lol. But I still enjoyed this <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Set in New York, Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Brief Mentions of Car Accidents, Poet Eddie Munson, Muse Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sunshine

Also on AO3 (because this one got long)

📝————————📝 Eddie Munson doesn’t sell drugs anymore. Nope. He’s a refined, renewed, reorganized man. That being said, he still needed to make money somehow. It wasn’t enough to do just mechanic work on the weekdays; something had to happen over the weekends, else he wouldn’t make it for his bills.

So he picks up a few new hobbies. Cycling, because that was the cheapest way for him to get around—he’s not particularly good at that one, but he still tries anyway. Photography, because his neighbor was selling his older cameras and the opportunity just couldn’t pass by. Then, there was his new found little business/career/dilly-dally.

Poetry.

On weekends, Eddie Munson, the guy who can’t afford to go to jail because of some rat-faced little tell-all not liking his product, writes poetry for a bit of extra cash. He sets up in Central Park with a little collapsable table and a few stools, a heavy as shit typewriter that his uncle off-loaded onto him, and enough paper to whoever is buying. There’s a tip jar dutifully set up by his feet. And the pay rate is whatever people can afford or want to afford.

One time, he wrote poems for a group of six giggly, drunk girls coming back from brunch mimosas—they gave him $30 each. Another, a little old man who had just beat a group of preteens at basketball—he could only afford the $3.50 that was rattling around in his shorts. Sometimes kids would come up and ask about getting a poem about their mom or their puppy or the little daisy they had just picked—they got theirs for free (they need to save their money for ice cream. And, also, he’s not going to get in trouble for a kid choosing to spend their lunch money. No sir-ee).

The weekends could be dry, though. They could get boring. But the sun hits him nice. And he usually sees a few beautiful pooches. And, well, he gets to work on his craft. A passion of his that he held onto since being a little kid. And people appreciate him for it, which is…nice to put it in simple terms.

This Saturday, though, is a rather dry day for customers. It’s overcast. There are less people out, though Central Park is never completely empty. And his tip jar is basically just flies and dust.

Until, fortunately, a man approaches him. He seems timid, a bit shy, even if his smile is all charm. His hair is swooped over and curling at his shoulders, brunette with blonde highlights. The man’s skin is tanned from the most recent summer, not quite fading into this early fall. Dotted with moles, poking out from the collar of his polo and the sleeves, down to his wrists, a few on his face. He has a gorgeous nose: greatly geometric and centered between all his features, sun kissed on the tip, a little crooked on the bridge—aquiline. His lips are a soft pink, a bit pouty, stretching wonderfully around his straight, white teeth. And his eyes are a tad downturned, hooded, shiny with excitement; hazel, but leaning more towards a light shade of brown, fanned by long, dark eyelashes, and squinting with his smile. He’s tall—probably around Eddie’s height, 5’11”. Pretty fit—his arms are toned and his hands are large and he’s broad on the shoulders, but he’s not bean pole thin like Eddie is, just a little chunkier. And, Eddie’ll never admit this out loud, but the dude’s got a great ass, perfectly squeezed in by a pair of Levi’s—light wash, edging on skinny, but not entirely form-fitting. His polo is a darling yellow ochre; rich and warm and perfect to his skin tone.

He doesn’t know what kind of poem he’ll write for this guy, but fuck him, he just wants to wax on and on about this literal slice of heaven that’s standing over him. Smiling. Hands clasped together in front of him. His bright, sunshine eyes. And…yeah, that’s a word to describe this guy.

Sunshine.

“Um—hey, you’re the guy that does the little typewriter poems, right?” The guy asks, his knuckles turning white as he squeezes his hands tighter together. He shifts from one foot to the other, a quick nervous tic that you’d miss if you weren’t looking at him. And now that he’s stepped closer to the makeshift “booth”, Eddie can smell him. There’s a rich earthy undertone to him—the bark of freshly wet pine trees, a drop or two of eucalyptus, and there’s a touch of citrus to him, too; orange or vanilla-lemon, it’s hard to tell.

Eddie wants to stick his nose in the crook of this guy’s neck. Wants to suckle on his skin. Lick a stripe from the underside of his jaw, down to his ankles, and back up all over his face.

But he just smiles, soft and pulling, and blinks up at him. “Yeah, that’s me,” he states softly. “Want me to write you one? It costs however much you’d like to pay.”

“However much?” His face goes a little complicated. The biggest, Muppet-esque frown Eddie’s ever seen, the pinch of his eyebrows, and a tilt to his head. He’s gauging the near empty tip jar, from where his eyes seem to trail. “Isn’t that a bad rule for business?”

Eddie shrugs. “I dunno. I know nothing about business. But…It’s kept me afloat most of the time, so it’s not terrible.”

The guy makes a short grunt of assessment. “Hm, okay,” he murmurs, “do I pay you now or after?”

“After.”

“Okay,” he murmurs again. Even his voice is doing things to Eddie. It’s all deep at the base of his throat. A little raspy as if he smokes cigarettes; probably does based on the curl of stale smoke Eddie smells from him as he settles into a stool. “I know that you usually do whatever prompt the customer gives, but I’m sort of…I’m pea for brains, so I can’t really think of anything. Is it okay if…Can you just pick something?”

Eddie tilts his head and looks off of the guy’s shoulder. Miffed at how downtrodden this stranger is on himself. He gazes back and asks, “Can I write about you?”

His eyes widen and he jolts in his seat just a fracture. “I mean, sure. If that’s really the muse you want to go with.” And then he gives a self-deprecating chuckle. Eddie kind of wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream to the whole fucking galaxy about how beautiful he is. But he restrains. “Nothing about the scars on the backs of my arms, though, please,” guy adds a moment later, so quiet that Eddie almost misses it. “It’s from a bad car accident and I—I’m just now getting back into the swing of wearing short sleeves.”

Nodding, Eddie says, “You got it. And hey—“ He takes the sleeve of his t-shirt and rolls it up. The shirt’s from an old club in high school, the Hellfire Club. Quarter sleeves to his elbows. But right above the crease of his left elbow is a long, scraggly, winding scar that creeps from the base of his neck. He even points to the side of his face, at the large swatch of scarring on his jaw. How Mr. Beautiful Stranger didn’t notice it, Eddie’s unsure. “—I understand,” he states gently. “Also from a bad wreck. It happens to the best of us,” he tries to joke.

And even his laughter melts Eddie. High pitched and unrestrained, giggles coming straight from his heart. “Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “Sure, I’ll be your muse.”

Eddie sets up his typewriter, at the start of the paper, two fingers down, not indented. “Do you care if I use your name as the title?”

“Steve,” he softly says, “and yours?”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth curl upwards lightly, just a little thing. “I’m Eddie. Some people around here will call me Ed, but you call me whatever you want.”

Steve hums. “How about Eds? Actually…Unless that’s—That might be stupid, never mind.”

Barreling, Eddie just asks, “How ‘bout I call you Stevie?” He grins with it. “We can be Eds and Stevie, the unlikely duo.”

Another little fit of giggles, Eddie’s never felt so full. “Okay, Eds and Stevie, The Unlikely Duo. Thanks for not making me feel dumb.”

“You’re only dumb if you’re a bigot. And, I could be wrong, but every aspect of you does not spell bigot. You seem like a nice guy, all things considered.”

Instead of a verbal response, all Eddie receives is a slow lull of silence. But when he looks up, Steve is staring right back. A soft, pleased smile on his face. Cheeks flushed. It’s like he’s bursting at the seams with the approval. Maybe he is, Eddie considers, maybe nobody’s ever told him that. And that thought gets shut down almost as fast as it formed, makes Eddie’s chest hurt just a little too much to work through.

“So, Steve, what’s got you out here this morning?” He works better with conversation, so hopefully Steve will give him this.

“Oh,” Steve softly exclaims as if he wasn’t expecting Eddie to talk to him. Or to acknowledge him. Or to even exist with him past this poem. “I come out here and feed birds on Saturday mornings. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to, but nobody’s stopped me. Just ran out of seed and was sort of wandering around and remembered that you were here. I’ve never had interest in coming over here, but I’ve seen you, so it was just what my best friend told me that drew me over.”

“Mm, word from mouth. All good things, I can only hope.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, amazing things, actually. She said you were really nice to her. She had come home from brunch with a few of her friends and they were tipsy.” He sighs, chuckling through it. “It was noon on a Saturday when she came back to our apartment. And I could smell the alcohol on her. Think I was…I had been sleeping—I’m a heavy sleeper and I’m chronically fatigued all the time, so I tend to sleep in late. But she came into my room, shook my shoulder, and was a crying mess when I finally saw her. Asked her what was wrong. She just blubbered on and on about how a really nice guy wrote something really nice for her about her little friendship. And I just…I don’t know. I wanna read something that makes me feel better about the world and maybe also reduces me to tears.”

Eddie stops where he’d been softly clacking away on his typewriter. He tends to type loud, but something about Steve makes him stop and appreciate even the air around him. Something about him just soothes Eddie. Also, the fact that he rambles is cute. He’s good at silences. And he’s good at just talking.

“Well, I can’t promise that it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever read,” Eddie slowly states. “I can try, though. I can try to write something beautiful.”

“You’re writing about me, so I’m not expecting it to be beautiful,” Steve quickly says. He backtracks though, stopped in his seat and wide-eyed. His mouth is agape and his cheeks are completely red now. “Forget I said that. That’s—I struggle a lot with that and I promised my best friend that I’d stop being so hard on myself, but it just is…automatic.”

As nonchalant as possible, Eddie begins to type again. He confesses more towards his paper, trying to avoid the eye contact, “You are beautiful, so this’ll come easy.” And then he’s met with that same slow lull of silence. The romantic kind of silence that Steve seems entirely attracted to. And, yeah actually, Eddie kind of appreciates it. The curve of the silence and the warmth of its face, the plushness of its lips in the ways it kisses the both of them. If Steve is so inclined to sit in this silence after admittances like that, maybe Eddie can learn to love them. If Steve wants more than just this poem.

He’s at the final stanza when Steve begins to speak again.

“Have you ever written about yourself?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie murmurs, typing away, “no I don’t think I have.”

Steve takes a grand breath. “Y’know, if you like writing about the beauty in things, you should write about yourself, too.” He’s fiddling with his hands, focus elsewhere, when Eddie is openly staring at him again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Steve nods carefully, eyes shiny with nerves now. He’s chewing on the inside of his right cheek. Eyes darting back and forth and back and forth. “You think I’m beautiful?” He meekly questions.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ve got these…huge brown eyes that pull me in and they’re sort of soft on your face, kind of like a deer, maybe a baby cow? I love those two, so don’t be insulted. And…You’re always sitting in the sun, but you’re still sort of pale and it makes it easier to see all the little freckles you’ve got. And—I, for one—love freckles. I think that your hair is just wonderful. And I—I don’t know, I’ve seen you around. Maybe I’ve thought about you a little too much.” His smile is sheepish and cute. Absolutely adorable.

Eddie grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hitting on me.” He works the paper out of the typewriter, smooths the fine wrinkles at the bottom of the sheet, and then looks his writing over.

Steve gains a manly kind of confidence to him now. He leans forward, just a hair away from seeing what Eddie wrote, and talks low and smooth. “And if I was?”

He glances up, warming on the face. “I’d say that I like it and…y’know, if my poem doesn’t suck, I know a good cafe around here. Only if this is good and only if you’re interested.”

“Show me what you got, Eds. I’ll probably take you up on that lunch offer after.”

In the short few years Eddie’s been doing this, he’s never been nervous to present his work. But he hands the paper over, hands shaking and palms sweating. And waits, with bated breath, as Steve reads it over:

————— There is a glow to him. A cast of light that brightens the world as I know it. From just one glance of his smile—all pearl and pink and new I could tell there was something special to him.

He’s sunshine, I believe. The very ball of light, the all encompassing warmth of a celestial body, the very thing that continues to sustain. There is love through him, within everything he does.

Just one look at him and I’m refreshed. Even with very little, even with just appearances alone. May he know the way I was drawn in—maybe that makes me Icarus. To want to know something so much, you’re ready for everything that comes with it; Even the chance to burn up, even the chance to merge with it, even the chance to only see it once.

May he know that before I knew his name, I knew his smile. Before I knew his name, I knew his trepidation. Before I knew his name, I knew his warmth.

It’s not enough, to say he’s gorgeous. That’s not a strong enough word. But he is. Oh, how he is.

He’s painted my world golden— I see sunlight with him.

May he know that I’ll carry his light in my chest, May he know that I selfishly want more. ————— Finally, Steve’s attention goes back to Eddie’s face directly.

“I tried,” Eddie says, “it got away from me, though. And I…I didn’t write exactly how you’re beautiful. But there’s something about you—Something so out of this world, beyond what anybody could ever possibly comprehend. You seem like somebody worth knowing, worth being around.” He swallows hefty when Steve continues to just stare. His face is completely unreadable. “You approached my table and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Just sucked me right in, every part of you. Sorry if this…If this wasn’t what you were looking for.”

Though, when Eddie is only met with that silence from earlier, he takes the opportunity to stare a little longer. At the high flush of Steve’s cheeks. The fine sheen of his eyes. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows and a twist to his mouth.

“My best friend,” Steve wetly murmurs, “she always tells me that I’m the light of her world. And I—“ He sighs, the sound a lot choked and stuttering. “—I don’t know. I’ve never been able to believe her. I always just thought she was biased or something.” He looks down at the paper again, his thumbs running along the margins reverently. Steve sniffles. “I used to not be a very good person. Used to say things just because I heard them, because I knew they were bad. And it took…God, it took so long to relearn everything. To find myself, to figure out who I was outside of my bigoted family. Even then, I always thought I was just…” He shrugs. “I thought that I was destined for a lifetime of loneliness or something because nobody wanted to be around me. Because they thought I was one way, when I was really the other. Or they could only see me as I was, not who I am.”

Steve looks up to Eddie again. There are tear streaks down his cheeks. Wet and glistening in the little bit of light breaking through the clouds. With the sunlight on him, he’s even brighter than Eddie anticipated. It’s sort of unfair, too, how beautiful he is even when he cries.

“Thank you for this, Eds,” Steve quietly says, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You wanted to feel better about your world. I wanted to show you something that’s changed mine, I suppose.” Eddie sits slumped in his stool, hands between his knees, pulling and twisting at his rings. He chews on his bottom lip. “And I meant what I said earlier, Stevie. You seem like a really nice guy. A good guy.”

Slowly, and oh so gently, Steve places a tentative hand to Eddie’s left forearm. His gaze has softened, sweetened. He’s smiling this small, appreciative, pleased thing. And Eddie can already feel the sun burn developing. “You are, too. Really, Eds. You have no idea what your art does for the world, who you’re helping.” His thumb absentmindedly is stroking over Eddie’s skin. Hand heavy and warm and firm, comforting. Grounding. Sustaining Eddie. “If you meant the other thing you said earlier, I’d like to get something with you at that cafe. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Stevie, you’d be doing me an honor. Just let me pack up here, yeah?” He pulls away, hesitantly, unfortunately. And he begins to collapse all his equipment. Putting the typewriter in its case. The stools folded neatly under his arm.

“Oh, let me pay you first before you put—“

“Don’t worry about that. I’m getting a nice lunch date and a beautiful guy out of this, I don’t need the money.”

Steve grunts. He pops a hip out, crosses his arms over his chest with the poem still carefully held in his grip, and pouts. Eddie kind of likes that he’s a bit bitchy, too. Good guys can have fun, too. “Fine,” Steve huffs. “Let me pay for the lunch, though. My treat.”

Eddie gently rolls his eyes and smirks. “You’ve got a little spice to you, sunshine. I like that. Burn me up and maybe I’ll write more about you.”

“Keep it in your pants, Eds. We haven’t even left the park.”

“No promises.”

📝————————📝 Thank you again for this prompt, it was a lot of fun <33

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #strangers to lovers #mild angst #meet cute

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faithst · 2 years ago

Text

WAKING ZB1 UP FOR A KISS

pairing zb1 (ot8) x gn!reader

genre fluff, a bit suggestive in matthew’s

masterlist<3

— zhang hao

hao came back from practice, obviously tired

and went straight to bed 🛏

no shower, no ‘goodnight’

of course, you didn’t mind because hao is always working so hard that he deserves all the rest he could get

but you just couldn’t sleep without a kiss from him 😔

he felt your twists and turns and woke up asking ‘are you okay?’

you felt bad for waking him up but you couldn’t lie to him

“i can’t sleep.. i know you’re tired but can i have a goodnight kiss?”

he’s mentally blaming himself for forgetting to do that 😦

but either way, he thinks you’re so cute that you can’t sleep without a kiss from him

“i’m sorry for forgetting.. come here and let’s get some sleep.”

— sung hanbin

hanbin never forgets to give you kisses

ig you just wanted more (who doesn’t?) 🤭

he was sleeping so soundly that you almost felt bad

he seems like a light sleeper to me

“hanbin…” you shake his shoulder softly

eyes fluttering open “hmm..? what’s wrong?” he says, turning to face you

“well.. it’s kinda dumb..” you fiddle with your fingers

that damn smile he had could kill millions 😤

“any thought of yours isn’t dumb. tell me.”

“i just wanted another kiss..”

he starts giggling sm

“just one? are you sure?”

— seok matthew

you wanted a kiss, nothing else

so you woke him up

or atleast tried to.. 😐

“five more minutes..” pulling the blanket over his head

“matthew! i want a kiss!” you whined, attempting to pull the blanket back down

suddenly he’s awake

“you want a kiss?” “yes”

has a smirk “oh my god! you’re so whipped for me!”

becomes so cocky “i bet you love my lips on you.” 🫢

he finally gives you a kiss like you wanted tho

“do you want a kiss somewhere else too?”

— shen ricky

you had trouble sleeping this particular night

and thought it was a good idea to get a kiss from ricky

“ricky.. can you wake up..?” you ask, tapping his shoulder lightly

he responds w incoherent sounds

pls let the boy sleep 😭

“ricky.. i can’t sleep. can i have a kiss?”

instantly wakes up

“a kiss? suddenly?” he asks but still gives you a kiss

he becomes soooo shy after that 🤭

like his ears are so red but its dark so you can’t see them

tries to keep his cool

“let’s try sleeping, okay?”

— park gunwook

i think he’s a pretty light sleeper

not light light but light enough to wake up easily

you pat his shoulder and he’s instantly like

“what’s going on?” he says, voice groggy

turns around to face you, eyes half shut

“hi gunwook.” 😃

doesn’t respond and just stares

“can i give you a kiss?”

yep, he’s the one that asks instead 🫠

pulls you closer to him and kisses your forehead

“can we stay like this forever?”

— kim taerae

taerae wasn’t fully asleep

like he was about to sleep

his eyes were shut but he could feel your stare

“is there something you need?” he asks, pulling you closer to him by the waist 🫠

no response but he noticed you staring at his lips

has that wide smile

maybe lets out a giggle or two bcuz he thinks you’re so cute like that

“mm.. you want a kiss?” and you instantly nod 🤭

even WIDER smile

eventually kisses your whole face

“so cute..”

— kim gyuvin

usually you can sleep just fine because there’s no room for kisses or ‘goodnights’ when he falls asleep the minute he plops down onto bed 😤

but you just felt the need to have a kiss from gyuvin today

you tapped his shoulder. no response

poked his cheek. nope

pat his hea- “what is it?” he asks, a bit annoyed

“can i have a kiss?” he was taken aback

“you woke me up for a kiss?” “yeah?”

just falls back asleep 😭

“fine! i’ll go ask some from someone els-“

instantly sits up and attacks you with kisses 🥰

“shut up, go to sleep.”

— kim jiwoong

jiwoong fell asleep while cuddling you and didn’t give you a kiss

and you couldn’t just sleep without his kiss !

so you woke him up

“jiwoong… jiwoong.. jiwoong!” you finally let out a whisper-yell

his eyes immediately open, a bit startled 😦

“hi. hello. what happened?”

“you didn’t give me a kiss” you pout

he smiles and pulls you closer to his chest

literally kisses you to sleep

sings you a lullaby too 🫶

“goodnight, my love.”

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shiftingparadise · 5 months ago

Note

Hiii! I love your posts!🥰 I was wondering if I could request a phinks x reader something like them play fighting or wrestling then it leads to something else 🙂‍↔️ thx!

Thank you for your request 🤍✨ I wasn’t sure if you wanted something ✨ spicy ✨ or not, so I just kept it simple. I hope you still like it though and if you want I can write a part 2 😌

Word count: 1180

Warnings: suggestive, that’s all

“Huh?”, he smirked as he tilted his head, “You can’t be serious”. “I know I’m stronger”, you tilted your chin in the air. “Yo, little Fei. What’d you think? Tell her how she’s no match fo-“. “She’s stronger”, the dark-haired man interrupted coldly. “W-what?!”, Phinks was practically fuming. “See?”, you smuggly answered, “Everyone knows that I’m stronger”. “Really, huh?”, the blonde smirked, “Is that right?”. Your brows pulled together as your eyes studied his. “Straighten up”, Nobunaga gritted through his teeth, “Focus on the mission, will you? Boss was already dissapointed in us last time”.

Your cheeks reddened as you felt his eyes glued to your face.

“I told you I was sorry”, you stubbornly mumbled underneath your breath. “Sorry?”, Phinks chuckled, “It was your fault that girl got away. Boss will never find another ability like hers. You’re lucky we found her again“. “Shut up, Phinks! As if you never-“. Without any warning, you felt the cold metal tip of Feitan’s umbrella pressed against your back. “Shut it”, his voice threatingly quiet, “She’s coming”.

—-

“So, what were you saying?”, Phinks loosely held his beer in his hand. “What?”, you frowned. Both of you were sitting on the ground in your hotel room.

You didn’t know how you two got here. At least not exactly. You remembered going to get some drinks with Feitan, but of course that cold-hearted idiot wanted to leave after a few. Unlike the two of you. And now, it was 5 AM and you were both drunk in your hotel room, laughing over nothing.

“You said you were stronger than me, didn’t you?”, he towered over you as he balanced his beer on your head. “I am”, you looked up at him.

“Cute”, his eyes widened for a second before he quickly regained his stoic expression. “H-huh?”, you smacked against his wrist. “What?!”, he quickly straightend himself. “Did you just call me cute?”, you tried to stand up but it seemed you had a little bit too much to drink. “Pathetic”, a smirk on his face, “You really think you can beat me?”.

You frowned as he took a step closer, swooping his arm around your back to keep you from falling again.

“I know I can take you!”, you pushed him away as you sat down on the edge of your bed. “Oh yeah?”, a smirk as he straightened himself, “Proof it”. “Proof it? Right now?”, you frowned. “Right now”, he smugly crossed his arms but before he could do so you had already swooped your leg underneath him. “S-shit”, he grunted as he rubbed the back of his head.

Maybe those beers weren’t a good idea after all.

“What’s wrong? Thought you were stronger”, you smirked as you placed your feet beside his head. The blonde instantly turned his head. Did you not realize you were wearing a skirt? “D-don’t stand over me when you’re wearing that!”, a blush on his face as he grabbed your ankles, pulling you down.

This wasn’t any better. Nope. This wasn’t better at all.

His cheeks were bright red as you were now sitting on his chest, your legs spread next to his head. “I-i”, the blonde stumbled over his words as he noticed your pink slip. “P-pervert!”, your whole body tensed as you raised your leg in the air, smacking your foot against his forehead. “I’m not!”, he hastily threw you off him. “Tsk”, you pressed your eyes together as the blow was a little harder than you anticipated. “Pervert!”, you turned to the side and started to punch him against his shoulder. “Stop that!”, he grabbed both of your wrists.

He cursed himself as you started kicking him. This was no good.

“I didn’t mean to”, he grunted as he pinned your arms next to your head, his knee in between your legs.

Was it because you were drunk or… No. His eyes were beautiful, even when you were sober you thought so…

A blush? Why were you blushing like that? Why were your eyes fixed on his? “Huh? What’s wrong?”, he frowned; unable to read your unspoken words. “N-nothing!”, you hastily looked away.

Was he really this oblivious? Wasn’t it obvious what you wanted?

He suddenly became painfully aware of how fragile your wrists felt; how soft your cheeks seemed; how your chest was heaving up and down underneath him… “T-tsk”, he clenched his jaw. “G-get off me”, you barely whispered.

Phinks stayed quiet for a minute, his grip tightening slightly. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He never thought of you like this. Sure, you were beautiful but so were the other girls in the Troupe. He never wanted to…

“W-what are you-“, you tried to protest as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Shut up”, his cheeks were bright red. “Who do you think you a-“

He crashed his lips against yours. There was no point in letting you finish your sentence. He knew you. You were too stubborn to admit this was what you wanted.

“Y-you-“, your eyes widened as your body relaxed under his touch. “You wanted me to, right?”, his gaze failed to meet yours. “I guess so”, you pouted. “S-so do you-“, his cheeks redder then ever. “Yes, idiot”, you were too embarrassed to admit it in any other way.

This time around, he decided to take his time. With a gentle touch he explored your soft skin.He let his digits hover across your jawline until his thumb softly stroked across your lips.

Despite his appearance, Phinks was a soft man with a gentle heart. “Are you doing this because you’re drunk or because you want to?”, you quietely asked, forcing him out of his trance .

“Both, I guess”, his eyes were still glued to your lips, “I’d never do this if I was sober. I’m not that kind of man”. “Then what kind of man are you?”.

It was a simple question but still, he failed to answer it.

“Not the kind that would kiss his collegue”, his brows pulled together. “A collegue?”, your eyes searched for his, “We’re friends, Phinks. We’re not collegues”.

Did that mean it was okay to take things further? Would it take away all the shame and guilt in the morning?

“Even so…”, he murmured, “Friends don’t do this either”. “I-I guess not”, your heart sank to your stomach.

“What are we doing”, he clenched his jaw as he moved away from you. “L-let’s just forget about this, okay?”, you stood up. “I don’t want to”, he thought out loud as frustration got the best of him.

Everything felt wrong. Everything except you.

“Phinks-“, you gently grabbed his arm, “It’s fine-“.

Why? Why did he kiss you again?

Your hands gently cupped his cheeks as he pulled you closer. Phinks easily picked you up once he realised this wasn’t enough for him. He needed more of you.

“Y-you want this?”, you looked up at him as he gently laid you down on the bed. “I need this”, a hungry look in his eyes, “I need you”.

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