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iamnotoriginalphil · 1 month ago

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A Study in Love (Professor!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: An old friend of Agatha's stops by, leading to some intense feelings

Warnings: Student/teacher relationship, power imbalance, toxic relationship, age gap (all 18+), swearing, jealousy, possessiveness, smut, oral (Agatha receiving)

Words: 5.1k

Your fingers were slow as they ran through Agatha’s hair. Her head rested heavy in your lap, knees bent as she marked student essays. She kept muttering under her breath, pen slashing over the paper. You were pretending to read the book she’d forced on you while you gazed down at her. The only time you could get away with it was when she was distracted with work. Or when she was asleep.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you let your eyes trace over her features. The pen she kept tapping against her lips, the furrow between her brows, the flutter of eyelashes when she gave a slow blink. She scribbled comments over the paper in red ink, angry and displeased with whatever she was finding. You’d never managed to take one of her classes, but you’d longed to before she’d agreed to mentor you. Now, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sit through a single one without getting lost in the daydream of being with her.

Certainly not if you were watching her put students in their place. That would only make you press your thighs together as you waited to be behind closed doors with her. You loved when she got all commanding and reminded you of your place.

On your knees and promising to follow orders. Bound and writhing on her mattress. Breathless and begging her.

She caught your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. You couldn’t help the smile that spread over your face, soft and fond and sure to make her wrinkle her nose. She let you go, but you lingered, gently tracing the shape of her lips. She caught your index finger between teeth, biting down in warning before she released you.

“I need to finish this, kitten,” she said.

“I know,” you replied.

“You have work to do,” she reminded you.

Those blue eyes flicked up to your face and you could feel her mouth pull up into a smirk. You let your fingers trace over her face, doing your best to memorise every tiny thing about her. She caught your hand again, pulling it away, dropping a kiss to the middle of your palm.

“Are you restless, kitten?” she asked.

“Just a bit distracted,” you replied.

“If you’re going to keep being distracted, you have to go elsewhere,” she said, “I can’t have you spreading that distraction to me.”

“I’ll be good,” you said.

“You always try for me, don’t you, kitten,” she said, eyes softening as she looked up at you.

“Uh huh,” you said, nodding your head, grinning down at her.

“Do you want to do something to help me?” she asked.

“Always,” you said.

She slowly rose, sitting up properly, your disappointment only lasting for a moment. Long fingered hands cupped both your cheeks, freezing you under her gaze. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, watching as her eyes darted down to it. Your stomach tightened.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said, her thumb pulling your lip from between your teeth.

“What is it?” you asked, breathless, feeling yourself tip towards her.

“I need you to go find a book in the library for me,” she said.

“A… book?” Whatever you’d been expecting her to say, that wasn’t it.

“Yes, you know, those things people read. You should be familiar with them as I keep asking you to look at them. You have been reading them, haven’t you, pet?” she asked, the corners of her lips curling up. You loved when she teased you like this, all fondness and warmth.

“Which book?” you asked

She grabbed your wrist, scribbling the title and author on the skin of the back of your hand. She flipped your hand, running her fingertip over your palm softly enough to tickle before she let you go.

“Go on, pet,” she murmured, looking at you from under her eyelashes, “go be useful to me.”

You lent forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. She caught your chin as you drew back, a heated look passing over her face.

“And bring me back a coffee from that cafe I like,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you whispered.

You darted forward before she could stop you, brushing your lips against hers. You stood, grinning down at her, looking up at you with pursed lips and sparkling eyes.

“Be back soon,” you said, snatching up your phone and wallet.

You lingered a moment in the doorway, watching her watch you. Her attention had yet to stop feeling heady, an addiction you weren’t even close to wanting to give up, the greatest gift you’d ever received. You blew her a kiss, the throaty chuckle you got in response echoing in your ears as you hurried over to the library.

You hadn’t stepped foot into the old library since beginning your work with Agatha, using her personal library to guide you. It felt odd to be back, a place you’d found refuge for the first few years of your college journey. The familiar scent of wood and paper was surprisingly calming, given that it was not the one you sought out anymore. Now, you looked for something more expensive to calm your racing heart and racing thoughts. Something lingering on the skin of one beautiful woman.

You wound through the study areas, disappearing into the stacks. You looked down at the title scribbled on the back of your hand, no longer needing to squint to decipher the handwriting. It was as familiar as your own these days, layer over layer of it marring every single one of your drafts. May as well try the history section first.

You let your finger run over the spines of the books, reading each one as you wandered deeper into the library. You’d long since lost the sweeping windows, the old lights above you spreading yellow light over the silent stacks. You paused, tilting your head as you read one of the titles.

Moving on, your steps were slow. Your eyes alighted on a thick volume, leather bound, gold filigree shining. You reached up, fingertip grazing over the old volume.

“I didn’t know students still read actual books.”

You startled, head whipping to the side. Sauntering down the stack from the opposite direction you’d arrived, a woman approached. Her dark hair was left loose, thick and shiny, curling against her shoulder. Her hips swayed with each step, confidence oozing from her. You swallowed, shrinking back.

“You must have a real hard ass of a professor to be looking for an actual book,” she said, drawing ever closer.

“It’s the best way to do research,” you said, as if that was a reasonable answer.

Her laugh wasn’t kind, a touch too close to mad. Her eyes widened and a grin spread over her face. You pressed back against the shelf as she stopped in front of you. Her eyes swept over your body, lingering in places that had only been seen by Agatha in months. The scent of wet dirt and crushed herbs surrounded you.

“So what’s a pretty thing like you doing spending the good hours of the day with this dusty collection?” she asked.

“Working on my senior thesis,” you replied.

She lent closer, breathing the same air as you. You pressed back, only meeting sharp wood and book spines. She inhaled deeply, as if smelling you, making you wonder if you should be worried for your safety. Her hand came up, fingers playing with the ends of your ponytail.

“What’s your thesis on?” she asked, voice lowering into a whisper, like she was asking for an intimate secret.

“Witch folklore,” you replied, voice quiet, unsure, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“Which means you must be studying with…?” she prompted, her free hand coming to rest on the shelf by your head.

“Professor Harkness,” you said.

She hummed, leaning forward until her lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“I’m sure I don’t have to warn you to be careful with that one,” she whispered, “it might be in your best interest to end whatever relationship you have with her.”

“Relationship?” you squeaked.

“Find someone else to mentor you,” you said, drawing back.

The way she was looking at you made you shiver, and not in the same way as when it was Agatha. Your hackles had raised and you wanted to get out of there. There was something about this woman that whispered she was dangerous against the back of your neck.

“Take the advice, pretty girl,” she said, finally taking a step back from you.

You could breathe again.

“And if you find yourself needing someone else, come find me. I’d be more than happy to take you on,” she said, shooting you a wink before she turned on her heels. Hips swayed in tight trousers as she walked away from you, being swallowed up by the library. It wasn’t until it was too late you noticed the leather-bound tome in her hand.

“Fuck,” you said to yourself.

You had to hope bringing Agatha the coffee and one of the muffins she always devoured would be enough for you to make up for not bringing the book back.

“What do you mean it wasn’t there?” she asked, holding the conciliatory muffin as she glared at you.

“Someone had already checked it out,” you said.

“Who?” she demanded.

“I don’t know.”

You kew better than to tell her about the woman and the warning she’d given you. It’s not as if you were going to be listening to it anyway. Nothing could stop you from staying with Agatha. Certainly not a crazy lady talking to you in the stacks of the library.

“I can go back tomorrow and place a hold on it if you want,” you said.

“I suppose you’d better do that,” she said before taking out a chunk of the muffin with her teeth.

You lowered yourself back onto the couch, keeping your eyes on her behind her desk. Her feet were kicked up on the corner and she was watching you as chewed.

“Less distracted now?” she asked.

“Yes?”

She considered you a moment longer.

“I can send you on more errands,” she said, going back to her marking.

“I’m okay here,” you said.

Your book was waiting for you. And it’s where Agatha was. What more did you need?

By the time the sun had set and she had driven you back to her home, you’d completely forgotten about the woman that had accosted you in the library. All you were thinking about was what you were going to have for dinner and at what point the meal was going to be abandoned for eating something else.

“Thai?” you asked her, closing the front behind you.

“Get me that noodle thing I like,” she said, shrugging off her coat.

As you placed the call to the Thai place, you followed her into the living room, tugging on the string on the lamp to flood warm light into the room. She shook her head, flicking the overhead light on before falling back onto her plush couch. The same couch you’d shared your first kiss.

“Drink?” you asked her.

“You’re so good to me, kitten,” she purred.

You lingered a moment, the heat going through you impossible to ignore. She looked at you from under lowered lashes, lips curling up into a knowing smirk. Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, watching her gaze follow it. Her eyes darkened and you spun on your heels, going to fetch that drink.

You clambered into her lap, knees either side of her hips, as you passed her a glass of wine. She hummed, fingers gently tugging on the end of your ponytail before she pulled your hair free. Her fingers brushed through it, working on untangling the knots she found. Your own fingers were brushing over the soft skin of her throat, feeling the way it bobbed under your touch. Her lips parted as her eyes smouldered up at you.

“Did you finish your marking?” you asked.

“For now,” she replied.

“So you’re all mine tonight?” you asked, leaning closer.

“I could be,” she hummed.

“Well, if you have other plans…” you said sitting up again.

“You’re my only plans.”

Her hand curled around the back of your neck and she dragged you down. She kissed you thoroughly enough for you to dismiss your attempted at teasing her, already squirming in her lap. Her tongue tasted of the wine and the chocolate that had been in the muffin you’d brought her earlier. You didn’t notice the clack of her putting her wine glass on the hardwood floor nor when she took your beer from your hand to do the same.

You lost yourself in the kiss, hands fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, desperate to get to her skin as always. She caught your wrists, pinning them to your side after only getting two undone. You shuddered, hips rocking forward.

The doorbell was loud. You struggled to claw your way out of the haze of lust she always left you in. You blinked, turning your head towards the door. The doorbell rang again.

“Go on, kitten,” Agatha said, releasing your wrists, “that’ll be the food.”

You climbed off her on wobbly legs, not wanting to leave her when you were nothing but liquid heat. Her hand tapped your ass and you huffed, scrabbling for money out of your wallet. You glanced over your shoulder at her, finding her heated gaze watching you. You pulled the door open.

“Oh,” you said, when you saw who was standing on the other side.

“Hello again.”

The woman from the library was standing there, eyebrows raised, interested gleaming in her eyes. You gaped, not sure what to say.

“Private tutorial, is it?” she asked.

“Uh…” You still had no words for her.

“Agatha home?” she asked.

You looked back into the house then out to her again.

“Um…”

Her finger tipped your chin up, keeping you looking at her. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, the swoop in your stomach nothing to do with the throbbing between your legs from only moments before. Her head tilted to the side as she took stock of your appearance.

“So she is home,” she said, thoughtful, more to herself than you, “come out, come out.”

She called over your shoulder and you froze. Her finger was still under your chin, holding you in place, but her eyes were probing the house behind you. The moment Agatha walked into view, you felt it, electricity crackling in the air.

“Hi sweetheart,” the woman said.

“You,” Agatha snarled.

“You’ve caught quite a pretty one here,” she said, eyes flicking to you then back to Agatha.

“Don’t touch her,” she snapped.

You felt warm hands settle on your hips, pulling you backwards. The fingernail scraped the underside of your chin but otherwise did nothing else to stop you. Agatha pushed you behind her body, blocking you from the woman in the doorway. You weren’t sure what was going on, but you didn’t like it.

“What are you doing here?” Agatha demanded.

“Can’t I drop in on an old friend when I’m in town?” she asked, fingers curling around the doorframe.

“I’d hardly describe you as a friend,” she said scoffed, “and you never come here unless you want something.”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, sweetheart?” she asked, voice softening into a caress.

“I’m in the middle of doing something.” Agatha’s voice was so hard it could snap at any moment.

“Or someone.” Her eyes swept to you, standing behind the older woman, watching on.

Agatha turned to glance at you, her face thunderous. You wanted to reach out, run your fingers down her spine, feel her muscles relax under your touch, but you couldn’t. Not in front of company. Not if you wanted her to keep her job.

“Give us a moment, pet,” she said said.

You nodded, turning around to begin to climb the stairs. You listened as the front door closed again, two sets of footsteps retreating into the living room. You paused halfway up, knowing you should continue up, but not able to. Agatha hated talking about her past with you. No matter how often you asked, she’d brush you off or distract you or refuse to answer. It was wrong to listen in, but you were desperate to have even an ounce more of her. Even if it was gained through less than honest means.

“She’s pretty,” the other woman said.

“She is none of your concern, Rio” Agatha replied.

“No, really, you’ve outdone yourself,” the woman, Rio, said, “I’m sure she loves having the attention of the great Agatha Harkness on her.”

“She’s off limits,” Agatha said.

“Sweetheart.” Rio’s tone was imploring, “you know this can’t end well.”

You froze, breath catching in your chest. It was like a slap to the face, her words so stark, so obvious. She was so sure there was no future for your relationship with Agatha.

“How long have I known you, Agatha?” she asked and you could just imagine her arms winding their way around your Agatha’s body. You didn’t like the way your stomach churned.

“Too long,” she ground out.

“I didn’t question you when you were playing with Wanda, and I should have,” Rio said, “she broke you, sweetheart. It’s been ten years and you still flinch at her name. This pretty little thing is going to graduate and leave you and then who will you have?”

You shook your head, wanting to refute it, but wanting to know more.

“I’ll always be here,” Rio said, “always.”

“Wanda was a mistake,” Agatha said, and you knew that voice. It was the one that said she was angry and doing her best to keep it under check.

“I’d say so. She has her husband and her boys now, doesn’t she? I doubt she even thinks about you,” she said and you didn’t like the casual cruelty of her words.

“This time it’s different,” she said.

That sent a flush of warmth through you.

“Is it? The last student you took as your plaything ended in tears. And who was there to pick up the pieces?” Rio said, “me.”

You hadn’t realised there was a last student she’d done this with. Were you just the latest in a long line of them? Was this her usual modus operandi?

“You can end this before she hurts you. I’ll be here. I’ll help you drown your sorrows,” she said, cajoling, pushing her towards what she wanted.

But that was your Agatha and you wouldn’t give her up without a fight.

“Agatha,” you called out, letting your feet be loud as you hurried down the last of the steps.

She stepped out of the living room, catching you around the waist as you almost barrelled into her. You widened your eyes, eyelashes fluttering, lips falling open. Her eyes slipped over you, lingering on your mouth before they met your eyes again.

“What is it, pet?” she asked, the worry gratifying.

“Is your friend staying for dinner? Only we didn’t order enough food if she is,” you said, “I can call and order more.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied.

“Okay,” you said, smiling at her.

“I see why you like her,” Rio said, appearing at her shoulder, “she does like pleasing you, doesn’t she?”

“It’s time for you to go,” she said, voice hardening again.

“Do you see how she treats me? Her oldest friend,” she said to you, circling around behind until her chin rested on your shoulder, hands on your ribcage right above Agatha’s, “but then, she’s never been good at sharing her toys.”

A flash of anger passed over Agatha’s face, hands tightening on you. You reached out, curling her hair around your finger, grounding yourself to her.

“Would you like to play with me, pretty girl?” Rio asked, lips brushing your skin.

“No thank you,” you replied, your eyes trained on Agatha’s.

You loved the way satisfaction flashed in her eye. She stepped backwards, dragging you with her. Nails scraped over your ribs as you were removed from Rio’s grip. You felt safer only being touched by Agatha, not needing to worry so much.

“She’s not a toy,” Agatha said.

“They’re all toys,” she laughed, “but we’re not. We’re the one who play with nice pretty dolls until we get bored with them and return to one another.”

“I’m not doing this again,” Agatha said.

“Let’s play with her together and see how long we last before we break her,” she said, stepping forward, pressing against your spine.

“You can see yourself out.”

Agatha swept you away, her voice cold, a rebuke if ever you’d heard one. Her arm had curled around your waist, keeping you pressed to her side, blue eyes turned to ice as she looked at the other woman. You pressed closer to her, reminding her you were there with her. That you were on her side.

“I’ll look out for the call after graduation,” Rio said.

The two of you watched her saunter out the door, snatching the takeout you’d ordered from the poor delivery guy. Your mouth hung open. Agatha growled as she slammed the door on her retreating back.

“Who was that?” you asked, but you thought you knew.

“Someone you’ll never have to worry about ever again,” she said.

You followed her back into the living room, watching her pace before she paused and looked at you.

“You’re not a toy,” she said.

“I know.”

She grasped your cheeks between both hands, something feral in her gaze.

“She has no idea,” she said before her lips were on yours.

You whimpered, curling your arms around her, pressing your body to hers. She growled, teeth sinking into your lip, the tang of blood blooming on your tongue. You only kissed her deeper, needing to remind her that you had just as much claim over her as she had over you.

You pushed her back onto the couch, ignoring the way she made a surprising noise muffled by your mouth. Straddling her, your fingers were in her hair, holding her in place as you took control. She’d never let you do that before.

It only made you worried about the visit from Rio more.

When you nipped at her lower lip and she whimpered, you knew something wasn’t right. She was pressing into you, straining towards you, kissing you like she never wanted you to stop. She was the air you breathed, the food that sustained you, the life you were given. You would never stop if she didn’t want you to.

But you weren’t used to her being the needy one.

You were gentle as you tugged her shirt from her pants, fingers working the rest of the buttons free. Her skin was warm under your palm as you stroked down her body. You felt when she trembled, pushing into your touch. Your mouth made its was down her neck, laying wet kisses against her until you found her pulse point. With your tongue, you felt her blood thrum through her veins, so alive beneath you.

Your name was a soft murmur, fingers on your chin pulling you back into a kiss. You went easily, knowing you had time to explore, if she’d let you. She didn’t always. You were hopeful this time she would.

Her soft sigh as your hands cupped her breasts was gratifying. Her head tipped back, letting you continue exploring her soft skin with your mouth. You glanced up, finding her eyes closed, a gentle smile tugging on her lips. Her fingers stroked through your hair, playing with the ends of it.

You tugged her bra from her body, nuzzling along her skin. It was a relief to get one hardening nipple between your lips, tongue teasing her. She arched up into your mouth, your name a praise in her raspy voice. You could spend forever there, breathing in the scent of her skin as she softly played with your hair, telling you how good you were, how much she liked what you were doing, how you were hers.

You made your way down her body, teeth nipping at her ribcage when it moved under your lips as she inhaled. Her chuckle was throaty, reverberating through her chest, the vibrations going through you. She helped you push her trousers off her, left in a crumpled heap on the floor.

You smoothed your hands over her leg, trailing your fingertips down until they met the bones of her ankles. Featherlight, you traced the arch of her foot.

“Pet,” she admonished but there was no bite behind it.

You looked up her body, finding those blue eyes watching you, molten, the ice melted. You pressed a soft kiss to her ankle. Her head fell back again and you made your way up her leg, tasting her skin, letting yourself linger whenever her hips canted towards you. Up one leg, then the other, taking your time, wanting her to squirm, enjoying it when you were used to the one squirming under her mouth.

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, purple against her pale skin, pretty and lacy and making your head spin just by having the chance to see them. You were slow as you slid them down her legs, enjoying unwrapping your present. When you were especially good, she let you do this, take your time to enjoy touching her.

She hissed the moment your mouth made contact with her heat, fingers tightening in your hair. You were soft about it, taking your time, small kitten licks to test the waters. Her legs fell open to you, wider, welcoming you in. She tasted like heaven, the best thing you could have in your mouth, the thing you craved every moment of the day you weren’t between her thighs.

Your tongue on her clit, soft and slow, feeling her tremble as you did your best to take her apart the way she so skilfully did to you. Your name, every letter, traced into her skin, the way she claimed you constantly. You’d brand yourself, sear her name into your skin, if only it would let her know you weren’t going anywhere.

You didn’t care if there was a long list of students before you. You’d be the last one. You were not going to leave her behind the moment you crossed that stage and received your degree.

“Pet,” she grumbled.

The longer you spent teasing her, the more worked up she became, the more you enjoyed yourself. Having her at your mercy was such a rare occurrence you weren’t about to waste it. You drew back, suckling a hickey into the vulnerable spot on her inner thigh, right where you could see it. She huffed out a breath, fingers running through your hair again.

“Getting territorial, pet?” she asked, husky and quiet and so warm it made you shiver.

“My Agatha,” you sighed.

Your mouth returned to her and any response she might have had died on her lips. You let yourself feast on her, taking your time, soft and slow, wanting to spend as much time on her as you could. Her legs shook either side of your head, fingers tightening in your hair until it was painful. Even so, you kept to your pace, refusing to give in.

Her hips rose into your mouth and when she came it was with your name on her lips. You lapped at her entrance, before reattaching to her clit, your gentle suckling making her groan. Looking up at her body, she was watching you, such fondness on her face it made you ache in ways you didn’t know you could. She brushed your hair out of your face before pressing you against her more insistently. You kept watching her, taking in every tiny detail.

She was so beautiful, lost in the pleasure, lost in you. Your entire body thrummed knowing it was you making her feel that way. That you had the privilege to have her at your mercy like that. That no one could make her cum like you could.

Her second orgasm was breathless, her third following soon after. You would have stayed there all night if she hadn’t dragged you back up her body, into a messy kiss. You rolled her, resting against the sofa cushions, letting her relax on top of you. Stroking the length of her spine, you kept pressing kisses to the top of her head, feeling her breath against your neck.

“Who was she really?” you asked, worried the question would scare her off, that she would pull away and none of it would matter in the end, but not able to keep from asking.

“She’s from a lifetime ago,” she replied, soft as she nuzzled closer, “she used to be my world.”

“What happened?” you asked, fingers finding the ends of her hair to play with.

“She did something I couldn’t forgive,” she said, offering up no more explanation.

“So why does she think you’re still hers?” you asked.

“Are you feeling threatened, kitten?” she asked, chin poking into your chest as she met your eyes.

“Do I have reason to?” you asked in return.

“You tell me,” she said.

“If you’re asking whether I’m worried you’re going to leave me to be with her, then I don’t know,” you said, “but you’re mine, Agatha, and I won’t be letting you go without a fight.”

“I’m yours, am I?” she hummed.

“All mine, and only mine,” she said.

Her lips pressed to the underside of your jaw. You sighed, going back to playing with her hair, relaxing under the weight of her. She tangled her legs with yours, arm tight around your waist.

“You really won’t give me up?” she asked.

You’d found your home between her thighs, in her arms, in her life. But you were scared if you told her that it would be too much for her. So you tried for something lighter.

“You won’t get rid of me that easy. I’m here for the long haul,” you said.

“And how long is the long haul?” she asked, muffled from where her face was hidden against your neck.

“Forever,” you whispered.

When her lips found their home on your skin and her hands pushed aside your underwear, you submitted to her, losing yourself to her touch. Whatever she needed, you’d give. Including reassurance that you weren’t like the rest of them.

You weren’t easily scared off. Not when you wanted something badly enough. And you’d never wanted anything as much as you wanted Agatha Harkness.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha all along #agatha harkness

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keerysfreckles · 11 months ago

Note

A Luke fic with a read who’s the daughters of Aphrodite and its capture the flag and she uses her charms to distract him and ends up failing bc once her team she loses they see her and Luke but he has kiss marks all over his face and she’s blushing having her lipstick smudged??

all my love — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, making out (tehehe), petnames used (princess, babe, love), like one curse word

a/n: I. LOVE. THIS. REQUEST.

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

y/n was well aware how much luke loved capture the flag. she knew he always helped annabeth lead the blue team to victory. being luke's girlfriend, she also knew his every move. which explains why y/n's currently waiting in a secluded spot in the middle of the forest, in between the lake and the mess hall.

she knew luke would show up soon, on his way to get the red team's flag, the team y/n was on. but capture the flag was the last thing on her mind.

the previous night luke had just so happened to make y/n, the overly confident daughter of aphrodite, become flustered in front of luke's whole cabin. this was going to be y/n's payback.

she tossed her red horse-hair helmet to the side many minutes ago. she hated how it messed up her hair. only a few minutes go by, until she hears rustled footsteps, leaves crunching under someone's shoe.

"princess?"

y/n turns at luke's voice.

"hi handsome," she smiles, waving her fingers.

luke takes off his own helmet, holding it between his arm and waist.

"what are you doing out here? shouldn't you be gaurding your flag, or fighting someone?"

y/n only walked closer, and she could've sworn you heard luke's heart rate pick up from where she was standing.

"i wanted to see you," y/n smiled again, her voice was soft. a contrast from the loud yelling from the capture the flag game going on around the couple.

y/n now stood close enough and wrapped her hands around luke's neck, playing with the dark curls. he hated to admit it but he could sit with y/n's hands in his hair for hours.

luke's helmet fell to the ground, while he held onto her waist.

y/n knew what she was doing to luke. being the daughter of aphrodite definitely had it's perks. y/n however, was lucky. not only could she make anyone fall in love with her with the bat of an eye, she had the power to wrap any soul around her finger. the ladder was happening to luke. what? she loved teasing him.

before luke could ask anymore questions, y/n stood up on her tip toes to kiss luke's lips. he gasped, taken aback by the action, but of course he kissed back. y/n's hands only tighted on his hair as she started deepening the kiss. luke walked the two backwards, pushing y/n's back into a tree. y/n pulled her lips away from luke, but only to place another kiss at the corner of his lips, a few on his cheeks, nose and three on his neck.

luke's ears perked at the sound a horn blowing in the distance. it was chiron, standing next to clarisse with the blue flag in her hands.

"you little cheater!" luke poked y/n in her sides, "you distracted me."

y/n only shrugs, "who's to say?"

luke and y/n both make their way towards the mess hall, where they heard the horn sound coming from.

once the two apear out of the woods, percy's quick to nudge annabeth. the girl turns, and gasps so loudly that it catches the attention of the nearby campers.

"holy shit, what happened to you?" clarisse shouts in amusement from beside chiron.

"clarisse," chiron states in a lecturing tone.

"sorry, wrong time."

the campers all see y/n and luke standing beside one another. luke wasn't aware of the plethora of red lipstick stains all over his face and neck. he turned to y/n, confused as ever, and just watched as she wiped away her smudged lipstick.

"told you i'd get you back from last night."

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vanteguccir · 6 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗬𝗣𝗦𝗘

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Chris takes care of Y/N after they make love.

WARNING: Mentions of sex, insecurities (?).

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The room was immersed in a comfortable gloom, lit only by the soft light from the aromatic candle next to the bed. The air was filled with a post-orgasm stillness, and the soft sound of Y/N and Chris' panting breaths was the only thing that broke the silence. They were lying on their backs, side by side, their intertwined hands resting between them as tingles ran through the limbs of their bodies.

Chris turned his head slightly, taking in Y/N's profile. Her face was slightly flushed, and her body still exuded warmth and satisfaction. With a low sigh, Chris slowly turned onto his side, resting his head on his hand, the sound of cotton sheets moving echoing briefly. His blue eyes roamed Y/N's body, tracing every curve, every line, taking note of the way her breasts, still slightly reddened by stimulation, rose and fell with each breath.

The boy couldn't contain himself and extended his free hand, letting his fingertips slide gently over her exposed shoulder, feeling her skin slightly sweaty and warm under his touch, a trail of goosebumps following right behind.

He began to silently count the moles on Y/N's collarbone, a soft smile curving his lips, he already knew the exact quantity and locations by heart, but he would never get tired of recounting them. Each dot was a constellation on her skin, each a unique mark that he adored.

Chris remained like that for a few minutes, just caressing and bathing in the sensations that the moment gave him, enjoying every second of the intimacy they shared.

"You're so pretty." He muttered silently, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. Chris couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her by his side. "My pretty girl."

Chris can not seem to ever get enough of Y/N, no matter how many years they were in a relationship and how many times they had sex. The way her taste flooded his mouth when he got on his knees between her legs or the way her tight little pussy feels as she's wrapped around his cock always led him to feel new sensations.

Chris felt an almost obsessive fascination for her.

The boy leaned over and kissed Y/N's shoulder, a gesture of silent adoration, his still swollen and pink lips brushing her skin in a lingering caress.

"I'm so lucky." The brunette whispered again, feeling a shiver of pleasure run through his body when he felt her skin against his own. Every touch was a reminder of his love for her, a love that seemed to grow stronger every day.

Y/N finally turned her face towards him slowly, smiling a drunken smile, her eyes with dilated pupils and slightly reddened from the tears of pleasure shed minutes before observed him intently. She tilted her head down, sealing her lips over Chris's messy strands, breathing in the scent of sex and men's shampoo.

After long minutes, Chris slowly pulled away, touching the tip of his nose to his girl's, caressing the area in an eskimo kiss, before moving back and getting up from the bed carefully, not wanting to break the tender moment, smiling in amusement at the whine that escaped Y/N's throat with the lack of heat.

He headed to the bathroom and returned with a damp pink towel in hand. Sitting down next to Y/N, he used his free hand to snake the sensitive skin of her right leg, gripping her knee firmly - but carefully -, spreading her legs apart before beginning to gently clean the expanse of skin from her legs and between her thighs, with each movement an act of affection and devotion.

His eyes never left her face, watching her eyelashes caress her cheeks with each lazy blink.

A moan of complaint escaped Y/N's throat as the damp towel pressed against her sensitive core, her legs acting on automatically as they tried to close around Chris's wrist.

"Shh, I know, dove. It's almost over. 'Need to have you nice and clean, huh?" Chris murmured softly, his fingers sliding over the warm skin, pushing her legs apart again.

Y/N let out a small sigh, her body reacting to Chris's soft touch and words. He continued his work, his voice a tender whisper, muttering words of love.

Chris finished cleaning her and set the towel aside, leaning over her upper body between her still open legs, slowly lowering himself to place a soft kiss on her abdomen, his warm breath against the sensitive skin causing goosebumps to form in the area.

He stood up again, stroking the instep of her right foot with his thumb before walking slowly towards the bedside table, retrieving the bottle of water he always left there in case one of them woke up thirsty during the night.

"Come on, drink some, petal." Chris asked, turning back to Y/N and helping her sit up slightly, using his free hand to keep her in position. He brought the bottle to her lips, pressing the straw into her smooth, pink skin, watching her fondly as she took a few sips. "You need to hydrate."

Y/N looked up at him, her orbs shining with gratitude and love, innocently.

"Thank you, baby." Y/N spoke for the first time since her last orgasm, her voice soft and slightly hoarse from constant use. Chris smiled softly before turning around and placing the bottle back on the table.

"Can you walk?" He asked in a low tone, turning back to her and watching a small pout form on her lips, already knowing that she would fight against getting up from the bed at that moment. "I know you're tired, petal, but you have to pee. I'll carry you there, hm? It's gonna be quick, I promise."

"Okay."

Chris smiled satisfied, passing one arm under her straight knees and the other arm around the back of her shoulders, pulling her up, pressing their naked bodies together again.

His steps towards the bathroom were quick but careful, afraid of shaking Y/N's body too much and causing some discomfort. He raised his left arm, pressing his elbow awkwardly onto the light switch, illuminating the room before taking small steps to the toilet, carefully lowering Y/N onto the seat.

"D'you want me to get out, pretty?" The boy's soft, husky voice echoed through the bathroom, the echo making it sound louder than it should have been.

"No, stay here, please." Y/N shook her head, tilting her upper body tiredly so that she laid her head on Chris's exposed abdomen, resting her elbows at the base of her bent knees and resting the palms of her hands on her boyfriend's thighs, caressing the milky skin covered with small hairs with her fingers.

It didn't take long for her to finish, moving away from Chris momentarily so she could clean herself properly with the intimate wet wipe, watching from the corner of her eye as her boyfriend's arm reached for the toilet, the sound filling the room next to the running water in the bathroom faucet in the sink where Y/N washed her hands.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you to bed." Chris whispered against the back of Y/N's head, sealing the area quickly before resting his right hand on the small of her back, guiding her back to the bedroom, making sure that she felt more comfortable walking, even though slowly.

Soon, the two found themselves lying on the double bed again. Chris adjusted his body on the mattress before gently pulling Y/N close, allowing her to snuggle into his chest, pressing her head against his bare chest and closing her hands in a gesture of prayer between her stomach and his.

The boy waited for her to stop moving and stabilize herself in a comfortable position before finally hugging her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his left hand where they shoulders met while his right one found home on her hair, his fingers stroking the strands calmly and tenderly.

"Was I good?" Y/N's voice sounded muffled against Chris's chest, her tone suddenly small and vulnerable.

"What?" Chris stopped his caresses on her hair abruptly, frowning and pulling back slightly, searching his girl's eyes.

"Was I good tonight?" The serenity of the moment seemed almost ethereal, but, inside Y/N's eyes, a storm of doubts was beginning to form. The feeling of vulnerability after such intimate moments always took her by surprise, making her question whether she had been as good to Chris as he had been to herself.

"Baby, what- Of course you were good, amazing actually! You make me feel loved and wanted in a way I never thought possible. It's no wonder that if you hadn't stopped me after the fourth orgasm I would have continued for hours on end." A smirk grew on Chris's lips as he saw a reddish tone take over Y/N's cheeks in seconds, her twinkling eyes shyly lowering and focusing on his neck, playing nervously with her fingers against his belly. "Hey, I love you, okay?" Chris murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can express."

Y/N lips formed a pout, an embarrassed laugh escaping her lips as she felt Chris's hand that was on her back snake around her shoulder, caressing her cheek before having her snuggle closer to him.

"I love you more, Chris." She replied, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. "Thank you. For taking care of me."

"Always."

They stayed like that, hugging each other, the heat of their intertwined bodies filling the space around them. Chris continued to stroke Y/N's hair, each touch filled with love and care. He couldn't imagine a more perfect moment, a fuller feeling.

Finally, Y/N closed her eyes, feeling safe and loved in Chris's arms. He watched her for a while, admiring the serenity on her face before closing his eyes as well, letting the darkness fill his mind.

taglist:

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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months ago

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The Goddess and The Reaper

Summary - Azriel can't help but find himself needing answers after a haunted male enters the Night Court

Warnings - mentions of haunting, mentions of suicide, fluff, memory stealing, mentions of death, mentions of torture, angst

There were many things that kept Azriel up at night.

The safety of his court. The worry that something might happen to his family if he switched off. The nightmares that plagued each one of the seconds that sleep did find him.

Many wondered how the illustrious Shadowsinger hadn’t gone mad yet from the exhaustion. Truth be told, Azriel had his own methods of ensuring his mind and wits were always sharp. The most unusual tool in his arsenal being the acts he conducted upon the enemies of the Night Court within his tower that was shrouded in a veil of shadow.

Something about torturing his enemies brought him a life and energy that nothing else ever could.

There used to be a time that he believed in the fantasies he was told as a child by his mother, stories that he never knew if they were real or not, or if they were somewhat laced with truths of a time long gone.

Before his brothers took his hands, Azriel believed. He believed in the Veiled Woman that drifted through the world, taking away the pain from the innocent and inflicting it upon those who truly deserved it. His brothers had always been afraid of that story, curling up in his mothers lap or running to their father whilst Azriel would listen to every morsel that fell from the lips of the most perfect storyteller there ever was.

Perhaps they were afraid that she would come for them.

A woman. Wise and true. Vengeful. Ethereal in ways that would blind all who would dare to believe they were deserving to gaze upon her face. That was why she wore the veil you see, so that no one would be able to see her. Azriel had always liked to believe that she was doing the continent a kindness by hiding her face, that hiding under a veil of darkness was easier for everyone.

But he couldn't help but wonder how lonely she might have been.

Azriel's hands were bloodied, the substance dripping from his fingers unto the stone cold floor of his tower placed so far from the city so that no one would be able to hear the screams of his victims.

Within the chair before his wickedly darkened orbs, a man panted and squirmed against his restraints. A spy from Hybern had slipped beyond the boarder, and Azriel's shadows had alerted him to the fact immediately. He had propelled himself into the sky, leaving his dining chair in pieces on the floor and his family glaring at him with wide eyes as his wings flexed and swooped him upward into the starry night.

The male wasn't difficult to catch. Not at all.

"I will ask you one more time." Azriel leaned down, the cold of the room settling into his veins and the only sound being the rushing of his victims blood in their veins. The wooden arms creaked under the added pressure of his hands, Azriel leant down, almost bringing himself nose to nose with the bruised and broken male before his eyes. "Why are you here?"

The male began to blubber, soft sobs falling from his lips, and his head fell back, exposing the ice blue of his eyes and self-inflicted nail marks over his sockets. "Please kill me. Kill me before she does."

Azriel frowned, unsure whether to trust the words, but the better part, the more inquisitive part, of him pressed on. "Before who does?"

"The nightmare," the male whispered, eyes opening slightly and sweeping across the room with fear, as if his stalker had followed him all the way to Azriel's tower. "The darkness. The one who brings the pain of a thousand sins and leads you to your death."

Azriel considered himself intrigued. "Tell me about her and I'll make this easier for you."

The male inhaled, his bones shaking beneath his skin, but he nodded, and Azriel knew then that no lie would fall from his lips.

"She appears to you cloaked in darkness with a voice as soft as a lovers sonnet," he began, straining in his seat whilst he recounted, "She speaks to you, she seems to know all the wrong you have done, she knows every awful thought you've ever had. You feel like she understands you, that she's there to wash it away so you can finally rest," his blue eyes clouded and his bottom lip wobbled furiously. "But then she shows you that face, that wickedly beautiful face that lies beneath a veil of black and gold, and gifts you all of the pain you've inflicted on others, and guides you to the grave. Most of her prey take their own lives. I thought that I could outrun her."

"But you couldn't?"

"No one can," his gaze flickered upward to Azriel's, "She was at the boarder of this court, ushering me inside. Now I know why. She was leading me to this place so that I would meet my end."

"Why would she not kill you herself?" Azriel tilted his head at the man, examining his face, drinking in his pain and fear and whatever else was written into the contours of his skin.

"It goes against everything that she is. We call her the Angel of Death where I'm from, a guide to the end. In your land I believe she's known as The Veiled."

The Veiled.

Azriel took a step backward, noting how the male's head swung back downcast. "She led you here?"

"Yes," the male rasped, throat raw despite the blood and bile rising through it. "And she's here now. I can feel her in the air. I can feel her in my bones, in my blood. Please make it go away. Free me of it."

Without comprehending his own movement, as though a phantom limb had curled around his hand and led it to the hilt of his beloved dagger, Azriel slit the throat of the haunted male and listened to his gargles in a haze, only coming to when silence had befallen the room once more.

He couldn't tell anyone about the words, not because he was afraid that they wouldn't believe him, but because he had to find this woman before anyone else found out about her.

Azriel scoured the skies for three nights, trying to follow the pull in his gut that had been leading him further and further from the confinements of the Night Court. Each time he ventured beyond, he would always find some vile creature inflicting pain upon something innocent. One night it was a poacher torturing a trapped doe. Another night it was an Illyrian following a young woman home with nothing by hatred and desire in his mind. And on the final night, the soul Azriel vanquished from the earth was a criminal so foul that he had a bounty on his head placed by Rhys himself.

It was as though whatever was pulling him from the Night Court was doing so for a reason.

On the fourth night, Azriel found himself walking through a woodland so dense with trees that the only light that found him was that from the small gaps between the branches that the moonlight could stream through. The ground was soaking up that moonlight like the last breath before it drowned and wept to the depths of the earths core.

From his hunt, the Shadowsinger understood what the male in the tower meant, the feeling of this creature seeping into the very essence of his being. He had tried to ignore the pull, he had tried to ignore the siren-like coo that would find his ears no matter where he stood, causing Rhys to become somewhat suspicious of the absent mind of his Spymaster.

It was mostly silent save for the occasional hoot of owls and the scamper of night foxes along the forest floor, and further away, the soft rushing of water babbling along a secluded stream.

Azriel was waiting for something, another victim led to him or a rare eventless night, he wasn't exactly sure. Nothing could shake the feeling of her. It was as if he had been curled within an ice cold blanket, and he should have felt threatened, he should have been thrashing and fighting against it, but in all honestly Azriel had never felt more safe, or secure than in that moment.

Idly he found himself following the sound of the flowing water, eager to see where it led with his wings tucked behind his back and fingers not even twitching to his dagger as he ascended a mound, eyes widening when he took in the scene before him.

A large clearing lay at the foot of the mound where he stood, moonlight illuminating every strand of grass and bouncing off the lights of the plethora of fireflies that silently waltzed in the air. Even the water sparkled, like pure, untainted starlight, reflecting against the bark of trees and only adding to the mysticality of the place.

And in the centre of it all stood the woman he had been searching for, he didn't need to ask to know it. The way his heart sang confirmed it for him.

Her veil of black and gold fell over her entire body, though he could make out the point of her nose and the length of her eyelashes beneath it as well as the magnificent shape of her body in the thin black silk gown she adorned. She stood with her back to him, crouching down slowly to run her fingers just below the surface of the water, and all he could do was watch.

"It's about time you found me," she spoke, voice low and sultry, and he could tell without even seeing her face that she was smirking beneath that veil.

"How long have you known that I've been standing here?"

The Veiled Woman scoffed softly, turning on the balls of her bare feet to face him, "In this clearing or my domain in general? Because the answer is since the moment you stepped foot into it."

In all of his years serving Rhys, Azriel had flown over that exact clearing more times than he could count, and he had never seen it the way it appeared to him now. Noting the small cabin at the far side of the clearing, glowing gold and exuding warmth, Azriel took a singular step forward, "You glamoured this place?"

"I am the one who finds people, not the other way around."

"Then how did I find you?"

He couldn't help but hold his breath as she approached him, feet not even flinching as they stepped on jagged rocks and broken twigs until she came to a halt direct in front of him.

Azriel could have sworn that he could see the wordless wonder in the eyes that he couldn't quite see.

The woman tilted her head slightly, fingers reaching up to brush against the sharpness of his cheekbones like a rogue feather in the night.

Isn't it obvious? You're here because I wished it.

Her voice echoed in his mind, in the very depths of his consciousness whilst her hand lay still against the silk of his cheek and her lips curled upward into a smile beneath the lace of her veil.

It was strange how familiar she felt.

But then her touch vanished, and she began to walk away, and the void of ice coiled around him once more, destroying the blossoming sun that had been growing within his chest.

"What's your name?"

She stopped in her tracks, appearing like a fallen angel in the moonlight with wisps of fog parting around her body. A fox cub went to scamper by, but stopped when it saw her, and it tentatively moved closer and closer until it was perched atop her feet, and let out a chipper when she scooped it up into her arms and held it there for a moment.

"It's y/n." Azriel couldn't help but smile at the sight of the fox cub nibbling on her fingers, and she reacted in a way that made him believe that it wasn't an odd thing to happen. "I knew your mother," and with that his blood ran cold.

"You did?"

Y/N hummed in agreement, pitiful and angry agreement.

"Yes," she said, "I'd go as far as to call us friends, but that friendship died long ago."

"She used to tell us stories of you. Of a woman veiled from a the world who took the pain of the innocent and bled it onto the minds of the guilty. She called you Vengeance. My brothers were absolutely terrified of the stories, but I never was."

The brief truth seemed to make y/n smile, she lowered herself to the ground, setting the small fox free into the depths of the woodland before rising once more. "I offered to kill them for what they did to you. Your mother disagreed."

"Is that why your friendship died?"

Silence.

Azriel took another step forward, finding himself needing to be surrounded by her. "No. It ended because she found out what you were destined to be, and she wished to save you from it. I understood, of course."

He wanted nothing more than to lift that veil, to lay his eyes on the face that had always haunted his rarity of dreams, but he knew that no one was worthy of such an honour.

"What I was destined to be?"

Y/N stumbled back a step, eyes scanning him head to toe from behind her veil, "She never told you?"

"Told me what?"

Azriel could sense the confliction.

"You walk alongside death every day and it doesn't fear you, nor you it. Do you remember a time where the idea of death and the life after it didn't terrify you?"

The Shadowsinger contemplated the question, but he answered truthfully, "No."

"Our fates are entwined. They always have been. You have seen my face before but you don't remember it, I had to erase myself, I had to let you live your life until you were ready," y/n told him, she turned away, slowly walking further from him but Azriel couldn't let her, and perhaps he made a mistake when he reached out and curled his fingers around her wrist.

The world tilted. Azriel felt energy course around their bodies, bright but oh so dark and delicious.

Y/N was stuck in her place, black silk kissing the ground and intricate lace flexing over her mouth from the rapid breaths that she was releasing into the air. Azriel moved round her, not letting her go for even a moment, and found his marred fingers grasping at the hem of the veil, slowing lifting it so that it slowly revealed her to him inch by inch.

Soft skin.

A body that could make even the most holy of men crack.

Thick, luscious hair.

A neck carved by the gods.

A pointed chin.

Perfect nose.

Feline eyes.

Azriel suddenly understood why her victims went so mad that they took their own lives. Y/N was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the most beautiful thing anyone would. Perhaps it was a final mercy that the last thing her victims saw was that face.

The veil fell to the floor in a puddle.

"You have lived in my dreams for centuries, since I was a little boy. Why?" Azriel whispered, his fingers booking beneath her chin and lifting her captivating eyes to meet his.

"I am the Goddess of Death, and you," she reached up, taking his face in her perfectly carved fingers, "Azriel, you are my Reaper."

You walk alongside death every day and it doesn't fear you.

"I cannot kill those that I hunt which is ironic, I know," y/n chuckled gently, hand still caressing the sides of his face, "You were brought into this world to protect those you love, to avenge all pain and threat. You know the stories, you know of the prophecies."

The Goddess and her Reaper.

There was something festering within his soul, begging to be released, asking to be unlocked so that it could run free. It was something golden and bountiful, something that had been suppressed for too long.

"I erased myself from your mind. I have lived eons keeping an eye on you but not allowing myself to get too close apart from on the odd occasion when I just couldn't stay away." Y/N pulled his face to hers and ran the tip of her nose along the bridge of his own. "You have a family, and life with me is as complicated as it gets. I'm not exactly accepted."

"What are you saying?" Azriel asked breathlessly, feeling his soul slowly cracking open and slits of golden rays peering over the shadow that had shrouded him always.

"We are mates, Azriel. I saw you 400 years ago and I knew, but you were hurting," y/n frowned, but then it vanished and became replaced with a smile, "And then you were building your family. You were in love with Mor, and you were training with Cassian and protecting Rhys, and poking fun at Amren. I couldn't take you from that, not when you were feeling the most loved and appreciated than you ever had."

"So you dragged yourself in and out of my life as you pleased, and forbid me from remembering this face?" Azriel traced the pad of his thumb over her lips.

"I thought that I was protecting you by staying away."

A swelling breeze danced around their bodies, sweeping sleeping leaves from their beds and rustling branches overhead. "Let me remember you."

It took a moment, but then it happened. A key slid into the lock around his soul and the force of his essence burst through it like it was some kind of exploding dam. Images flashed in the forefront of his mind, of secret meetings, of cabins at night, of bodies entwined, of promises and wishes, of loudly declared words, and of a love and passion so deep and powerful that Azriel knew that it took something equally as powerful to cloak it.

After the images subsided, all Azriel could do was hold his y/n closer, pulling her tighter to his chest and commanding, "Don't you ever take those away again. I will steal any soul that you wish, I will vanquish anything from this earth that you order me to, I will serve you until my last breath, but don't you ever take those away from me. Not again. Not ever."

"I vow it. If I do then I will meet my end, I swear it."

And with the magic that ran through the veins of Prythian, Azriel and Y/N felt a burning in their flesh, embedding the vow into their very bones.

When they both peered downward at their forearms, all they saw were two twin ravens flying in a circle before the eyes of a starry night.

Author's Note

WOOOOOOOO

I'M BACK BITCHES

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missmimii · 2 months ago

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | 𝐌－𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Matt had gotten lost in a game rather then the deprivation of touch he’d felt the whole night.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. 18+, Sub!Matt, fem!reader/dom!reader, smut, language, dirty talk, light degradation, pet names, teasing, dom/sub!relationship, fem!receiving oral, Matt the munch!

♡︎－ℳ𝒾𝓂𝒾’𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 | Mimi finally posts! Surgery + School has been kicking my ass, so I sincerely apologize for my absence. But I’m back! And ready to get back to my usual schedule.

Butterflies swarmed the girl’s gut as a kitten like peck was placed right atop her belly button, making her squirm a little as two blue hooded eyes peeked up at her. “What’s this?” Matt murmured softly, though his tone remained gruff with a hint of exhaustion lacing the undertone. “Hm?” She propped up her upper half with both elbows, head tilting to the side as she watched as her boyfriend’s thumb run over the slight, faded purple scar above her bellybutton. “Does it hurt?” Her head shook slightly, a subtle smile tainting her bitten lips as the adoring boy hummed, placing yet another kiss atop the mark. “I used to have a piercing there, it left a scar.”

Matt cooed ever so slightly, and inwardly, so did she. He looked so perfect, and at peace. His brunette hair was untamed and just barely overgrown, small pieces lying around his eyebrows and forehead. Blue eyes accompanied by faint bags underneath, a picturesque proof of just how long he’d been up. And his lips, slick with his saliva as he ran his tongue along the soft skin, the rough stubble of his jaw pressing into her abdomen as he allowed his head to rest. “Tired, baby?”

Matt’s eyes batted as a soft sigh escaped his lips as her hand cupped his jaw delicately, the pad of her thumb guiding it’s way under his one eye. “No.” The boy mumbled, peeking his eyes open to look up at his girlfriend. “wanna’ spend time with you.” His eyes were groggy, slow blinks sent her way as he peered up at her with such intensity. Warmth swirled in her core at the innocence written all over her face, knowing it was all a facade. “Spend time with me? baby you’ve had all night to be with me.” He whined at the tone of her voice, lowering his gaze as he pressed his face into her tummy, inhaling.

Vanilla and remains of her body lotion that had a reminiscent hint of shea engulfed his nose as he resisted the need to nip at her lustrous skin, the smell so intoxicating as he felt himself ache for the girl. “M’sorry. Nate wanted to play a game with me before he went to bed,” she hummed in understanding, already knowing the circumstances. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” The girl knew he felt guilty the second his PC had shut off, the room going dark with the subtle hue of a candle as he crawled onto the bed and lying himself between her parted thighs.

It started off innocent, just like it always did before he got worked up. ‘You looked so pretty today’ he’d whisper, the praise muffled as he pressed his lips to the skin of her navel. ‘missed you so much’ his hands would glide up her chest, innocently toying with the frilly hem of her bra. ‘Wanted to touch you so bad’ and that’s when she’d know, realization coming over her just as he unintentionally would rut his hips against the bedsheets.

The girl let out a huff of amusement as she felt the boy’s teeth graze her tummy, just before his eyes slid up to hers, a mischievous glint behind the blue surface. “Yes?” Yet again, he whines while she guided his chin up with her palm. “Please?” Oh~, She cooed, watching as Matt’s lips parted oh so sweetly, her thumb trailing across his bottom lip that had pushed out into a pout. “You’ve had all night.” I know, he whimpered out. “Speak up.” The girl murmured, tilting her head at him in disapproval. “I know.” The triplet repeated breathily, his voice now verging on a groan.

What was he playing at? The girl couldn’t help but feel her lips tug at the corner, watching as Matt slowly lowered his lips to her navel, tongue gliding out and licking a stripe along the surface. “What’re you doing, hm?” She forced her voice to stay strong, despite the shaky undertone it held as he offered an innocent shrug, eyes hooded with desire as he blinked up at her while kissing down her abdomen. Matt got lost in his own little world, panting as his teeth suddenly came in contact with her faded pink bloomer shorts, wanting nothing more then to tug them down.

He needed it, his body pleading for it as he ever so desperately sought his release by rocking his hips into the mattress. “Ah, ah－” a whimper emitted his lips as he drew his gaze upward, hearing his girlfriend’s tut as he stilled. “Where’s your manners?” He whined, sensing her disappointment in his actions. He was being bad. Sorry, he murmured with a whimper lacing his tone. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry－’ he repeated, rubbing his stubbly cheek agaisnt her soft stomach as a silent apology.

The feeling of his unshaven scruffy jaw tickling her stomach has her thighs twitching, her teeth biting on her lip to keep her composure as she imagines the feeling of his rough cheeks in between her thighs. “Shhh’,” Matt leans into her touch, practically moaning as she threaded a hand through his tousled hair. “Jus’－ please.” It hurt. His loose sweatpants now felt rather snug around his hips, and his skin suddenly grew hot without her hands touchingly trailing across his body.

“Stop whining,” she muttered, and Matt shrunk under her domineering gaze. A darkness had settled behind the surface of her eyes, pupils having grown in size as she follows his every move. “if you want something, ask for it. No more whining.” Sniffling, he felt a pearl of pre-cum drip from the tip of his aching cock, wanting nothing more than to tug off the uncomfortable sweats. “Wan’ you to touch me.” Matt said meekly, looking at the girl with a longing look of desperation.

An hum of understanding left her lips as she brushed a few hairs away from his eyes. “You want me to touch you, baby?” Matt opened his mouth, prepared to let out a soft whine before he was shut down by her hardened glare. “Mommy.” He finally whimpered out, tears sticking to his lower lash line. She couldn’t help but coo at the sight of her boy so desperate. So whiny and pathetic, at the hands of his own actions. “Hm? You want mommy, doll?” Matt’s blinks were long and thick, looking almost as if he were in a trance while gazing at the dominant girl.

“Not wan’, need.” And that was all it took. The girl saw how Matt’s hands softly trembled, seemingly overwhelmed as he huffed out small breaths. “Here, puts those here, hm?” Two of her hands guided his large ones to the hem of her shorts, the boy immediately letting out an incoherent murmur of relief as he began to tug them down her thighs. “Ah, ah－ patience.” She scolded lightly, the bed frame creaking every so slightly has he rutted his hips into the plush mattress.

The shorts toppled off the edge of the bed in a bunch, within seconds Matt was already slipping two fingers on each side of her underwear to slip them down her hips. “－thas’ it- yes, please－” The boy whined small murmurs to himself, his face looking pained as he ran his tongue across his teeth. “Such a good boy.” She praised, cooing. His eyes were hooded, a thick swallow following as he peered up at her. “Mhm.” Matt felt his mouth practically water as her panties finally joined her shirts on the floor, his eyes gleaming as they took in the sight of her glistening, pretty pussy.

His morals were drowned in desperation, the concept of asking －let alone begging, completely dismissed as he lowered his lips. “Matt,” a hand buried itself in the boy’s hair, tugging at the soft strands as she scolded his behaviour. “where’s your manners?” The triplet moaned softly, a hand squeezing her thigh as a silent apology. It was almost amusing. She couldn’t stay mad at him when he was in such a state, drool pooling at his lips as he hungrily took in her bare body. “have I been doing a bad job a teaching you how to be a good boy?” A whine drawled from his lips, frowning as he shook his head vigorously.

It wasn’t his fault, he thought to himself. She was so warm, and smelled so sweet. Her pink hole was dripping, wetting her folds as cum and arousal slid down her cunt. How could he not want to devour her? “Take your time,” her hand fisted his hair, tipping his head down as he let out a gentle breath of relief. “don’t always get to do this do you, hm?” Matt didn’t respond, instead capturing her lower lips with his hot mouth. “Fuck.”

Her jaw went slack as the feeling of his pulsing hot tongue ran up her core, nudging her hole as his breath fanned against her clit. Matt’s hand held her hips in a painful grip as they attempted to rise off the bed, pinning her lower half down with every ounce of strength he had. “－oh fuck, Matt－shit!,” her eyes rolled back as he nipped at her clit, a moan mixed with a pained hiss escaping her parted lips as his rough hands pushed her hips into the bed with force.

He hungrily lapped at her cunt with soft pants and moans, dazed with a pussy-drunk expression gracing his soft features as the girl’s body thrummed. The nerves in her core would spike every time the ridge of his nose nudged against her clit, the stubble scattered across his jaw tickling her inner thighs as he pushes his face deeper into her parted thighs. It’d been weeks, Matt thought as a strings of moans left his girl’s lips.

Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he panted against her sopping pussy, incoherent babbles leaving his flushed lips as he rutted his hips into the mattress pathetically. “Awh’, baby.” His eyes drooped as a hand tightened around a fistful of his brown locks, tilting his head up to meet the domineering girl’s gaze. “hard to focus on making mommy feel good, and you at the same time?” Spit dribbled from his lips, making her thighs twitch as the string would land directly atop her aching heat.

A small bob of his head was all it took for the girl’s harsh domineer to shatter, eyes softening as she ran the hand down the side of his head. “I’ll help you after you’re done, hm?” The girl offered, tipping her head to the side as she watched his eyes spark with lust. Please, he whined, making the girl chuckle. “Then we gotta’ stop that－don’t we?” She gritted out, eyes hardening as Matt chose just then to rut his hips into the bed.

The same hand that had been resting on his jaw slid down until it was weaved around his neck, making a moan bubble from Matt’s lips as he took then to lick a stripe up her pussy. Her thighs squeezed around his head at the abrupt motion, a moan tearing from her lips as her head craned back. “Fuck－ that’s it－that’sss a g’boy.” It wasn’t often that she allowed Matt to go down on her, but when she did, the girl always wondered why she didn’t let him do it more. It always felt so fucking good, different than how her past partners would make her feel.

She narrowed down to it being because Matt always wanted to do it. It was almost never her who initiated oral－unless it was her going down on him. He pleaded, and begged, cried out just to have a little taste of her until she’d give in. Because when it came down to it, he needed it more than she wanted it.

Matt’s eyelids were heavy, batting with lust as he peered up at her while swivelling his tongue past her lips, savouring the sweet taste of her on his tongue. The muscles of her cunt would tense and tighten around his tongue every time he slid the tip past the divot of her hole, making her thighs twitch. “Matt,” she grunted, eyes clamped shut as she attempted to keep her strong exterior. “Hm?” Fuck. Her jaw fell down as nipped at her clit, a slurping sound filling the room as he molded his raw lips against the sensitive bud.

A euphoric feeling rolled down her spine, as if a pleasurable chill shook her body as she moaned out. “Fuck－ fuck－oh my god－” Something so deep inside of her shattered, a mix of Matt’s breath feathering against her core, the gruff itch of his stubbly cheeks scratching the inside of her thighs, and his hot mouth feasting away at her heat. All of it. “Baby－” Matt let out a small grunt, the sound verging on a subtle moan as her thighs shook aside his head. “God.” Submission.

A warmth enveloped the triplet’s entire body, a cloudy haze surrounding his skin, body, and soul as he felt every worry and doubt soar away from his aura. It was if the switch in his mind that made him feel so human, had just disappeared. Evaporated. Dissociation but in the best way possible, because he had her. “－Matt? －Matt, baby.” The girl’s hoarse voice was muffled to Matt’s ears as he babbled incoherently, eyes fluttering as he felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

She felt her heart pick up a beat as she caught sight of his eyes, the boy’s pupils bigger than ever as he gazed at her lustfully. He was on a high, and he didn’t know if he wanted to ever come down from it. “I’m here－shhh ..” Matt crawled atop her warm embrace, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a shaky whimper. He felt .. unreal. So amazingly euphoric. “That’s it, that’s a good boy.” Fuck.

The boy’s whimpers slowed into small pants as she ran her pointed nails down his skull, chills erupting down his arms as a shake coursed through his bones. Huh .. the girl let out a small sound, making Matt lift his head from her neck. “Matt?” the boy visibly swallowed, blinking softly as an attempt at easing the trouble he was about to endure. “－did you already come?” Yep, he was royally fucked.

She bit down on her lip and squeezed her thighs around his hips as he just offered a whine, pushing his face into his chest. “M’sorry,” Matt whimpered softly, sniffling. “needed it－felt so good－I’m sorry.” He felt scolded as she hummed. “We’re gonna have to fix that entitlement then, hm?” Matt stilled, lifting his head from her shoulder with a shaky gasp eliciting his bitten lips.

“Get on your knees.”

୨ৎ－ @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturnstvs @sturniolosarethebest @stonermattsgf @imwetforyourmom @st7rnioioss @endereies @pkfferoo @mqttittude @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @cherib3lla

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year ago

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader PART TWO [35K] another year at summer camp, more broken kayaks, a change of plans, a lot of wondering. meet us in the afterglow.

PART ONE

Tell me that it's not my fault

“Steve!” You yelled the boy's name on instinct when you saw him the morning after the cabin incident. “Hey, Steve!”

He looked startled to hear you, to hear his name on your lips when it wasn’t snarled or yelled. But he stopped anyway, blinking at you in the sunlight as you jogged over to him, hair still damp from the lake, leaving your shorts unbuttoned over your swimsuit.

“Hey,” you said, softer now you were closer. “I heard about Billy.”

Steve made a face that you tried not to smile at, his expression somewhat regretful, like he was expecting you to tell him off, something you would’ve normally done. Instead, you turned your attention to the cut on his cheek, the small scratch that still looked too fresh not to hurt. There was a bruise forming around it, blotchy blue and purple, high on his cheekbone.

[THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (COVER) BY THE LUMINEERS]

You ached to reach out, to take Steve’s chin between your finger and thumb so you could pull him down to you, so you could kiss the mark better. “Are you okay?” You asked instead.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, eyes darting around the forest floor, at the trees and the sun, before they settled on you. He swallowed hard and tried not to watch the drop of water that was running from the nape of your neck down your chest. “Yeah, m’fine. No big deal.”

You huffed, a familiar sound that made the corners of Steve’s mouth pick up, because you still sounded soft, huffy in a way that made him want to fix it.

“That’s not what Eddie said,'' you told him, finally giving in and moving a little closer, toes of your sneakers pushed into the moss so you could peer at his injuries with concerned eyes. “He said you really went for Billy. That he’d never seen you like that before.”

Steve froze as you inspected his cheek, closer than you’d been in weeks. You still smelled the same, he noted, under your sunscreen and the lake water. Your perfume still clung to your skin and Steve watched with parted lips as you reached up to push some of his hair back in order to get a better look at his cheek.

You kept your gaze lowered as you did so, careful not to move too fast, wary about making eye contact. But Steve didn’t move away.

“S’nothing, honest. Just got out of hand.” Steve swallowed again, mouth too dry and Adam’s apple bobbing as his hand accidentally grazed your hip as he shifted. “Um, what else did Eddie say?”

You frowned, letting your hand drop from Steve’s face, albeit grudgingly. The boy was pleased to note that you didn’t move away. “Not much, apart from that. Why?”

Steve shrugged, feeling clumsy, feeling lovesick, like a teenager with a first crush, like a stupid boy who didn’t know how to function with a pretty girl so close. A month ago, he’d had taken this opportunity to pull you behind the kayak stack, nimble and sure fingers slipping down the straps of your swimsuit as he kissed you until you whispered his name the way he liked to hear.

Instead, he gave you a small smile. “No reason. Hey, do I, uh, still have sand or somethin’ in the cut? Feels itchy.”

Steve knew that the slice on his cheek was more than clean, he’d spent long enough cornered by Joyce as she squeezed cotton balls soaked in antiseptic over the injury, again and again until he batted her away with pleading eyes. But he was desperate for you to touch him again, to be this close to you without arguing. And if he couldn’t kiss you, well, maybe your soft hands on his cheek would just have to do.

You took the bait, whether you’d seen through his plan or not, Steve didn’t care. You leaned in, fingers careful on his jaw as you tilted his face this way and that, close enough that your nose almost skimmed his cheek. Steve thought you were warmer than the sun then, a heat against him that he missed even more than he’d realised. He held his breath, clenched his hands at his sides and tried not to touch you.

“Maybe there’s a little something,” you lied, “just there. Hold still.”

Steve did as you asked, frozen as you swept a gentle finger over the tender skin. You wanted to kiss the bruise, the mottled shape on his cheek that had darkened over night. But you kept your eyes lowered, movements careful, pretending to swipe away something that was never there.

“Think it’s some sand or something,” you whispered.

Steve licked his lips, hummed in agreement and let his gaze land on your face. You were just as pretty, he noted, even when you looked so sad.

“What do you think of Shelbyville?” The boy asked it so suddenly that you stopped what you were doing, your hand paused against Steve’s cheek, your fingers splayed over his jaw.

You wrinkled your nose, confused as you considered his question. “Shelbyville? Why?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just smiled a little weakly and made a half shrug with his shoulders, waiting for your answer.

“It’s nice, I guess,” you finally replied, still confused but answering honestly. “S’pretty. My aunt lives there, out by Blue River. I like it.”

Something in Steve’s chest grew, an elated feeling that felt a little like hope, like a new possibility. “Yeah?” He smiled a little more confidently, brows raised.

You still weren’t sure why he was asking, or why he suddenly seemed so happy but you couldn’t help but smile back. You nodded, squinting up at him through the rays of sun that had appeared through the tree canopy, turning you both golden.

“Yeah,” you agreed. Grudgingly, you dropped your hand from his face, fingertips trailing down his jaw until you had no choice to step back, finding no reason to be so close. Not now. “There we go, all clean.”

Steve nodded, smile dropping slightly as you moved away, and his hand reached up to his own cheek, to the same spot you’d held. Like he was chasing your touch. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, just as soft.

It hurt to walk away, it physically hurt. So you backed up slowly, like keeping your eyes on Steve for as long as you could would somehow help and the boy stayed where you’d left him, his hand on his sore cheek, staring at you as you made your way back to the dock.

Robin was there, a stack of lifejackets in her arms, the ones you’d dropped at the sight of Steve. You took them back from her, cheeks warm, gaze lowered. You watched as Steve finally left, almost walking into a camp sign, face burning pink as he frowned at it.

“What was that?” Robin asked, brows raised under her cap. It was on backwards and had been adorned with another patch, a purple Care Bear that had its middle finger lifted.

You stared at her, wide eyed, as if that would help feign ignorance a little better. “What was what?”

“Bitch,” Robin scoffed, amused. “Don’t even try it.” She dumped more life jackets into your arms, laughing when you protested. “You’re not slick, you know.”

You kept your head down, a small shred of hope blooming in between your ribs like new flowers. If you smiled, Robin pretended that she didn’t see it.

—————

“Capture the flag,” Hopper announced, standing to face the crowd of campers and staff alike. “Need I explain?”

The kids murmured excitedly and shook their heads, eagerly awaiting their weaponry as Murray weaved in and out of the groups with tiny balloons filled with coloured paint and an old, fraying piece of ribbon that was meant to be tied around an arm. “Red or blue?” he’d ask each kid, before grinning and giving them the opposite of what they asked for.

“Aren’t these supposed to go in paint guns, or something?” Lucas called out, squinting pitifully at the small balloon he held aloft. “These ain’t gonna do shi--”

“Language, Mr. Sinclair,” Hopper called back cheerfully. “And I’m so sorry, you seem to have mistaken our budget with Camp America. Take the damn balloons and pray you got a good arm, kid.”

The campers snickered and Lucas frowned, shoving a shoulder into Dustin who jostled Will and Mike, a red paint filled balloon popping prematurely and bursting over the smallest boy’s sneakers. Will sighed, a long suffering thing that was too weary for a preteen, and held out a hand for Murray to deposit another one into it.

“Maybe we can do some fundraising for next year,” Murray added, making his way back to the front of the group. “I’m sure Mr. Harrington can help arrange something, right Steven?”

Every pair of eyes shot to Steve as he stood slack jawed and wide eyed, gaze finding yours in the confusion. You were looking at him with furrowed brows, wondering what on earth Murray could have meant. Next year? Mr. Harrington?

“Uh…” was all Steve had to say.

Eddie snorted. Steve backhanded him in the stomach. You were still frowning.

“Team captains,” Murray announced, holding two more armbands aloft. These ones had a crown on each, penned on with black marker that had faded over the years. “Choose your leaders, people.”

It took approximately half a second for Eddie to shove Steve forward, sending him through a crowd of kids that squealed at the jostling. Unsure if it was planned or not, you swore when Robin did the same to you, nipping at your side so you squeaked. You glared at Murray when he approached, grinning wide.

“This should be fun,” he drawled, teasing. His eyes flashed too much mischief for a man pushing fifty and you grunted your annoyance even when you grabbed the armband from him.

You didn’t look to see if Steve did the same, but you heard his hissed argument with Eddie as you made Robin tie the material around your bicep, red cotton against your mustard yellow lifeguard shirt.

“Harrington,” Murray announced. “Look sharp and uh, let’s keep it clean, huh, kiddies?”

When you finally spared a glance, Murray was looking between you and Steve, still grinning and the boy was knotting the blue band around his arm, his features pulled together in frustration.

Hopper was pinching at his eyes, looking pained. “For the love of god, any destruction of property, will be coming out of your fu�� out of your paychecks.” The man sighed, already tired and he huffed. “Take the damned flags and don’t trash my camp.”

And then the game began.

The camp was alive with noise and colour, the sounds of kids laughing and screeching as they launched tiny paint balls at each other, all strategy and planning out the window after Eddie and Jonathan launched a sneak attack on Robin, dousing her in blue paint that they dropped from a tree. Subtlety was gone after that and the kids ran amok, abandoning their positions until you were the only one left defending the flag, an old ratty, red thing that was shoved up high and behind the stacked gym mats inside the hall.

You were bored hearing the screams from outside, pacing the gym as you waited for either a teammate to return (Max and Will had left ten minutes ago for more supplies, but you heard the sorrowful sounds of Will being pelted with balloons mere seconds after leaving the gym. Max had snorted and left him behind), or for an opponent to try their luck at capturing your flag. You weren’t sure which option appealed less, as the semi silence you were left in gave you too much time to think.

Why did Steve ask about Shelbyville of all places? Why did Murray talk like Steve was going to be here next year?

Outside, you heard someone yell, someone shriek and then a casualty was declared as Dustin yelped about having paint in his eye and how Max was playing too mean. You considered leaving, going to check everyone had it all covered but you heard Joyce fuss, kids giggling and soon enough, the game kicked back off.

The late afternoon was turning to evening when the doors finally jolted open, a squeak and a whine of the hinges that let in the last of the golden coloured light, the sky turning pinky peach through the old, cracked windows.

You turned to face your opponent with a balloon in your fist, already raised and aimed at the doorway.

Steve.

You sighed, trying your best to seem unaffected even though you could feel your own heartbeat in your ears. You pushed the toe of a sneaker into the gym floor, making it squeak. “This seems clichéd,” you joked.

The boy snorted, a light huff of air that eased the pounding of your chest. “Right?” He agreed. “But Eddie got disqualified for unfair use of weaponry and fuck knows where Billy led Mike and Lucas.”

You frowned, genuine concern evident in your voice. “And no one thought to check on them?”

Steve shrugged, grinning. “S’fine. Mike’s been taking karate classes. Apparently.”

It was easy to joke like this. Just like it had been easy to forget about how Steve walked away from the cabin trap set by the kids, how you’d run to him the minute you found out he was hurt, how it was easier still to put your hands on his jaw, his cheek, play pretend and fake act nurse.

But suddenly the last few weeks, the last few months, caught up to you and you were more aware than ever that August was soon approaching. You wondered if Steve’s room back in Hawkins was already packed up, if his carpet was covered in cardboard boxes, if his mom and dad would travel to Arizona with him, if he already had his class schedule, if he still really wanted to go.

“What’s in Shelbyville?”

“What—?”

“Do you know someone there? And why did you hit Billy? Was it something to do with me?”

The boy was reeling from your onslaught of sudden questioning and the attention made him burn. “What? No,” Steve scoffed, trying and failing miserably to appear cool and collected. “Why? What did Eddie tell you?”

“What’s going on, Steve? Why’s Murray calling you Mr. Harrington, why are you—”

“It’s nothing!” The boy interrupted. “Nothin’s going on.”

“Stop lying to me!”

Steve swallowed and let out a sigh that hurt his chest, a stuttering, wrenching thing because your eyes were turning glassy and he saw the way you caught yourself as your bottom lip started to tremble.

“I’m no— I, fuck, I’m not trying to lie to you, it’s just…” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Princess, listen—”

A paint balloon landed on Steve’s hip, a barely there thump but the ball exploded with red paint, splattering across Steve’s clothes, his shirt, his forearm. He blinked up at you, lips parting in surprise.

“Don’t call me that,” your words were thick with emotion, your lips in a tight line as you tried your hardest not to break. “And stop lying to me. All you’ve done is lie to me.”

Steve was speechless, holding his arms out before letting them drop back to his side in defeat. “I haven't lied to you,” he said mournfully. “At least I haven’t meant to, shit, it’s been— hard, okay? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know it’s been hard Steve, but god, tell me the truth! At least admit it to yourself.”

“What truth?” Steve yelled, grimacing when you flinched. He immediately felt awful, but the frustration in his chest was simmering over, clawing its way up his throat. “What do you want me to say, huh? That you were right? That I’m some kind of fucking loser that’s doing as daddy says? That I’m so stupid that only the way I can get into college is if I let my dad pay my way in?”

He threw a paintball at the floor, only feeling slightly bad when some of the colour reached the toes of your shoes, your bare shins. Bright blue streaked across your skin and you frowned, at the mess and Steve’s words.

“You’re not a loser,” you growled, annoyance colouring your tone. No one was allowed to talk shit about Steve Harrington. Not even himself. Not to you, at least. “And you’re not stupid, Steve. Stop it.”

Another paint balloon was thrown, this time by you, a careful aim that caught Steve’s chest. He swore, staring at the bloom of red over his staff shirt before he glared at you. “Hey, the fuck was that for?”

“You’re not a loser and you’re not stupid and your dad is a fucking bully who can’t be happy for his son’s own choices.” You launched another, huffing when Steve managed to avoid it, paint exploding over the gym floor instead.

“Stop!” Steve retaliated with his own weapons, chucking a blue balloon at your thigh, feeling a tiny flush of satisfaction when it burst all over your tennis skirt.

“Are you still going to Arizona?” You were near breathless, adrenaline high as you held another balloon in your hand, ready to take aim.

“No!” Steve burst. He swore, dropping the last balloon and groaning when the paint hit his feet. He scrubbed his hands over his face, streaks of blue over his cheeks and into his hair as he tugged on the ends. “I don’t know. Fuck, I— no. I don’t want to. I never fucking wanted to.”

You dropped your balloon too, red on the floor, on your shoes, your ankles. You stared at the boy, shocked as his admittance, despite how you’d known it all along. You weren’t sure what to do now, what to say. But tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and heavy.

You sniffed, tears gathering at your lash line, making the boy before you blurry. You took a deep breath before your next question, wondering if this is the one that would hurt the most, but before you could, Steve spoke first.

“You said I didn’t call you back,” he sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words thick and clumsy, his eyes holding too much emotion to try and decipher. “That night, after the party, you said I didn't call you back. When? When did you call me?”

You were stunned. One, that you’d admitted that, and two, that Steve had remembered. The vodka you’d had that night made the memories blurry, but you could recall your head buried in Steve’s chest, his sweatshirt on your frame, his cologne and leftover campfire smoke amongst cotton sheets. A mumbled confession, sad words and sleep.

You shrugged, helpless. “Fuck, I— I called you the night after. The night after you told me about college. I rang and your dad answered.” You swallowed harshly, looking anywhere but at Steve. “He said you were busy. Said he’d tell you I called.”

If Steve had felt an annoyance, a disdain, for his father before, nothing really compared to the anger that burst in his chest like a bomb. “What?”

You shrugged at him again.

“Ba—” Steve groaned, tugging at his hair until it stood on end. He said your name, agonised. “I didn’t know you called. I— fuck, I would’ve called you back. I spent fucking weeks standing at the phone wishing you would, tryin’ to work up the balls to call you myself.”

Steve stepped forward, once, twice. “He didn’t tell me. My dad didn’t tell me you tried to get in touch.” Steve’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out and take your own. “I would’ve called you back. Fuck, I would’ve driven straight over to you and—”

Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence before you’d launched yourself at him. You didn’t know what any of it meant, not yet, not really. You didn’t know if Steve really was going to stay, what that meant for you both, what would happen next. Nothing could be fixed right now, not right away, not in the middle of the forest during a game of capture the flag, but you decided then and there - covered in paint - that eight weeks was too long to go without kissing Steve Harrington.

He caught you, arms around your waist as you crushed yourself to his chest, your hands finding the hair at the nape of his neck so you could tug him down to meet your lips. Steve went willingly, your toes barely skimming the floor, your T-shirt tangled between the boy’s fingers as he gripped you like he’d never dream of letting you go.

Not again.

Not ever.

It was a messy thing, that kiss. It felt new, like a reset, a restart, like the first time all over again. Your noses bumped and you breathed in the air that Steve blew out, a sigh, a swear, lips pushed together until either of you could handle it anymore.

“I thought you hated me,” Steve mumbled against your mouth, eyes closed tight and his arms still around you. “Fuck, I thought—”

“No,” you told him, hands covering his jaw, thumb soothing over the apples of his cheeks, the cut that was still there. “No, no, could never. Could never hate you.”

Your feet were back on the ground now, the toes of your sneakers pushed to the gym floor, stepping in paint as you both swayed slightly at the desperation of each other's grip. That’s all Steve seemed to need to hear, because the boy dipped his head back down to yours and kissed you soundly, with more confidence than the first time, like he suddenly remembered that he knew how to do this. His hands were up your shirt, fingertips skimming along your spine, palm flat to your skin to hold you to him so he could kiss you deeper, slower, longer.

And when you parted your lips for him, you weren’t sure who made the first noise. But you whined and Steve groaned, tongues licking over each other’s, four hands getting greedy, pulling and shoving at camp shirts to feel more.

“I don’t wanna go to Arizona,” Steve whispered, and you pulled back enough to soothe a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked at you so seriously that you felt it in your chest, a sharp pang of hurt and relief for the boy. “I don’t wanna study finance.”

“I know.” You nodded, bringing him back to you, kissing over whatever part of him you could reach. His jaw, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his closed eyelids, his chin. “I know, it’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy, you know that right?”

Steve nodded too, nose bumping yours as he stumbled backwards, clumsy footing taking you both away from the middle of the gym. “I know, baby,” he sucked in a breath. “M’sorry.”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He had you up against a wall before you realised, head tilted down to you as he nuzzled at your throat, your head tipping back so you could let Steve do as he pleased. He nipped at the skin there, kissing along your neck until you cried out his name and god, the hands he had on your waist just squeezed tighter in response.

“Shit, Steve,” you sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. “I should be the one apologising, I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did, I should’ve—”

“Nonono,” Steve shook his head, catching your lips for another kiss again, swallowing your noises as you whined for him, fingers twisting and tugging meanly at his hair, the collar of his shirt. “Don’t wanna talk anymore,” he groaned. “Not right now, please…”

[MEDICINE BY HARRY STYLES]

“Storeroom,” you told him, nodding towards the double doors that led into the large cupboard, away from any prying eyes that would eventually come into the gym. “Now.”

Steve was apparently as desperate as you were, because he didn’t take his lips off of you, even as you both stumbled towards your chosen hiding spot. Feet tripped over each other as you made it across the gym, hands still in his air and tugging him down to you. Steve didn’t seem to mind, groaning loud when you sighed and tipped your head back for him, letting him lick and suck at your neck. There was paint smeared everywhere, splatters of red and blue mixing to make a lavender colour, streaking your skin and Steve’s.

And then the door to the storeroom was wrenched open and Steve was guiding you in with a tug of his hand. It was funny how your stomach flipped, a nervous excitement, an anticipation hooking in your stomach like this was your first time with the boy all over again. Except you knew what he liked and you knew how to make him fall apart so easily, which is why you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself at him, Steve’s back against the wall this time as your hands cradled his jaw and you pulled him down to meet your kiss.

Shoulders bumped old shelves, metal ball cages that were only half full now that the summer was coming to an end and there were stacks of old oars leaning against three kayaks, each plastered with patches of new paint that didn’t match the original colour. A quick fix it job that Steve had been tasked with last summer after he flat out refused to hand over the three hundred dollars Hopper demanded for a new boat.

You thought of that stupid jar on your managers desk and wondered if it would be worth it.

But once you’d pulled back, just a touch to look up at Steve, your mind was made up. The boy looked wrecked, tanned skin messy with paint, streaks of it running across strong forearms, dots of it somehow mixing with freckles across his cheeks and nose. You’d gotten red paint in his hair when you’d grabbed at it, making it messier than ever. But Steve didn’t seem to care, nor if the way he was looking at you was any indication. Heavy, hooded eyes on you, roaming unashamedly over your face, your frame, the way you’d pushed your thighs together for some relief. He was already hard, thick and strained against the zipper of his jeans at the very first touch of your lips against his.

Yeah, it would be worth it.

“Missed you,” he whispered, reverent, ruined. His hands reached out for you again, fingers twisting in the sides of your shirt to pull you back to him. “Thought that was it, thought I’d never get to have you like this again.”

You made a noise of protest at the thought, a hiccuping thing that Steve swallowed with a kiss, his breath coming out heavy against your cheek. You were impatient now, too worked up, desperate for him. Your hands snuck under his shirt, slipping up and over his stomach, smiling when the muscles there clenched and twitched under your fingertips. You raked your nails back down him, anchoring yourself to his belt loops, wondering if he’d let you do what you wanted him with, if he’d be patient enough.

Steve was working his mouth over your neck when you asked, his own thumb pulling at your shirt collar to try and stretch it out for himself, uncovering more skin to kiss.

“Steve,” you were breathless and he hummed, never stopping the way he sucked and bit down at the crook of your neck. “Wanna suck you off.”

The noise that left the boy’s lips was unholy, a needy, wrecked sounding thing that had you more desperate to get on your knees than ever. Your hands went to the button of his jeans, popping it with a finesse that made Steve’s eyes flutter.

“Please,” you added for extra effect, like you didn’t already know Steve would give you whatever you wanted.

“Fuck, honey,” Steve pulled back, just slightly, his head falling backwards until it thumped dully against the wall. His pupils were blown wide, his hold on your waist tightening, hands sneaking under cotton to steal a touch of your skin. “You want me to fuck you, right?”

You nodded immediately, lips parting at the thought, head going fuzzy at the idea of having Steve inside you again after what felt like a fucking lifetime. Two years of regular sex had spoiled you, and not even your own fingers in a private Sunday morning shower had gotten you past frustrated. “God, yeah, yeah I do.”

Steve nodded like he knew, like he understood your frustration and well, he probably did. He reached up to trace a thumb over your bottom lip, hand cracking your jaw as he pulled it from place, watching awestruck as it popped prettily back into place when he let it go. You whined, moving closer, chest to chest and wrapping your hands around his wrist, anchoring him to you.

Steve let out a quiet curse, breath uneven and watching you from under his lashes, bringing his thumb back to your mouth. He teased you just a little, rubbing the pad of it over the seam of your lips, taking it away every time you tried to part them. But when he saw you getting glossy eyed and restless, he gave in, sinking the tip of his thumb past your lips and resting on the soft of your tongue.

Steve groaned when you whined, pulling you closer by one hip and wedging a thigh between your legs for you to push yourself against. His gaze was locked on your mouth as he dragged his thumb out past your lips, just a little, just enough to see the slick skin and the way your tongue chased it, curling around the digit. His cock twitched with jealousy in his jeans.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered to your doe eyed stare, your wet lips. “Can’t let you get your mouth on me, princess, m’sorry. Wouldn’t last a fucking second.”

You bit down on his thumb as some kind of argument, frowning when Steve slipped it from your mouth. But before you could protest, he was back on you, hands carding into your hair and pulling you flush to him, tongue on yours in seconds. You moaned into the kiss, a heavy, dirty thing that made you lick into him deeper, grinding yourself down on the thigh he’d so kindly given you.

It didn’t take long for Steve to lose some patience - or maybe it was control - but he was effortless in the way he spun you both, trading places so he could pin you against the wall instead. You thought about resisting, thought about playing hard to get and keep up the pretence of still being mad but Steve’s mouth was on your throat and his hand was sneaking up the inside of your shirt.

“Baby,” you squirmed, lashes fluttering, body boneless against him. You clung to him for dear life, fingers clutching his shoulders, his shirt, his hair. “Please.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, but it made Steve moan, a rumbling noise that vibrated through his chest to yours and he pulled back just to peck at your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “Say that again,” he murmured, voice thick with an endless affection. His lips were swollen, pouty and pink, his eyes glazed over for you. “Call me that again.”

Your body buzzed, your brain foggy and it took a few seconds for everything to catch up. Steve was still looking at you, pleading, his hands kneading at your hips, your thighs, like he didn’t dare stop touching you.

“Baby,” you repeated again and you see the relief in Steve’s gaze at the word. Affection, fondness, love, affirmation. He needed it too. So you pulled him back down to you, hands curled in the front of his T-shirt collar, kissing along his jaw and chin until he groaned and caught your lips with his. “Babybabybaby,” you mumbled against his mouth, sighing prettily between kisses, pulling him closer than necessary, scared he’d disappear.

It was a needy kiss that turned dirty, the ache between your legs making you nip at Steve’s lips, pull at his hair a little meaner, rake your nails down the back of his neck and pant into his open mouth.

“Fuck, I missed you,” you whined, your declaration messy and garbled as Steve kissed you between words. “Missed you so much.”

Steve nodded his agreement, eyes half lidded and heavy as he let you yank at his shirt, pulling it off and launching it over his shoulder. It hung from some racks, old metal shelves filled with broken gym equipment and a box camp hats that no one was made to wear anymore.

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “Jesus Christ, c’mere.” Steve pulled you back to him, your own shirt joining his, your plain white bra the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He tugged at the straps until they slid down your shoulders, baring more skin for him to kiss. “Missed you too, you’ve no idea.”

Something about the admission seemed to kick everything into high gear and Steve was mouthing across your chest as he slipped a hand up and under your skirt, teasing at the elastic edge, fingers gripping and pulling until it snapped against your thigh.

“Kept dreamin’ about you,” he confessed, whispering the words against your throat like something unholy. “Kept wakin’ up with a mess in my fucking boxers like a damn teenager ‘cause I’d fall asleep and dream about how you tasted.”

His fingers slipped past the cotton barrier, swiping achingly slow through your folds, parting them and feeling the slick there. You both moaned at the feel, one foot coming up to rest on the edge of a kayak, keeping yourself spread open for Steve. He swore and you felt his grin, a pleased and proud smile that settled against your chest.

“Good girl, that’s it, keep your leg up for me, honey.” Steve didn’t bother taking your underwear off as he sank to his knees, he just hooked your thigh over his shoulder and his fingers into pink cotton, tugging them to the side. “Fuck,” Steve hissed, eyes flickering from yours down to the shiny wetness between your legs. “Look at her, honey, still just as fuckin’ pretty, she missed me too, yeah?”

Fire nipped at your stomach, a fast roll of electricity under your skin at the boy’s words and suddenly nothing bad had ever happened, you’d never broken up and Steve had you pinned against his shower wall, cold tiles on your back and sticky, dirty words pressed onto your skin. You whined, a loud cry that Steve grinned at and you nodded, quickly realising that you’d agree to anything Steve asked.

“Yeah, she did,” Steve cooed, moving closer to kiss along your thighs, nosing at the crease where your leg met your cunt. “She’s drippin’ for me, shit, just begging for a kiss, huh?”

“Steve,” you hissed his name, half desperate, half a warning, canting your hips forward until his lips brushed against your folds. He pulled back a little, smiling wide, like he was having the time of his life. “We’re hardly in the privacy of a hotel room, fuck, c’mon, please.”

“S’where I’ll take you after camp,” the boy promised, voice low and sticky soft. He ran his mouth over your folds, a barely there kiss that made rise up onto one set of toes to chase his lips. “Gonna take you somewhere real nice, princess, gonna make up for this summer, gonna fix it, I promise.”

He was babbling, eyes closed as he kissed up and across the soft of your lower stomach, nose dragging through the soft curls below until he could lick a line over you, not parting you just yet, just teasing, tasting.

You were breathless, body bowing over Steve’s head as you grabbed at his hair and held on. If you wanted to meaner about it, if it was two months ago and he was teasing you in your bedroom, laughter on his lips, you would’ve pulled his hair and rode his face, giving in and making him moan.

But Steve was whispering promises into your skin like apologies and even in your pent up haze, you still had questions. “What about - fucking hell, Steve - what about Arizona?”

“Later, I’ll explain later,” was all he said, before he parted you with two thumbs and licked a slow, wide stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Steve knew how you liked it, had two whole years to learn what you loved, where to touch, where to kiss, when to slow down, when to speed up. He kept his eyes on you as he swiped over your clit, a soft, little kitten lick and that made you squeak and buck your hips down onto his face. The kayak you had one foot rested on groaned in protest.

You heard him whisper praise into you, filthy, pretty words that you barely heard over your own heaving breaths and your head fell back against the wall when his tongue worked its way around your entrance, licking over you, nose nudging at your clit as he did.

“Fuck, princess, she’s just crying for me, isn’t she?”

You could only whine, a soft, high pitched thing that made Steve palm at his cock through his jeans, pulling you onto his face with his free hand. He kept up those slow, lazy licks through your cunt, only speeding up when you started to roll yourself over his mouth. He groaned, a dirty noise that made you want to grab at him but you were hurtling towards an orgasm that you’d hadn’t been able to give yourself for weeks.

“M’gonna come,” you whispered, your throat tight, your voice wrecked. “Steve, Stevie, please, I’m gonna come.”

The boy didn’t dare take his mouth away from you, not even to whisper encouragement. He just snuck his hand from your thigh to your ass, squeezing you tight and he coaxed you further onto his tongue, silently telling you to rock yourself over his mouth, to take what you needed. And as your noises got breathier, needy, little whines that turned into groans, Steve took your clit into his mouth and sucked at the same time he slid two thick fingers into you, hooking them in place and rubbing.

You gushed around his fingers as you came, a sob ripping from your lips as your body gave in and bowed over Steve’s, hands clutching at his shoulders, his neck, trying to keep yourself up. Aftershocks jolted through you as Steve grinned, tongue seeking out your clit even still, licking over it softly as you came down, holding you in place as you tried to jerk away.

“Steve,” you gasped at him, pushing softly at his forehead until he gave in, running kisses up your thigh and stomach as he stood. “Fuck, baby, fuckfuckfuck—”

“How’d you want me?” He gaped out, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from your fingers and his lips glossy from the way you’d ground yourself against his mouth. “Huh, princess? Tell me, I’ll give you it, I swear.” The boy was desperate, clinging to you, his hands on your jaw as he dipped in for a kiss, groaning wild when you licked yourself from his lips, sucking the taste of yourself from him.

You couldn’t really think, words coming out in strings of pleases and curses, begging for something you didn’t know how to ask for. So you pulled at the belt on Steve’s jeans instead, shoving the denim down his hips, just enough for you to pull his cock out and show it some proper attention. Steve’s eyes glazed over as you pumped him, thumb swiping over his leaking tip, your mouth kissing along his chest.

He groaned, a gasping, rough sound that you knew so well and Steve shook his head, batting away your hand before he came all over it. He patted at your hip, held his hands out for you. “Up,” he commanded.

You hopped easily, Steve’s hands catching your bare thighs, palms curving around your ass as he turned and set you upon the stacked kayaks. You were just the right height for him to slip into you, but he kept you waiting, playing with himself as he pulled down the cups of your bra, freeing your tits for him. He thumbed over an already hard nipple, watched in awe as it pebbled even more and he licked his lips, cock nudging at your thigh.

“Like this?” He asked you quietly, running a hand down your front, curling his fingers around your throat, squeezing gently at your chest, your hip. He was everywhere at once. “Could fuck you like this, or I could bend you over, huh?”

The kayak stand shook a little when Steve tugged at your calf, bringing you closer to the edge and his cock. You had zero faith the boats would withstand the movements that were about to ensue, but you honestly couldn’t find it in you to care.

You’d help Steve burn the camp to the ground, as long as he kept touching you.

“Like this,” you whined and god, you sounded bratty, needy, the way Steve liked it best. “Need to kiss you,” you told him and it was the truth. You were as desperate to kiss and hold and look at the boy as much as you were for him to finally fuck you.

Steve’s expression softened then, melting brown butter, his gaze sugar sweet. He leaned in, nose nuzzling yours as he kissed you, a one, two, sweet peck of a thing before your mouth fell open for him and you were gasping his name.

“Steve!”

He’d slid into you easily, caught your noise with his lips, kissing it away as he groaned through it too. You were soaked still, but the stretch and burn of taking him again for the first time in months was apparent. You whined, clutching at him, letting the boy coo and soothe you with kisses everywhere, scattered pieces of affection dotted over your nose and cheeks. He felt you clench around him, tighter than ever, and his hands found your jaw.

“Honey - Jesus Christ - baby, look, hmm? Look at me, baby.” Steve sounded almost serious, his tone low and soft, determined for your eyes on his. He caught your jaw, cradling it as he pulled out of you, just enough for the tip of him to stay inside of you, throbbing. “There we go, there, that’s it, princess.”

You could’ve let your eyes slip shut at the pleasure of it all, lips parting and jaw falling slack when Steve thrust forward again, a slow and steady rhythm that kept you stretched out and wet for him. But you knew that Steve wanted you to keep gazing at him, his own eyes heavy and half lidded as he leaned in, his forehead against yours, his stare hot as he picked up his pace.

“S’fucking amazing,” you moaned for him, almost unaware of the shuffling and banging noises you were both beginning to make. The kayaks were bumping into the wall with each rock of Steve’s hips. “Fuck, keep going, please.”

It turned harder, faster. A dirty snap of the boy’s hips against yours, his hands everywhere, one holding a thigh wide, the other tangled in the hair at the nap of your neck, a hot and commanding hot that made you arch your back for him. Steve grunted at the push of your tits bare against his chest, skin on skin and your bra, a tangle of wire and straps around your ribs, your skirt tucked up to meet it.

“M’really not gonna last long,” the boy admitted, his chest heaving, his eyelashes fluttering as he glanced down at your spread legs, the soaked cotton of your underwear stretched at the seams around one thigh, the slick, shiny wet of you coating him with each rock of his hips. “Fucking hell, s’too much, so fucking good.”

The sound of skin on skin and the rattle of kayaks filled the small room, the soft glow of the sunset coming in from the tiny window that was partially hidden by old gym mats. It turned you both bronze, shades of gold and rose and copper in the light, breathy gaps and whines that morphed into moans as you both reached the edge. You weren’t sure how long it had been, if the game was still being played, if someone had captured your flag - or Steve’s - if a whistle had been blown.

Fuck, it didn’t even matter that camp was ending next week, that you’d go back to Hawkins and live a life without the boy. Maybe. Maybe? Would you see him again? Before he left? Would you go to his parents house and stand in the same driveway you left him in and let him leave you? Would it hurt less or more after this, after you let him kiss you in the shadows, in the last bit of the sun? Would this fix it? Would it matter, once you had your clothes back on?

It was like Steve could tell you were floating away from him, like he could see you trapped in a box in your own head. He tugged gently at your hair, nudging his nose against yours and worked his cock somewhere deeper inside you. He tilted his hips up until you gasped for him and he smiled, nodding against you as you caught him for another kiss, swallowing his soft “there you go, honey, just focus on me.”

You couldn’t take much more after that, emotions and the feeling of Steve hitting that pretty spot inside of you over and over and over suddenly becoming too much. You blinked at him, body flush with his, clinging to his shoulder, his neck, his messy strands of hair. Neither of you mentioned your glassy eyes, the stuttering sob that broke in your throat when you told him:

“Need t’come, Stevie.”

Steve just kissed you sweetly, a lingering push and pull of his lips against yours that felt warmer and softer than a summer morning. Steve Harrington was still the afternoon sun and blue skies, those endlessly big clouds, the sound of a creek, the splash of a lake. He was blue raspberry popsicles and pink lemonade, he was the taste of honey, the smell of cedar and wild mint.

He was still yours.

You were sure of it.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, letting a hand fall to your cunt so he could flick over your clit, thumbing soft circles as he started a dirty grind of his hips into yours. “Gonna come for me, honey, yeah? Gonna come with me?”

And you did, easily. Too easily. Your whole body tightened around him as you came hard, crying out and blinking back tears. Steve was quick to follow, losing his rhythm as his hips stuttered, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as you petted his hair and whispered to him, pushing him closer and closer.

“Baby, where can I—”

It was strange to hear him ask the question. Of course, it had been asked before, a few times, years ago, when sex with each other was new and exploratory, when condoms were still used and the afterglow was filled with shy laughter and out of breath kisses.

Then comfort and familiarity grew between the tension, and intimacy took over from that new excitement. It was even better, knowing each other like that, being able to touch and feel and know what the other liked, the easiness of falling asleep stretched out beside each other, naked and ready for toothpaste kisses and a shared cup of coffee the next day.

You missed it.

You missed all of it.

“Inside,” you whined, eyes clenched shut as Steve swore and pulled you closer still. “Inside, please.”

Steve kissed you when he came, a mash of his lips against yours, an open mouth groan that you swallowed, a clumsy, aching thing that made you want to keep him this close forever.

But then the kayak underneath you squealed loudly, an ugly protest as it dug too hard into the stack beneath it, the shell of it splintering. You swore, clinging to Steve with both arms and legs before he could even pull out of you. He took your weight just as the boat cracked, a jagged hole in the bottom of it taking your count of destroyed call equipment to an all time high.

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, Steve spoke. His arms were still tucked under your thighs, his face at your neck, close enough that you could feel the twitch of his grin. “Maybe we could hide it. Y’know, before anyone sees.”

You laughed, a tired sounding thing as you tightened your hold around the boy’s neck. You wanted to kiss his cheek, his temple, his forehead, you wanted to love on him until either of you could take it anymore. You never wanted this to end - at least not with another broken kayak. But camp was almost over and August was crawling closer. So you hummed, shrugging. “We could throw it in the lake. It would sink, at least.”

—————

Neither Hopper nor Murray believed you when you told them you’d hurt your foot in the scuffle of capture the flag, as convincing as your limp may have been. And they certainly didn’t believe you both when you claimed Steve was there to help.

Hopper had narrowed his eyes at the marks on Steve’s neck, the mess of your hair, the rosy tint to each of your lips. You both shrugged, staring at the forest floor before Murray had snorted, breaking the tension and sending you both back to your cabins.

No other questions were answered that night, especially seeing as Murray was ten feet behind you both at all times, trailing you through the forest with a flashlight as he whistled jovially, ensuring you both ended up in your respective beds. So you took one last look at Steve and smiled, somewhat hopefully, maybe a little sadly, before you clambered up the porch steps and into the darkness of your bunk.

You didn’t get a kiss goodnight. Or was it supposed to be a kiss goodbye?

I don’t wanna lose this with you

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve took a deep breath and made his way out of his cabin.

It had been a long week, the last days busy and filled with games, tasks, a swim meet, a gymnastics competition, Eddie’s musical extravaganza show - his title, not yours - and a campfire story every night.

The kids were filled with marshmallows, made up of sugar and sunshine, tan lines and freckles littering their faces, messy hair smelling of sunscreen and the lake. Everyone was happy. That soft, slow kind of joy that faded into melancholy as the days turned over. For those last few days you’d spent at the lake, you regretted asking Hopper to let you run swimming with Billy more than ever before.

It kept you away from Steve, all the way across the camp so all you could do was try to keep your eyes on the kids in the water and wave at the boy when your eyes met. It was only a little embarrassing, that kind of childish, first crush kind of interaction, eyes meeting, cheeks warming, hand raised to say whatever it was you couldn’t to his face.

Not yet, anyway.

It was made even more painful with Billy lingering behind you, still sprawled on the same deck chair he stared the summer in, minus his sunglasses, because his broken nose was still too tender for them.

“Could you get more pathetic?” The boy scoffed, a little nasally, biting down on the toothpick between his teeth. “Honestly, Hawkins, you’re too hot to pine.”

You scowled, flicking your towel over your shoulder so the corner of it whipped at the boy’s shoulder. He glared at you as much as he could with his sore face.

“I’m not pining.”

“Moping then,” Billy offered, grinning. “Either way, it’s disgusting. I thought you two were over.”

“I wouldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning, Hargrove,” you squinted at him through the sun, sparing a glance when Dustin pulled himself onto the dock, only to barrel roll back off of it. “What makes you think I’m discussing my love life?”

The boy huffed, a smirk on his lips, mean and cruel, like always. “Or lack of,” he commented. “You think one quick fuck can solve your problems? You think that what you got between your legs is good enough to make Harrington stay? Defy daddy dearest? Even Harrington isn’t stupid enough to turn down a free ride.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared stone faced at the water, watching the way the sun changed the ripples from white to blue to gold

Billy scoffed, taunting. “Keep dreamin’, princess.”

It hurt, his words. Billy Hargrove was a bully, a mean boy that liked nothing more than to make other people hurt as much as he did. You knew that. You’d always know that. But all that was left of you and Steve’s encounter in the gym was a fading lavender bruise on where your neck met your shoulder, a blurry bite of evidence that it had actually happened.

Your scowl deepened and you decided that being close to Billy wasn’t helping your mood.

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, you sat in your bunk, wondering if you’d be brave enough to do something about the gnawing want in your chest.

You hadn’t been spying, not really, but it had become harder to ignore how often Steve seemed to disappear in and out of Hopper’s cabin. You’d spotted him through the window when the kids were eating lunch, everyone else distracted by the pizza party Robin and Bob made for the last weekend of the summer. But Steve was sitting with Hop and Murray, heads bent over the desk, pieces of paper scattered on the wood.

Hopper had looked pleased. Maybe even proud. Murray was chatting animatedly, hands waving, eyes bright.

Steve had looked the most hopeful you’d seen him in weeks.

But you didn’t get the chance to ask what was going on, because Nancy was dragging you out for one last hike and El was pulling at your hand, pleading for you to join them. You couldn’t say no and you were half way up the hillside when Steve eventually emerged, a folded piece of paper slipped into his back pocket.

And when you returned, bug bitten and tired, you tried to seek the boy out, only to find him through the office window again, his back leaning against the cabin wall as he bent his head, eyes closed and the office phone pressed to his ear. You couldn’t hear, not from so far away, not over the yells of excitement from the campers as Eddie brought out guitars and old drums, but you were almost certain Steve was yelling, a frustrated furrow between his brow before he dropped onto the sofa with the phone cord wrapped around his wrist.

You could’ve gone to him then. Knocked on the door and offered your hand, a smile, maybe a hug. And maybe Steve would’ve told you what was going on, maybe he would’ve explained everything. But it didn’t feel like the time, it didn’t feel right and Mike was pushing an out of tune guitar into your hands and challenging you to some sort of battle.

Steve returned to the camp pit soon after, his eyes a little red but his smile seemed sincere when Dustin ran to him, a faux sort of tackle that made Steve catch him round the middle. They grinned as they wrestled, laughing brightly and the air around the older boy seemed lighter than it had in weeks. When Steve caught your eyes over the kid’s head, he smiled. A real thing, pink cheeked and achingly full of love, that sticky sweet kind of adoration that you’d missed so much it had hurt.

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve knocked on your cabin door.

It was late, well after dinner and the kids were in their bunks full of sloppy joe’s and chocolate pudding, telling stories by flashlight, trading cards and secrets while they finished off their stashes of candy. Twilight had set in, that hazy lilac light that came after the sun had set and the forest was falling asleep. Cicadas buzzed in the depths of the trees and fireflies grazed the edges of the lake, that green-yellow glow that made you want to stay up a little later.

The knock came as Robin was painting her toenails, a cherry red she’d stolen from you, her damp hair wrapped up in a towel. She didn’t even look up at the sound, just slicked another coat of polish over her nail and said:

“That’ll be for you.”

You frowned from behind your book, setting it down with the pages splayed so you wouldn’t lose your place. The story of two star crossed lovers that pined for each other seemed more addictive than it usually would’ve been.

“M’not expecting anyone.”

Robin just huffed out a laugh and nodded at the door. “Don’t keep him waiting, babe.”

You padded barefoot across the cabin despite your confusion, sleep shorts high on your thighs and thank fuck you’d decided against wearing Steve’s staff sweater to bed, because the owner was standing on your porch when you opened the door.

“Hi.”

He had his shoved in his pockets and he looked flushed, slightly out of breath like he’d ran over. And maybe he had, considering it was lights out hours and no one was supposed to be out of their bunks.

“Hi.”

Steve smiled just as you did, a dopey, lovesick thing that felt awkward and lovely all at once. He shuffled on the wooden boards before he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to something you couldn’t see amongst the trees. “D’you wanna go for a drive?”

It was the easiest thing in the world to nod your head yes, trying to hide the smile that was making your cheeks ache. You dipped your chin as you turned back to your bunk, grabbing the sweater you kept under your pillow, avoiding eye contact with both Steve and Robin as you pulled it over your head. The material dropped to your thighs, the boy’s name stitched over your heart.

“Have fun and don’t get caught,” Robin warned cheerfully. She waved her nail polish brush between you and Steve before you had the chance to pull the door closed. “If either of you come back crying, we’re having words.”

You snorted, cheeks warming as Steve ducked his head with the same awkwardness. “We are?” You joked.

“Uhuh,” Robin nodded, “full intervention. Eddie will be here.”

“God forbid,” Steve deadpanned, wrinkling his nose at you when you laughed. He tugged his sweater sleeve, his fingers brushing over your wrist. “You comin’?”

You looked down at Steve’s hand like you weren’t sure whether to take it or not, if you were supposed to slip yours into his, fingers intertwined. But you nodded again, that little, shy smile still on your lips that Steve hadn’t seen in so long. Together, you walked between the cabins, keeping to the treeline and the shadows, smiling fondly when you heard the giggles and whispers from inside the kids' bunks. You were almost at Steve’s car, the BMW parked up in the makeshift lot behind the gym, when you both stopped in your tracks at the sight of someone else out in the dark.

Murray was walking back from the mess hall, a mug of something hot in one hand, an oversized cinnamon bun in the other. He was in slippers and a tartan bathrobe, his jovial whistling coming to a slow stop as he spotted the two of you out of bed.

“Shit,” Steve groaned, squinting awkwardly at the man. He raised a hand, half a wave, half a sign of defeat. “Murray, we weren’t—”

“That’s weird,” Murray interrupted, looking around the wooded area theatrically, eyes wide. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The man shrugged before looking right through you, whistling again as he passed.

“Wha—?” You were stunned, both you and Steve pivoting in the mossy ground, brows raised.

“Must be the wind!” Murray announced again, continuing his walk back to his own cabin. “But if it was a couple of rogue staff members, I’d be sure to tell them to be back by midnight. You know. If I saw any.”

Murray turned back before he took a turn in the path. He didn’t say anything else, but he winked and raised his mug before disappearing.

—————

You didn’t ask Steve where he was driving you. Honestly, you didn’t mind. Didn’t care. The passenger seat of the BMW was as familiar as your own bed, a sense of ownership and melancholy hitting you in the chest as you clicked your seatbelt into place. Steve smiled as you tucked your knees up, legs bare and feet shoved into unlaced converse, his grin widening when you fiddled with the radio dials until the mixtape he had playing turned up a little louder.

[TWICE A FOOL BY #1 DADS]

The windows were down as Steve drove down a road you’d travelled before, the wind still warm from the heat that made the day suffocating, the smell of pine needles and wild mint lingering on it. The breeze picked at your hair and Steve’s, lifting the strands until they were brushing your cheeks and sitting between your lashes.

It was all sunburnt cheeks and sore knees, achy and bone tired from a whole summer of hikes and swimming in the lake, chasing kids who were too adventures along the creek beds and hanging from tree branches when the sun went down.

The smell of sunscreen, lake water, lemonade, Steve’s cologne, wildflowers, home.

It was a broken heart that was still splintered around the edges, the anxious gnawing feeling of the possibility of loss, of something new and unwanted, something you couldn’t control. It melted into hope, into the idea of reaching out and holding Steve’s hand until he gave you something to cling to.

Steve wouldn’t drive you somewhere pretty and quiet and peaceful, just to break up all over again. Would he?

So you sucked in a breath - pine needles and wild mint and mountain air - and reached out to where Steve’s hand lay idle on the stick shift. Your fingers brushed his, cautious, nervous and he looked from the road to you with surprised eyes. Shock turned to warmth, like he’d spent the last ten minutes wondering the same things you had, sharing the same worries. He flipped his hand, palm outstretched, waiting for you to slide yours into his.

Your thumb found the scar on the back of his knuckle, the small silver line that he got four summers ago, from helping a tiny Lucas Sinclair try archery for the first time.

So Steve kept one hand on the wheel and his other in yours, a small smile on his face that seemed so content, full of a fondness that rivalled the warm comfort of the wind in your face, the lavender shade of the sky, the way the moon was just starting to rise over the mountains in the distance.

Everything was tall trees and the distant trickle of a creek, a long road that turned to gravel and dirt and Steve. You held his hand all the way to the lake.

It was the same one you’d been to before, two years prior with Robin on a day off, Eddie and Steve trailing with you in a last minute change of plans. The last time you’d been on this shore, you’d had an odd realisation that you didn’t actually hate the boy you were supposed to hate. Now, as you toed off your shoes and stepped into the same sand, you were overcome with the urge to ask Steve if he still loved you as much as you loved him.

Anxiety rippled over you the same way the lake lapped at the shore, and you suddenly hated the silence you once cherished. You could hear the wind between the trees on the other side of the water, the quiet trickle of the creek that fed into it, the soft huffs of Steve breathing.

Neither of you said anything when Steve shrugged off his shirt, letting it drop at his feet. His shoes joined yours in a pile and you watched as he closed his eyes, just briefly, the stress leaving his body. His shoulders dropped, his jaw unclenched and when he opened his eyes again, he was looking at you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t prompt you into anything, but you pulled off your sweater too - Steve’s sweater - wiggling your hips until your sleep shorts fell and soon you were in your underwear, some cotton mismatched things that were less than enticing.

But it made Steve grin, the daisy print on your bra familiar, one he’d seen so many times before. His belt buckle clinked in the night and soon, his jeans were on the sand and he was hopping out of them as you laughed.

It was the most simple thing to do, to follow him into the water.

[SKINNY DIPPING BY SABRINA CARPENTER]

The night made the lake cooler, an inky navy thing that nipped at your skin for the first few seconds. But you let it swallow you whole, waist disappearing, shoulders dipping under, hair slicked back and eyelashes dripping beads of it.

Steve followed suit, a warmth underneath the water that your body recognised, his own hair clinging messily to his forehead as he ducked under the surface, hands brushing your ankles briefly before rejoining you. It went like that for a little while, the sky getting darker, the lake ready to copy. There were stars on the surface, a mirror-like reflection when you weren’t making ripples. So you swam circles around each other, Steve’s car parked up on the sand, the mountains in the distance, tall trees all around. There wasn’t a sound except the small splashes of water, the soft bubble of laughter when either of you swam too close and your shoulders bumped.

Steve ducked under one last time before he resurfaced, swiping at his hair before he took a breath and told you:

“Hopper offered me a job.”

You blinked at him, lips parting so you could start asking one hundred questions. But Steve beat you to it, treading water as he smiled a little shy.

“The whole, ‘Mr Harrington’ thing, that’s what that was about,” he shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. Water dripped from his chest, his neck, rolling into beads from his messy hair. “Uh, him and Murray, they’re opening this community centre for kids. S’gonna be a year round thing. After school, weekends. They, uh, they want me to manage it.”

You gaped at the boy before the smile you couldn’t contain started lifting the corners of your lips, a ridiculously happy thing that made your eyes crinkle and your cheeks ache. You thought about Steve - your Steve - running after kids all day, tired but content, paint stained and giving quiet pep talks, glitter in his hair as he clapped his hands and yelled for order.

“Steve,” your voice was almost too loud in the night. It shook, a trembling, overjoyed sound. You were so happy for him, even if you didn’t know what this meant. “You’d be perfect for it— if, if you want to take it, that is.” The unsaid hung between you, the elephant in the room that was the size of a whole other state.

Steve held your gaze and smiled nervously. “It’s in Shelbyville.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you said slowly, realisation dawning on you. Things were starting to make sense now. But instead you said in a whisper, “that’s much closer than Arizona.”

Steve laughed softly as you tried not to sound hopeful, but there was a sticky, cloying ball of emotion stuck in your throat and it was barely holding back the tears. What you were almost crying for, you weren’t overly sure, but Steve moved a little closer, ankles brushing yours under the water. You could count the freckles on his nose by moonlight, you could see the faded green ink on his bicep from where El had tried to give him a ‘tattoo’ two days ago.

“It is,” Steve agreed and there was a smile on his lips, a barely there thing that you wanted to rub your thumb over. “It’s so much closer than Arizona. Like, thirty minutes on a good day.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what Steve was trying to say. Hope bloomed between every crack of your ribs like wildflowers and it was overwhelming, breath catching, it made you want to make a break for the shore and beg the boy not to crush your heart again.

“Steve—”

“I don’t want to go to Arizona,” he interrupted. “I never wanted to go to Arizona. I— fuck. You were right.”

You shook your head. “That’s not the point, I didn’t want to be proven right.”

“I know, but you were. It was all my dad,” Steve smiled and it was sad. “He came in one night after a day of golf and like, eight martinis. Told he spoke to an old friend and boom, handed me my whole future on a piece of fucking paper.” Steve laughed, dry and humourless and you moved closer still, close enough that your thighs grazed his and you could see the hurt in his eyes. “He didn’t even ask, you know? Just sat down at the dinner table and told me what I was doing for the next ten years of my life.”

You could imagine it. So easily. Michael Harrington’s imposing figure in a sharp suit and slicked back hair. You’d always wondered if it was once as wild as his son’s, if he ever liked the same music or spoke about movies and games with the boy. Michael Harrington was a straightened navy tie and a leather briefcase, polished shoes and numbers on a sheet.

“He told me he knew what was best for me,” Steve continued and his voice hit a crack that he didn’t even blink at. “He told me that he was my only chance and making something out of myself, that without his help, I’d spend my thirties and forties stacking shelves and regretting having a kid with you before we were twenty five. He told me I needed his help, even if I didn’t know it yet.”

Anger bubbled inside of you, intense and hot enough that you were surprised the water around you didn’t bubble and hiss. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “Steve, you know that’s not true right? Your dad— shit, Steve, when was the last time you ever needed your dad?”

You waited as the boy thought, confusion on his features as he struggled to recall a memory. Eventually, he shrugged. “When I was sixteen, seventeen maybe. Crashed my first car trying to show off to my friends. I was shit scared on the side of the road. Everyone else ran. I walked to a pay phone and told him I needed his help.”

You raised your brows, waiting.

“He told me to fix my own mess.”

More anger, a surge of it, pushing at your chest, making tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you shook your head, hands coming out of the water to finally touch Steve. You clung to his damp shoulders, still warm from the sun even now.

“You don’t need him,” you whispered fiercely. “You never needed him. Not then, not now, not for your future.”

The boy smiled, sad and tired, if not a little relieved. “I know that now.”

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” you swallowed hard, pride and stubbornness going down with it. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t make it easier for you, I was just so— so sad that you were going to give everything up for something you didn’t want.” You let your hand trail to Steve’s neck, thumb brushing the spot under his ear, an unbelievably soft touch. “You know I would’ve supported you completely if it was something you wanted to do, right?”

Steve nodded, his hands finding your waist, bringing you closer.

“But finance? Fucking finance?” You made a face and Steve barked out a laugh, a sharp bright sound in the dark and it made your chest ache, hearing such a happy noise from him.

He nodded again, humming in agreement before he gave in and hid his face in your neck. “Fucking finance,” he repeated. “I hate numbers.”

You laughed too, watery and happy at being so close. His touch was overwhelming, stubble on his jaw scraping at your throat, his lips ghosting at your jaw when he smiled. “I know you do,” you whispered and god, your voice was thick with affection.

There was more silence for a minute, a long, slow moment suspended in the water, holding each other, feet brushing the bottom, your arms wound around each other. An owl called out from a tree and somewhere in the distance, a car revved its engine.

“I took the job.”

You froze, unblinking, scared to move, scared to talk. Eventually, Steve lifted his head from your neck and he studied you, waiting for your response, cheeks pink and eyes nervous looking.

You wondered if your heart had stopped beating, if the world had stopped spinning. You couldn’t fathom another reason for the stillness you felt at his words. “What?”

The boy cleared his throat, his big hands squeezing gently at your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing the band of your soaked bra. “I took the job,” he said again, a look of amazement and incredulity on his features, like he still couldn’t believe it himself. “I told Hopper yes.”

Those wildflowers? The ones filled with hope that had wound their way into your chest? They flourished, blooming bright and big until the garden grew and grew and your bones cracked with the enormity of it.

“Steve—” you tried to say more, but nothing came out.

“My dad didn’t take it all that well,” he shrugged, grinning now, like he was suddenly weightless. He looked brighter, even in the night. “Yelled a lot, but I think we’re gonna have a talk when I’m back, a good one, y’know? He didn’t seem as… fucking furious when I told him about the job.”

“In Shelbyville,” you said, like you need clarification. You wondered if this was a dream, a really mean one.

Steve laughed, grinning all pretty. “In Shelbyville,” he nodded, looking at you through his lashes, tired and happy and feeling like things might just be okay. He hoped they’d be okay. “C’mon, let’s get you dry and warmed up, yeah?”

So you let him lead you out of the lake, a blanket pulled from his trunk that the boy wrapped you in first. You let him rub at your shoulders, your chest against his, sand sticking to your feet, water dripping from Steve’s hair onto yours. You were staring at him, still shellshocked, eyes wide and disbelieving and it made him laugh; soft, sweet thing.

You dressed with eyes on each other, wandering, lazy, greedy, seeking out the bare skin that you’d missed touching, kissing. And when damp legs were pulled through shorts and Steve’s sweater was back on your frame, you crawled into the front of his car and let the boy pull your calves over the console and into his lap.

He traced shapes there, copied the constellations from above onto your skin, joining freckles and scars until they made up a Milky Way and you could let your head rest against the window, languid, happy. You weren’t sure what all of this meant for you and Steve, but you’d go back to your bed happy, knowing that Steve was.

“Shelbyville isn’t far from Hawkins,” Steve murmured softly, his cheek against the driver's seat, his eyes on you. He smiled, shy, unsure. “Maybe you could check it out with me after we get home.”

You smiled, tired, the night a yawning thing through the windscreen. It was nearing midnight, the moon above the mountains and the sand glittering on the car floor. “That sounds nice. You think you’ll move?”

Steve nodded, shrugged, nodded again. “Maybe? Eventually.” The boy swallowed, nervous. “Could find a house by a creek, big yard. Big enough for a dog.” He squeezed your knee, a longing touch. “A start of somethin’ new, maybe. Somewhere different. Us. If you’d want.”

You thought about it, about the savings you’d both piled together, the extra shifts, the clip outs of apartment listings in downtown Indianapolis neither of you really wanted but could just about afford. You thought about the late night talks with your cheek pressed to Steve’s pillow, trying to hide your smile as you both whispered about houses with flower boxes and a tree you could hang a swing from, maybe a porch, maybe a lake you could walk to on the weekends.

‘Are we fixed?’ You wanted to ask. ‘Were we broken?’ You wondered.

And maybe Steve could sense your questions, maybe he just knew you that well. His hand swept from your knee to your ankle, fingers curling around, warm and soothing. His thumb stroked over the top of your foot, playing with your untied laces.

“S’okay, if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know you’ve got your job in Hawkins, I know your family is there. I don’t— I don’t expect us to just, you know, act like nothing happened.” Steve didn’t sound as nervous as before when he said, “But I know I love you. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t— that’s not changed.”

It didn’t surprise you, not really. You knew the boy still loved you. You saw it when he looked at you, when he frowned at Billy when he got too close, spoke too boldly . You saw it when you strayed too far, when he searched for you in the crowds of campers, when he helped your drunk self into his bed, when he refused to take his sweatshirt away from you. Still, relief flooded you and your breath hitched, emotion catching in your chest. You held out a hand, palm up on your lap, fingers spread for Steve’s to link between.

He let go of your ankle to do just that, fingers twisting, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles. He looked just as hopeful as you felt as he gazed back, all shades of navy and lavender in the night.

It was too easy to say, “I know I love you, too.”

Meet Me In The Afterglow

[YOU’RE SO COOL BY HANS ZIMMER]

The last of the kids left Camp Upside Down the way they arrived: in a flurry of colour and sticky hands, forgotten backpacks left on porches, teary eyes as they hugged their favourite counsellors.

You were left behind with Steve as the rest of the staff left one by one, more hugs exchanged along with new email addresses and promises to visit different cities and states before Christmas. And when the parking lot was just settling from clouds of dust and dirt, Steve appeared from Hopper’s office, a small folder in his hands, signed contracts and a set of shiny new keys. He twirled them around one finger, a smile on his face he was trying to tamp down with a crinkle of his nose and you raised a brow at him.

“Hey, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve let out a low whistle, joining you in between your two parked cars. He leant against his BMW and made a show of looking you over. “Oh,” he grinned. “Say that again?”

You laughed, slapping at his shoulder before pinching the papers and stealing it from him. You looked over the print, smiling warmly at the official look of it all. Full time hours, managerial role, pension plan, holiday pay. Hopper and Murray’s signatures were at the bottom with Steve’s and you looked up at him and beamed.

“Are you happy?” You asked.

Steve seemed to consider the question for a moment or two before he nodded, hair falling into his eyes that he didn’t bother brushing away. He pushed himself off his car with a foot, taking the two steps it needed to lean in close to you instead. He brushed away an invisible piece of dust from your shoulder, took it as an excuse to brush his thumb across your neck, ‘cause two months apart made him feel like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore. But you did you both a favour and leaned into it, lashes fluttering when his big hand cupped your jaw. He let his thumb push softly against your bottom lip in lieu of a kiss.

“Yeah, I’m really happy, princess.” Steve let out a small laugh, a breathy thing full of surprise. “It’s stupid how I happy I am.”

You turned your head to catch his palm, pressing a soft kiss there that made the boy turn pink, a flash of affection warming his eyes and it only made him drop his hand from you to tug you closer, fingers catching the belt loops of your shorts.

“What ‘bout you?” Steve asked quietly. A hand crept up the side of your shirt, fingers seeking warm, soft skin and familiarity. “You happy?”

You nodded, pushing yourself closer to the boy, hands running over broad shoulders. It was easy to touch him again, even though your heart thundered like it was two summers ago and you were like a preteen with a crush. But you’d missed him too much to let that get the best of you.

“I’m happy,” you murmured. “We got jobs, roofs over our heads, friends, families that don’t wanna disown us—”

“Still to be determined,” Steve quipped.

You tutted. “It’ll be okay, handsome. And you’ve got me.”

Steve turned soft for you, brown eyes caramel and sugar, lips lifting back into a smile, thoughts of his parents forgotten. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. A promise. “Always got me.”

The words seemed to soothe him and if the birds above hadn’t stopped chirping at the right time, you wouldn’t have heard him whisper a ‘love you’ into your hair when he turned to kiss the side of your cheek.

“You’re gonna be a whole forty minutes away from me,” he grumbled, like it was an awful, awful thing. A hardship.

You were both - maybe more you - determined to take it slow before rushing back in. Steve asked you to help him find a new home, an apartment in Shelbyville, maybe even a small house. You’d agreed enthusiastically with the promise to talk about moving in together in six months or so. Despite the joy that leaked out of you like summer and warmth, there was a lingering sting of rejection in your chest. You knew it wasn’t the case, but you’d spent a while with thoughts that told you Steve picked Arizona over you.

“S’not far,” you told him. “I’ll stay over, you can come round on weekends, it’ll be great. We’re taking it one step at a time, remember?”

Steve stole a kiss, a barely there press because he was smiling too much. His contract was a crush of paper between you. “We’ll see.”

FIVE WEEKS LATER

Steve had found a house in Shelbyville that quickly became a home.

It was a small thing out by Big Blue River, a patch of land just outside of town where the river led into a creek and wild raspberries grew in the garden. You helped him move in, watched from your car as he hugged his mother and received a firm handshake from his dad. They didn’t help him into his new home, but they invited you both for dinner the following weekend, so it placated Steve enough.

So you spent days at your job in Hawkins, a bag of clothes always in your car so you could drive to Shelbyville after work, music blasting, engine sputtering. You’d take turns making dinner, cooking some pasta as Steve built a bookcase, a lopsided coffee table, hung up his favourite movie posters a little squint. But the house was filled with Steve and a little of you, photos of you and the boy dotted around the house, Polaroids of your friends stuck to the fridge with magnets.

It got harder to leave each time.

It got harder to leave when Steve kissed you senseless against your car in the evenings, a slow building, needy thing that came with wandering hands. It was lazy mornings with a shared pot of coffee, a bed with soft sheets that smelled like him and you, your body wash in his shower, your clothes in with his piles of laundry. It was long lies on the weekends with the promises of a walk along the river, lunch by the creek laid out on a blanket, the sun on your cheeks and Steve’s head resting on your lap as he made you laugh with stupid jokes.

Then one night your car broke down before you could make it out of the yard and Steve didn’t hesitate to pull you back into him, humming thoughtfully. He was all hands, sneaking up your skirt, pushing back your hair, lips against your neck, soft enough to make you shiver.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay,” he murmured against your jaw.

You snorted, “I need my car fixed, Steven.”

A shake of his head, his lips still on your neck. “S’a piece of shit anyway, princess, been yellin’ you for years.” It was cheeky enough for you to pinch at his side but the boy only grinned and took your face in his hands, cradling your jaw. He turned a little more serious, smile still there, but his words were determined. “I’m serious, babe. Stay. Please.”

“I just stayed all weekend,” you told him, your fingers tracing patterns along his collar. Your heart was thundering. “You’re not sick of me?”

Steve tutted, acting up. “You know that’s not what I meant. Move in. I want you to move in.” He nuzzled your cheek with his nose, smelling like cedar and mint and sunscreen. “Wanna live w’you.”

So the next day Steve gave you the keys to his car and painted the bedroom your favourite colour. You told your parents, who were unsurprised, packing up bags and boxes with your things, a bubble of excitement in your chest that you didn’t think would pop anytime soon. The drive to Shelbyville from Hawkins was like the drive to camp, and the same anticipation of a new adventure was in the air. You drove down roads lined with tall trees, wheat fields that turned golden past the old water tower, the beginnings of Big Blue River greeting you at the bridge.

And when you turned down the dirt lane that took you to Steve’s house - your house - it felt more like home than ever. The shutters were painted sage green, the flower boxes beneath the windows filled with blooms, and the old oak tree round the back looked the perfect height for a swing. A dog didn’t greet you, not yet, but Steve did, with all the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever.

Neither of you bothered with your bags, not right away, because Steve was pulling you from the front seat with a smile on his face that rivalled the sun. Steve Harrington was summer and sunscreen and lakes at night. He was mountain hikes with sixty kids, he was car racing out of town, he was sneaking out, sneaking in, he was lemonade, he was broken kayaks and hiding in the gym, he was arguing, he was kissing to make up and everything you ever wanted.

He was yours.

And he was staying here.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington one shot

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inkykeiji · 1 year ago

Note

Sukuna def calls you princess if he decides you belong to him. <3

oh absolutely, and it’s a term he uses both condescendingly and lovingly. he is the king of curses, after all. it’s only natural you’re his princess.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, master kink, rough sex, marking, toxic relationship, mention of spanking, fem!reader words: 738

you’re his stupid little princess when you do or say something so adorably dumb, gazing up at him with absolute idiocy smeared across your face, contorting your features—mouth open and downturned, brow scrunched and heavy—as you whimper out but Daddy, why?, head quirked cutely to the side and confusion reflected in your eyes. because i said so, he usually responds with a condescending little pat to your head. oh, you don’t have to worry your pretty little brain about any of that, princess, he promises you. Daddy will take care of it all, Daddy will do all of that pesky thinking and contemplating and deciding; you don’t have to think about a goddamn thing.

you’re his pathetic little princess when you’re sobbing after being split open by his cock and spanked raw by his hand, face buried in folded arms as salt stains your cheeks and claws pierce your hips, holding you high, holding you still. is your Master’s cock too big for you, princess? he’s murmuring in your ear, the words hot and breathy as they curl around the shell, his question infused with a smirk. does Daddy’s cock hurt you, princess? he’s cooing out, sick and sadistic and sardonic, against the back of your neck, forehead pressed flush to the base of your skull as his hips pound, cockhead ramming against your sensitive cervix. can you take it for me, princess? he’s laughing as he nuzzles his nose against the hinge of your jaw, placing a chaste kiss to the bone. he wants you to show him how well you can take it for him; he wants to watch the way your sweet lil cunt struggles and stretches and swallows his girth.

you’re his pouty little princess when you don’t get what you want, when he doesn’t give you what you want, eyes glittering with a thick coat of tears and lip jutted out in a trembling scowl, so deep it crinkles your forehead and puckers your chin. aw, is the poor little princess going to cry? he coos out through his own over-exaggerated pout, brow warped with false worry. is she going to stomp her feet and throw a fit because she isn’t getting her way? he kind of hopes you do, you can tell, can see it glimmering bright and sharp in his eyes, a sort of exhilarated anticipation that begs you to take on his challenge; go on, give him a reason to punish, make his fucking day, baby.

you’re his precious little princess when you stare up at him with adoring eyes, awestruck and shimmering with stars, and murmur out about how much you love him, delicate little fingers tracing his markings in clumsy caresses. the words are melty with affection, gooey and thick with spit as they dribble from your lips after he’s fucked you past the point of lucidity, mind turned to pleasant pink mush under immense pleasure and immaculate pain, body gone pliable and painted in strokes of him—ragged lines of red, blooming blotches of blue, purplish indents carved so deeply into your flesh that they’ll never fully heal, the tiny craters overflowing with sticky crimson. i love you too, princess, he tells you, the words quivering with quiet sincerity even as a sour sickness twists behind his sternum, true and real even as they are unfamiliar and unnatural.

you’re his pretty little princess when you giggle and twirl and strut for him after every single shopping trip, putting on a little fashion show and modelling all of the luxurious lingerie he bought you, lace clinging daintily to supple flesh, silk straps curling lovingly around all of your curves and edges, pieces encrusted with jewels and sparkles that catch on the light as you twist and turn for him. unblinking eyes watch you with a sort of conscientiousness, pupils blown huge and gaping, pitch black and ready to swallow you whole in a single glance. a smirk smears across his face, lopsided, leaning to the left and steadily spreading, as he relaxes back into his favourite armchair, thighs spread wide and a crystal glass of sweating amber dangling from his fingertips. c’mere, pretty princess, he demands gently when he can hardly take it anymore, when you’ve tried on several sets, when his smirk has grown into a grin and his cock is starting to ache, a large palm patting thick muscles. come give me a kiss.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryokan sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukuna headcanons #hehehehehehe i love this anon #hope ur having a fab weekend!!! stay safe!!#inky.sukuna #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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carmyberzattosjournal · 16 days ago

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Therapy Files 3: Twist the Knife (Carmy)

GIF credit: @mithrandirl

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tells him it’s okay to cry after his first day of therapy. (944 Words) FLUFF.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, hurt, emotional breakdown (crying), fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, mention of Donna Berzatto, mention of Mikey Berzatto, mention of Natalie Berzatto, mention of mental and emotional abuse.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in the Therapy Files Series and will be tagged with #cb therapy files.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Post-Day 1

I held it together after day 1 of therapy until we got back to the apartment.

I don't even remember the drive back. I can't remember if I ever looked up or if Darling tried to speak to me. I just blinked and was standing at the bathroom mirror, staring into a face much like my own but with terrified eyes, reddened cheeks, a reddened nose, and a fat lip bearing teeth marks. These oceans of blues and wisps of gray with spidery red blood vessels invading in from the corners of my eyes where a band of reflections grew, and grew, and grew until my eyes snapped shut, until I retreated to the dark quiet, and warm saltwater fell from them.

My teeth hurt, my chest hurt, my fingers ached from how tightly I was gripping the sink. Hurt so bad I thought they might snap under the pressure of my own muscles crushing my fingertips against unforgiving shitty fucking composite—I couldn’t have that; I need my hands to cook—but I couldn’t override my body to make it stop. The ache in my jaw was so intense that I waited for the searing pain of a tooth cracking because surely, one of them would go, right? This is the part of emotions I can’t stand: the lack of control. I had no control. My body was just doing what it wanted to without my consent, and the only choice I had in the matter was how many times I’d cuss out whatever made me like this for it.

Fuck you.

There. Have another one.

I'm not a crier. I don't fucking cry, okay? I couldn't, because if I did, Mikey or ma would twist the knife further or Nat would catch some heat trying to protect me from them or sometimes all of the above. Why are you fucking crying, you baby? You're not a child. Stop fucking crying. Do you see what I did all day for all of you? Am I crying? Then you shouldn't be fucking crying either.

I hate seeing people cry. It twists something deep inside me, under my diaphragm, almost tucked up against my spine. And not because I want to fix it or make them feel better—really, I only have the energy to worry about Nat or Darling feeling better. I can do something for them. They don't reject me, so it can hurt, and I can try to fix it. No, I hate seeing people get to cry. I hate that they can sob like fucking children over the smallest shit and no one, least of all me, tells them that they're being fucking babies. I used to be a human too, you know? Why couldn't people treat me like that? Why do you get to cry, and I don't? Why do I got to hold my shit together?

"Carmy? Baby?”

Shit, and now Darling’s seen me.

I instinctively swiped away the stupid tears, turned my back to her, clawed for the words to explain to her that I was fine, she didn’t see anything. Reflexes baked into my being from too long a lifetime of being chastised for the act of being human. For daring to feel so much emotion that it’d trigger my body’s reflex to cry. That’s the thing—it’s so fucking human to do so, but no one’s ever treated me like a fucking human, have they? I’ve forever only been worthy of consideration when I served a purpose, I’ve forever been a means or a tool until Darling.

That’s the thing about trauma that they don’t tell you, by the way. They do tell you it’s gonna get worse when you try to get better. But how that happens? How worse is actually a thousand little things that all cut you up like glass shards? Nah, they don’t tell you that shit. You go headfirst in the deep end and get water down your throat and in your eyes and you don’t know which way is up and your legs cramp up and then, and then, and then… Sure, you get a better sense of all the shit you’ve survived, and much like the fleeting ten seconds after avoiding wrecking out on the side of the interstate where your heart slams into your throat because you realize how close to death you were, you spiral down into a pit of despair at how much deeper you’re in that you ever realized. You also get less tolerant to more damage. Shit starts to hurt because you’re not numb anymore. The tiniest shit starts to hurt. It’s maddening.

Darling spun me by my shoulders and clasped me in a hug. My hands planted on her ribs of their own accord, intending to push her away.

“Baby, it’s okay!” she hissed.

I froze.

“It’s okay to cry. I’m right here, Carmy. I got you.”

Her cold fingers wove into my hair, tucked my face into the crook of her neck, arm wrapped around my shoulders and yanked me in. She crushed me in a hug, and I caged her in my grip in response. It ripped something raw in my chest, being held so tightly, being held like she wanted me there. Like I wasn’t a waste of space or time or effort. I got you. I had a life ring, for once. I’m the best swimmer I know, but this time, I didn’t have to fight the tide. Darling would keep me from drowning. I clung to her, gasped in a breath, and—without my consent. Emotions never have consent—choked out a sob.

Darling allowed me to cry.

Tags: @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899 @carmenberzattosgf

#cb therapy files #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader

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lulunothulu · 3 months ago

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“A Bullseye to the Heart” Ch. 8

Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Latina Reader

Summary: Flashbacks creep into your dreams, causing you to wake up in a panic…it’s a good thing Jake is there to calm you. Jake finds out what happened to you, what happened with your ex, and why you’ve been getting paid off.

Content: Flashbacks(kinda gory), torture, anxiety attack, talks of suicide, some swearing, DV, will end on a happy note.

Word count: 4,019

A/N: While I think you can assume this is a middle eastern place that she was taken/sent to, I didn’t label the people for obvious reasons. Please be mindful of this and really put yourself in her shoes. Next chapter will be a lot less traumatic. I promise 💗 (Please do go back and read the other chapters, this won’t make a lot of sense if you don’t. All linked in my Masterlist!)

Chapter 8

“What were you sent here to do?” The man asks. His dark hair and even darker eyes bare into yours, daring you to speak. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt, his mouth and nose covered in a mask.

You’d figured out that he was the leader of the terrorist organization whose weapons you were supposed to bomb. You’d been in their custody for a few days, tied to a pole on the ceiling like a slab of meat in a butcher shop.

They did this to weaken you for torture, you knew that. You’d been trained for this.

“Answer me!” The man yells. When you don’t say anything but stare at him, he nods to a man on your left.

This one compared to the leader, was huge—broad shouldered and muscular even under the loose shirt he wore.

The other man smiles, a whip coming into your view. Before you had time to brace yourself, the whip cracks and slams into your skin.

You seethe in pain, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of screaming in pain.

Except, when the whip is pulled away from your back, a chunk of flesh follows. You let out a blood curdling scream at that.

“All you have to do is tell us who you were working for,” the Leader tells you. “Your Admiral must’ve told you something.”

“I don’t know anything,” you gritted.

He sighs. “Fine.”

And again, you’re whipped.

Over and over again.

So much so, you could feel the blood trail down your spine and legs.

You knew you’d bleed out before they could get anything out of you. You almost begged for it to happen.

After a week of being whipped and beaten by a wooden so badly it broke, you knew you weren’t making it out alive.

Day after day, the same questions.

“Who do you work for?”

“Why are you here?”

“Where’s your back up?”

And each time, you’d give them nothing. An occasional spit in the Leader’s face but that would result in him slapping you, followed by the larger man’s fists.

By the end of that week, they’d send you to a medic who would treat you, let you heal for a week, and then it would start again.

Two months into it, you began losing hope that you’d ever be found.

Two months in, you were still being tied up to the bar in the ceiling. Occasionally you’d be sat down, given food, only for them to turn you upside down and dunked in water. They’d ripped out your nails, cut your skin, burned your healing back.

And still, nothing from you except for an occasional “fuck you”.

By the end of the third month, you’d come to expect the lashings. You’d come to expect the beatings.

But that last day, you were taken to a clean room. A surgical room. Fear riddled your body, beginning to expect the worst. When a doctor walked in with the Leader and his torturer, you were tied to the bed, your pants pulled down your legs.

“You are leaving,” the Leader tells you. “But not before we leave you with a parting gift.”

His eyes crinkle in what you assumed was him smiling. Behind him, the doctor walks up to you and marks your hip with a blue marker.

“Here is safe,” he tells the torturer.

You hear a machine whir behind him and when he moves, you see the torturer holding a hot stamp. A skull and bones symbol red as a chili pepper is being heated by some sort of portable hot stove.

“No,” you say, quietly at first but louder the closer they get to you. “NO!”

They only laugh. The torturer comes close, before whispering, “This will hurt. Do not move.”

You feel the doctor and the Leader hold your legs in place as the hot stamp finally makes contact with your skin.

You scream, blood curdling and raw. You scream until you can no longer breathe, the scent of burning flesh fills the small room. You feel yourself falling in and out of consciousness, but the doctor wakes you up completely with some smelling salts.

They pull your pants back up before untying you and dragging you out of the room and into a garage before putting a hood on your head. They throw you into the back of a truck before laughing and driving you somewhere.

“You’re lucky we didn’t do more than that with your pants down, girl.” The Leader tells you. “Thank your God we didn’t.”

You only sob. You were sure they were going to kill you. But when they stop and pull you out of the truck, you have to blink when they pull the hood off.

You were in an open field. The sun gloriously kissing your skin and grass whistling in the soft breeze.

They push you to your knees before you hear the cocking of a gun.

“Thank your Admiral for us,” is the last thing they say before shooting up in the air.

It was flare. They shot…a flare.

Instantly, you hear the whirring of a helicopter coming from behind a mountain in front of you. Behind you, the truck doors slam before the two men leave you on your knees, bloodied all over your body, and tears running down your face.

You were going to be okay. You were going to be saved.

So then why did the man’s words echo in your mind?

* * *

“Thank your Admiral for us.”

You woke up with a jolt, someone’s hand was holding yours and you had to fight to free yourself from their grip.

You were sweating, panting for fresh air.

It was just a dream. You’re home, safe.

You tried reasoning with yourself but it was no use. You were panicking, and hard.

Beside you on the floor, Jake sits up, rubbing his eyes before turning to you.

“Hey, did you sleep–”

Jake stops talking when he sees the way you hold your chest, face frozen in panic and breathing rapidly. “What happened?”

“They’re here,” you breathe, staring off into space. “They want me back. They’re gonna kill me this time.”

“Hey, hey,” Jake soothes, squatting beside you. “Breathe.”

“I. Can’t. Breathe.” you sputter. “It’s–oh my god–Jake I can’t–”

“You can,” he tells you. “C’mon, Sweetheart. You’ve got this, just like me.”

He brings one of your hands to his chest, the warm surface clothed in cotton, heart beating under your fingertips. “Feel my heart?”

He grabs your other hand and brings it to your chest, your heart pounding against your hand. “Match my heartbeat, Y/N. You can do it.”

You feel yourself slow down, the world around slowing. Jake’s green eye is the only thing you’re focusing on.

“Count with me,” he goes on. “One.”

“O-one.”

“Two.”

“T-two.”

“Three.”

“Four,” Jake smiles.

“Four,” you smile back.

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

You nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” he asks, rubbing the hand on his chest with his thumb.

“Yes,” you tell him, feeling yourself fully relaxed. “It was like a movie.”

“How so?”

“I saw what they did to me in a compilation,” you shudder. “I saw every lashing, every cut, everything.”

“Tell me about it.” Jake’s eyes are soft on you, encouraging you to go on.

“I saw them beat me that first week,” you tell him after a few deep breaths. “They had whipped me and beat me with a wooden bat.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with anger before he nodded for you to go on.

“They-they did that for a month. The next month was the same but this time they let me sit instead of being chained to a bar on the ceiling.” You drop the hand on your chest in your lap, squeezing Jake’s hand in yours.

“They pulled my nails out next and cut my back wounds open again,” you went on. Tears form in your eyes again before you tell him, “The last day of the third month, they branded me. Called it a ‘parting gift’.”

He remembered. The skull and crossbones on your hip.

“They told me to be glad I didn’t get…you know, while my pants were down. That I should thank my God.” You were fully sobbing now. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“They told me to thank my Admiral,” you cried.

Jake let go of your hand before wiping the tears that fell with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“That was the only thing I could focus on when the Navy saved me,” you tell him, tears drying. “‘Why would he say that?’, I asked myself. And then it hit me.”

You look up at Jake again before saying, “I think Simpson knew I was going down. Even after I radioed in that I was.”

Jake’s blood runs cold, he wanted to tell you what he knew but wanted you to tell him what you knew first.

“I think that’s why they paid me off,” you continue, tears long gone now. “They must think I know something.”

“Well do you?” he asks, not able to contain the curiosity anymore.

You nod. “I think the weapons they wanted me to bomb were U.S. made and that’s why they sent me to bomb them.”

“Why do it themselves when they can send one pilot to bomb them?” he adds.

“Exactly,” you agree. “That’s why they wouldn’t let Rooster or Phoenix and Bob come with me. They knew I was going down or dying trying to fight my way out.”

“But why keep you for three months?” he asks.

“Who knows why the Navy does what they do,” you sigh. Changing the subject you tell him, “When I got back, I was so broken–physically and emotionally. Maybe that’s what made me an even bigger target to Nick.”

Jake’s spine straightens at his name. “Why’s that?”

“I was a walking target, I had the look of someone who had been through something horrible.” You shake your head and chuckle. “I was so open to wanting someone to show me love and affection, I fell right into his trap.”

You look at him, watching as Jake’s eyes harden before he asks, “What did he do?”

“He was nice,” you start. “At first he was. Asking if I wanted to talk about what happened, then asking if I needed company. He moved in not even two months into knowing him.”

You scoff, remembering how naive you were.

“Rooster hated him the moment I introduced him to him and Nat,” you continued. “He was a lot like you actually.”

“How so?” Jake asks.

“Nice, a ladies man, handsome…” You look away at that last word.

“That’s why you didn’t trust me at first,” he fills in the blanks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you trust me now?” he asks.

You turn to him, a small glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“Why?” Jake asks. “If I’m the same as him, why do you trust me?”

“You never made a move to kiss me the first few times you were with me,” you whisper.

* * *

Jake only stared.

That motherfucker tried to kiss you the first few times he saw you? He was ready to pummel that fucker into the ground if it meant you would never see him again.

You must’ve seen the anger in his eyes because he shakes it away and swallows it down. “I’m you trust me.”

“I am too,” you tell him. “I’ve never told anyone that, about what I suspected with the Navy and with Nick.”

“I’m glad you finally got it out,” he tells you. “I really am. It’s good that you talk about what happened to you.”

“What about you?” You ask. “Has something like that happened to you?”

Jake shakes his head, remembering his old weapon system officer. “Not me, but my old back seater.”

“What happened?”

He’d told this story twice in his life. Once at court after everything happened and the second time to Lt. Addams’ parents.

“We were sent to bomb some important buildings in Afghanistan,” he starts. “They held all sorts of jets and weapons that could’ve comprised the U.S. military that were stationed there. So they sent Lieutenant Addams and I—that was my partner’s name.”

He smiles to himself.

“He was my best friend,” he continues. “I grew up with him and we joined the Navy together and then eventually flight school and so on.”

He looks up at you, watching as you listen so intently, you’re practically holding your breath.

“Well, we got into a disagreement,” Jake tells you. “He wanted to take things slow and I wanted to speed up, elimisome time from our arrival time.”

He takes a deep but shaky breath before looking away, down at the hands he held in your lap. He takes his time, caressing each of your knuckles, examining the small scars on your right hand. He flips your hands over to see your smooth palms, coated in light sweat.

“I went faster and didn’t anticipate the upcoming turn,” he goes on. “It was too late. I was too late. I should’ve died but I yelled for him to eject and I thought he was coming with me. But he—”

Jake’s breath hitched in his throat as an angry sob trickled up instead. He blows out a few breaths before looking up at you with tearful eyes.

“He didn’t eject in time.”

“Oh Jake,” you start.

“I should’ve listened to him,” he tells you. Then quietly he adds, “It should’ve been me.”

“Jake,” you start.

He feels your hands let go of his and move to his cheeks, you tilt his head up to face you before saying, “You are exactly where you need to be. If you weren’t here, I’d probably still be dealing with Nick. Or worse.”

Jake’s eyes glisten with tears, hearing you say that means so much to him. Being able to definitely say that he was a hero for you, meant that his mistake with Addams was paid back in full.

Because it may not have been Addams, but it was someone else who needed his help the most.

“You’re exactly the person I needed when I least expected,” you go on. “I know it hasn’t been long but I do think of you as a good friend. Thank you, for everything.”

He smiles up at you. This beautiful woman before him was a fighter, and he damn well deserved to be here—even just for her.

A knock on the door startles you both out of the mini staring contest you were in, making Jake turn in the direction of the front door.

He checks his watch which reads 2:45 AM.

“Who could be here so early in the morning?” He asks.

Before you even get to answer, you both hear pounding on the door. Jake feels you freeze, terror paralyzing you into speechlessness.

“Y/N!” He hears Nick yell. “Get your sorry ass out here! We’re going home.”

“How did he find my house?” Jake asks himself.

“He must’ve followed us home after we left Hard Deck.” You answer.

Jake looks at you, taking your hands in his again. “Go into my room, there’s a box under my bed. The code is 07-12-89. There’s a gun in there, just in case you need to use it.”

“What about you?”

Jake looks at you like it’s the last time he’ll see you. He tries to memorize your eyes, the way your lips pull back when you smile. He brushes a strand of your hair back before smiling at you.

“I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

When Nick pounds on the door again, Jake points for you to be quiet and go to his room. You obey, running as quietly and quickly as you can.

Once Jake is sure you’re safe, he calmly walks to the front door, opening it just as Nick was about to pound on it again.

“Can I help you?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” Nick says, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “I’m looking for my girlfriend. She’s in there.”

“Girlfriend?” Jake pretends to think. “Wait, I thought you were single.”

Nick angrily grunts before adding, “No, she’s confused. She’s sick in the head.”

“Well if that’s the case, she’s definitely not here,” Jake smiles. “I only allow sane people in my house.”

“Then let me in to look for her,” Nick drawls.

“No can do, buddy,” Jake says, blocking Nick when he makes a move to enter the house. “See, I don’t know you and you w already tried to kick my ass earlier today—well, yesterday. So that’s a hard no from me.”

Nick frowns in anger, face contorting into something ungodly. “Let me in. I saw her go into the house.”

Jake’s heart was pounding.

Not because he was scared, but because he was furious. Why can’t this guy just get the hint?

“Dude, even if she was here,” Jake starts. “She doesn’t wanna see you. So, take the hint.”

“Who the hell even are you?” Nick asks, pushing Jake back a bit.

“I’m just a guy who doesn’t like the way you’ve been treating Y/N,” Jake states. “And quite frankly, I don’t want you in my property so get the fuck off my porch and go home.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick seethes. “I want her and only her. So get her out here or I’m burning your house to the ground.”

“Those are some strong words for someone who’s worked really hard to become a pilot,” Jake smiles. “Do you really wanna throw that all away for some girl?”

Nick seems to ponder his words, brows furrowing in thought.

“Because that’s what? Two years of your life down the drain? And for what? A girl who doesn’t even want you?” Jake continues. “Is she really worth it all?”

Nick’s eyes focus on something behind him and Jake doesn’t even need to turn around to know who he’s looking at.

“Y/N,” Nick says. “Let’s go.”

Jake turns around to see you standing there, head held high, body squared, and feet planted. You look like the woman you once were, the one he’d seen pictures of in the Top Gun classroom and halls.

Strong and bold. Confidence radiating from your glossy bronzed skin.

You weren’t scared, and you made sure Jake and Nick knew it.

“I’m not leaving with you,” you say firmly.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘No’?” Nick bellows. “You’re coming home with me and we’re gonna talk about…us.”

“No,” you say, pushing past Jake and squaring up to Nick. “You’re going home and I’m staying here. You’re not good for me.”

“What? And he is?”

“Yes,” you say simply, catching Nick off guard. “He’s good for me. He and my friends, the ones you tried to keep me away from.”

Nick scoffs at that, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want? My apartment? You can have it,” you say, tossing your keys at him. “But what you can’t have is me. I’m done, I’ve been done for a long time, Nick. From the first time you put hands on me, to the last time you did. You will not hurt me again. So get off his porch and go home.”

Nick stares at you incredulously—Jake does too. He knew you’d finally had a breakthrough and was prepared to do anything to get Nick out of your life. Even if that meant standing up for yourself and doing the scariest thing you could ever do.

Confront him.

With a swipe at his face, Nick shakes his head before slapping you across the face. Your head turns but your body doesn’t move.

“You made a mistake,” Nick says darkly.

“No,” you say. “You made a mistake.”

You point behind Nick, where two officers, Bradley, and Natasha stand.

“Goodbye, Nick.”

* * *

2 months later

It’s been a fairly good two months. You’d been living with Jake since that night. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back to your lonely apartment. And besides, you liked living with Jake.

Every morning since that night, Jake has made a point to leave you notes on the fridge, telling you when to expect him home. Granted, you’d be at work. But it’s the thought that counts.

Nick was kicked out of the Navy and served a few months in jail for the assaults he committed in the week before his arrest. You were also granted a permanent protection order against him.

Life was starting to look up.

You’d been hearing nicely, emotionally at least. You even told your therapist everything you told Jake.

The only thing you worried about now was whether or not Jake was going out on a date on weekends.

You hated to admit it, but I fell for him. And hard.

You didn’t want to, but the way he treated you was so different to what you’d ever experienced, you couldn’t help yourself.

But it seemed like Jake went back to his man-whore ways. You’d be at work and glance over to where he and the rest of the group were to see him all over a new girl each week.

You tried not to let it get to you, but it still did.

You figured you’d use this time to heal yourself—better yourself. You’d get to be as great as you could be so that when—and if—Jake wanted you, you’d be ready.

So now, you’d focus on you. Until the time was right.

Because even though it wasn’t meant to be right now, you knew it was meant to be. Otherwise, why would he leave you flowers and notes everyday? No man who wasn’t fawning over a woman would ever do that.

And yeah, there was a little voice in the back of your head that says maybe he’s just trying to be nice…but why do all that?

Either way, you were doing what was best for you. Because you owed it to yourself to do it.

No matter the outcome.

For now, you would go to work, go to your weekly therapy sessions, and smile at the life you get to live.

But that’s exactly what you get to do.

Live.

* * *

Jake’s date for the week smiled up at him as she attempted to seem hotter than she was. He’d brought her to Hard Deck to meet the group but now, he kinda didn’t want her around.

She smelled too sweet, she laughed a little too loud, and she just felt…wrong.

She wasn’t his Bullseye.

Not his. But his.

You’d just brought over a round of beers and were talking to Natasha when your date tapped on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I don’t drink beer. Can I have a white wine?” She says, rudely snapping at you to hurry. “Chop chop.”

Bradley’s eyes widen and he takes a long swig of his wet before looking at Jake with a wild expression.

“Sure,” you say. Jake watches as you take the beer, glancing his way with a dissatisfied expression.

She’s gonna rip me a new one later.

“Why don’t I get it for you?” Jake suggests. “Just in case.”

“Oh, Jakey,” his date says. “That'd be great. But honestly, we can just leave. This place is dingy and old.”

Behind her, Natasha and Bob’s mouths fall open, Coyote and Payback following suit. Bradley only cackles, making his date turn around in annoyance and Bradley turn around to avoid her gaze.

“So Jakey,” Bradley starts. “Are you leaving or are you staying?”

Jake looks at Bradley, then his date, and lastly you at the bar. You were serving Maverick a beer and smiling at something he said.

You were beautiful tonight. Your hair was curled and half tied up in a white bow, a white linen shirt and jeans your uniform for the night.

As if feeling his eyes on you, your turn just in time to catch him smiling at you before he turns to his date.

“You know what,” he starts. “I think I’m gonna stay.”

Bradley smiles. “Good choice.”

Next part

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me. I had a hard time with this chapter mainly because I wanted it to be sensitive but also raw. So thank you for reading it if you read it. And remember that there’s always someone out there that loves you 💗

Tags: @lonelysoul50 @akilatwt @russopalette @emma8895eb @djs8891

#glen powell #fanfic #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #glen powell x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #latina reader #hangman x rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun hangman

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dutiful-wildcraft · 10 months ago

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Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae.

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home.

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!”

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera.

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary. Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally. By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain, was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters.

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way.

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame.

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed. He is typically privy to smaller prophecies, glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field. The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago.

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose. Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together. Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic.

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds. He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance.

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him. Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long.

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance) In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates. Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone.

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

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igotanidea · 9 months ago

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Spoiled: Dick Grayson x reader

Summary: Women's day with Dick.

Warning: a little innuendo at the end, but no worries, minors allowed ;)

***

After knowing each other for a few years they became a couple in June, hence 8th March of a current year was their first International Women’s Day together.

Well- to say the whole truth – it was her first IWD with him, but the point stood.

And Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-way when it came to his girlfriend(s).

Since he might have fucked up Valentines’ day (in his defense he wasn’t entirely sure of how she felt about it since there was never even a hint on her part that she wanted to celebrate it and their relationship was still kind of fresh) it was obvious he had to make up for it, by giving her the best 8th March celebration ever.

“Morning sweetheart.”

At this point she should have been used to him visiting her apartment in the most abnormal morning hours, coming back from his Nightwinging-shit. Regardless, being torn from the sleep by his blue and black silhouette and domino mask, sometimes with the widest, charming, boyish grin and some other with blood and injuries all over was something she couldn’t move past.

“mmhmh….” She muttered rolling on her side in the bed to check the hour. 5 am. 5 am at fucking Friday. “are you hurt….?” Poor girl couldn’t even find any strength to bash him.

“no, not exactly—”

“then I’m sure it can wait for two or three hours? Come on, Grayson. I start my shift at 9 today, let me have some more rest….”

“But—” Dick frowned taking off his mask and studying her silhouette curled under the cover, one leg still in the dreamland. Did she really forget what day was it today?

“Mh. Just shut up and come here….” She mumbled again lifting the hem of the blanket, silently inviting him in and it actually did lift his spirits.

As quick as possible he stripped of his suit and slid into the bed next to her, immediately wrapping arms around her waist pulling her close. Unsure whether it was him looking for comfort and assurance he would always have someone to come home to, or rather him giving her love and warmth and safety – a must have for a woman.

“Y/n….” he whispered in her ear, running fingers up and down her back soothingly, creating the atmosphere of intimacy and love.

“The hell you want?” she snuggled closer

“Best wishes…”

“What…?” she raised her head, searching his eyes, all the sleepiness leaving her at once “you sure you’re not injured? Like – your head for example? My b-day are in September, our anniversary is in June, I didn’t win a lottery, there’s no occasion today so what are you talking about?”

“Y/N! baby!” Dick laughed pecking the top of her nose playfully “come on, think for a moment!”

“It’s 5 a.m. are you seriously asking me to freaking think?”

“What kind of special day do we have in March?”

“World Self-harm Awareness Day?”

“What?” he laughed whole-heartedly “that’s really the first thing that came to your pretty little head?”

“Jerk.”

“Come on baby… Flowers, chocolates, fancy dates…”

“Are you trying to remind me you fucked up Valentines’ Day?”

“It was not me! It was Nightwing’s fault.”

“Oh yeah, right. Blame your alter ego and you’re on a highway to split personality. Seriously what-“ she lift herself, a bit annoyed at his games now and her eyes landed on the calendar on the wall, noticing the date marked in a red circle and an exclamation mark. “Oh….”

“You there now?” Dick smirked

“I hate you Grayson-“ she muttered leaning forward to kiss him softly

“Just wait till you see what I planned for the day.”

***

Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-assed.

Wait? Did I already say that? Too bad.

Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-assed.

Such a shame that the festive day was taking place on Friday, cause otherwise he would lock her inside the apartment keeping her all to himself and spoiling her on the entire day.

But it was obvious from the get go that she was not going to skip a work day and there was no way to stop her (power girl simply liking her work, it was not a crime).

On the bright side – it was the perfect opportunity to extend the celebration on a whole weekend.

Starting from having the perfect evening.

Y/N could only do as little as step inside the apartment, after work, exhausted after all week with her brain becoming a jello, legs giving up, when she was snatched by a pair of strong arms and held close to a broad warm chest. And the contented sigh that escaped her lips was definitely not a sign of complaint.

"Missed you my beautiful woman."

"I can tell." she chuckled in response, glad to be back home to him.

"Now come on, pick up your prettiest dress and we're going out.'

"We're what?" that was unexpected "and what do you mean prettiest dress? I don’t have any dresses-"

"Good thing your boyfriend thought of that too-" Dick grabbed her hand and led her to the bedroom where the most elegant and a bit revealing (but still chic) piece of clothing was spread on the bed.

"Grayson...." no matter how much she tried to deny her own instincts there was no way to stop herself from running fingers over the soft silky fabric and delighting in its sensation on her skin. She could only imagine how it would feel having that masterpiece hugging her body.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" she turned to face him, her eyes showing all the adoration of the gift. "But - I can't accept it. I mean - I'm sure it was--"

"Don't you dare saying it."

"But-"

"I bought it for you, you hear me? Because you deserve it, because I love you, because you're my woman and I’m your man." he grabbed her by the waist spinning her around and pulling to him. The fact that he was towering over her, holding her so firmly and giving her that man-like look silenced all her words of opposition. “Accept it, okay? Accept the fact that there’s me in your life now.”

“Right. The great, famous, handsome Dick Grayson the Wayne prodigy”

“Did you say handsome?” he smirked causing her to roll her eyes “seriously Y/N, I’m in your life. To stay. So the sooner you get used to unexpected gifts and surprises and being treated like a woman the better.”

“You still fucked up Valentine’s day.”

“You’ll be reminding me of that till the rest of my life, won’t you?”

“Of course.” She ginned playfully leaning to kiss him “I’m a woman. We collect such thing to use them as a potential argument in a quarrel.” She winked and this time it was him who rolled his eyes at her antics before silencing her with a proper make out session.

***

Clearly the dress was not enough for him.

Clearly taking a private Wayne jet and flying to NY was not enough for him.

He had to make a reservation at the most exquisite restaurant in the country. With the table in the secluded part of the spot, on the balcony with the perfect view on the night skyline, illuminated by the millions of little bright flickering lights.

And despite all that wonders all over them his eyes were focused solely on her.

From the way she looked in that dress (smoking hot, cause he knew what he was choosing after all), through the way her eyes were shining, hair flowing and cheeks flushing all the way to the fact that she finally allowed herself to relax and not overthinking all the stuff about expenses or being demanding.

Dream come true.

Living a fantasy when he grabbed her hand over the table and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles looking deep into her eyes.

Getting lost in their own private paradise when after the dinner they were just standing next to the railing, enjoying the peace and calmness, his arms around her waist, her back to his chest, not caring about problems, stuff to do or other people.

It was not often they could indulge and Dick was not going to miss the opportunity of being free for one night, able to plant little soft kisses on her neck, whispering soft words of love and feeling her body so close to him, while the a sign on the hotel room door clearly announced that guests requested privacy.

The silkiness of the sheets paled in comparison to the softness and delicacy of her skin and lips.

And the silence that was punctuated by her soft sighs and breathy words couldn't have been more perfect.

His woman.

Her man.

World could wait.

After all what could it do in a clash with a blooming love?

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

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paladin-heart5 · 10 months ago

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Dream Come True

Husband Leon Kennedy x Reader!

Summary; You and Leon enjoy the life of having a baby.

Word count: 1.1k

You sit on the couch with your babygirl in your arms. A sweet little infant, cooing as you sing softly to her. Bright blue eyes and a cute nose to match her father's, and soft hair identical to yours. Her tiny hand holding your finger, you smile. She's so precious, and you couldn't be happier than to have made a little miracle with your husband.

Leon enters your shared home with a heavy sigh. His eyes are droopy from lack of sleep, and he's all dirty. A two day mission may not seem like much, but it was messy, and he hated to be away from his girls. But as he looks forward, he melts. His achy muscles slowly begin to relax at the sight of his wife and child. Your voice is melodic, a lullaby that could put him to sleep faster than the baby. His feet bring him forward without having to think. Hearing footsteps, you look up and smile softly.

“Hello, my love.” You hum excitedly, lifting the baby up more. Leon smiles and leans down to kiss you. Not just a quick, but a loving kiss, enough to taste the familiar cherry chapstick you always wear. Makes you soft and sweet, just like your personality. He couldn't imagine falling out of love.

“Hey, baby. How are you holding up? You should be resting.” Leon says softly, placing a hand on your cheek. You lean into it and let out a breath of content. You've only been out of the hospital for three weeks, but you feel better. However, your husband thinks you need to be pampered a little longer.

“I'm alright, really. By the looks of it I should be asking you the same thing… oh! Look look,” You eagerly look at your daughter and coo at her. “Hey June, daddy's home! Say hi! You can do it, sweetie.” The baby looks at him and moves her arms around a bit, smiling. After a moment, she coos at him. Leon swears his heart explodes at the adorable sound.

“Holy shit,” The shock in his tone is evident, but you give him a stern look. “Language, sorry.” He chuckled nervously. He slowly holds his finger out, June grabs it before trying to suck on it. Leon pulls back as soon as he notices, with how gross he is, definitely not risking his baby girl's health. June makes a frowny face before she starts crying. Leon's eyes widen as you tilt your head.

“Someone's hungry.” You hum as you go to lift your shirt so you can breastfeed her. Leon blinks as he watches, but snaps himself out of it.

“Sorry, honey.” He apologizes softly, running a hand through his hair. You chuckle softly.

“Don't be, Lee. I've got an idea, how about we all take a shower when she's done, hm? I think the skin to skin time will be good for getting her to sleep. I've been having a hard time.” You suggest, making Leon light up at the idea.

“I'll go get our clothes.” He holds back his excitement back just a bit as he goes to get your stuff together.

—----

You gently wash your body while Leon holds June to his shoulder, swaying under the warm water. It seems to be relaxing her very well. You smile at the sight, Leon looks so sweet. He's like a gentle giant, holding such a tiny being. Your heart just swells. You take the time to gently wash him up too.

“You're doing so well with her.” You comment, earning a smile from your husband. “You think so?” He asks softly.

“I know so, she adores you as much as I do.” Your hand trails down his muscular arms as he continues to sway. You then look down at yourself, rubbing a hand over your stomach. Your body is partially back to normal, with the additional stretch marks. You're doing your best to get used to the new image of your body. Leon glances over and notices this, he smiles and carefully turns to you.

“Thank you.” He whispers, reaching for your stomach. You look at him and blink for a moment, trying not to back away shyly.

“What for?” You ask quietly, tilting your head slightly.

“For loving me, marrying me, giving me the opportunity to be a father. I always wondered what it'd be like to have this kind of life. You gave me a safe space to come home to, another reason to protect. And hell, we made a beautiful baby.” Leon pours his heart out into you, his eyes shine brighter every sentence. You swear he puts you under a spell with those ocean eyes. A blush creeps its way into your cheeks, a smile following behind. Before you can think of a response, he continues.

“I'd go to the ends of the earth for you and this child. I want you to know that. I love you no matter what. I meant it in those vows, you're the light of my life. Funny, kind, sexy.” He smirks as he rubs your hip. You giggle, looking away all shy and giddy. He makes you look back up at him and gives you a kiss.

“Okay okay,” You whisper, glancing at the baby. “I think we're clean, let's put the baby to bed.” Leon nods and turns off the water. You quickly grab the towel blanket for the baby and wrap her up. She starts to coo again, her eyes growing heavy.

“I know, sweetie.” You dry her up gently and get her ready for bed. Leon watches you with adoring eyes, he goes to dry you up before himself.

“We don't have to put her in the crib yet.. right?” He asks with pouty lips. You chuckle and shake your head.

“No, but we will soon.” You look at him, he makes a frowny face and pulls you both in for a hug, obviously trying not to crush the baby. You smile and kiss his jaw before you both take turns getting dressed. You begin to hum as you get June to her bassinet, carefully setting her. Leon wraps his arms around you from behind and admires.

“It feels like a dream, am I dreaming?” You ask him softly. Leon chuckles and kisses your neck, making you shiver.

“Nope, not dreaming.” You state with a dreamy sigh. Leon takes your hand and leads you to the bed. You both get under the covers and cuddle. The warmth is instant when you're in your husband's arms, his strong muscles make you feel safe.

“I never wanna let go.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head. You look up at him. “Me neither.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #fanfic #resident evil #fluff

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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

Text

— WHERE IS MY MIND?

SUMMARY : thinking dean is being annoying with his friendship with crowley. purposely teasing dean and leaving him wanting more, acting like nothing happened.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw(18+), the mark of cain, fluff, lots of teasing, sexy use of handcuffs and belts?, attempted anal play (fem. receiving, I thought I could, but sadly, it’s not my thing 😭)

WORD COUNT : 7.7K

A/N : title from the Pixies because that song is a vibe. inspired by BTS, doctor who, muse, coldplay, and obviously by watching this damn season lmao X

“How’s your new boyfriend?” Y/N asked, thumbing the spinning shark head on her blue pen as she stared at a newspaper. She didn’t look up at him, she didn’t have to. She could sense him, she could feel the way her skin tingled the way it always did when he was around. Like two planets, they were drawn to each other, fated by the physics of the universe to belong together, to stay close until they died and the universe became cold and empty with endless death.

Dean froze when he entered the dark library and heard her voice. He looked over at the small lamp Y/N was using to read the newspaper in the dark, the constant whirring of the pen as she twirled it sounded louder than it actually was in the quiet of the night.

“Stop that,” he grunted. She finally looked up at him and raised a brow, her eyes mostly mischievous rather than angry. He placed his duffle bag down on the table next to her scattered papers, their eyes locked on each other’s — asserting dominance.

“Stop this?” She asked, her thumb sliding along the spinning shark head so that the whir continued, and he clenched his jaw at her, his eyes narrowing at her calm face.

His eyes travelled over her beautiful face, analysing the warmth of her dilated eyes, to the blush on her cheeks, and the way her chest was rising a little faster than normal. He reached over and wrapped his fingers around hers to stop her and she blinked at him, an innocent smile tugging at her rosy lips, her eyes becoming wide like a little deer.

“Stop saying Crowley’s my lover,” he told her, his voice deep and threatening. He could read the playfulness in her eyes, the challenge as she lifted her chin just slightly, a smirk growing on her kissable lips now that she knew she had him trapped.

“Give me my pen,” she said calmly, tugging gently under his warm, thick fingers, but he only tightened his grip. She completely ignored him when he refused, turning away to read the newspaper, her hand still trying to pull out of his electric hold. “I dreamt about you and woke up dripping wet, which was nice,” she said nonchalantly, pretending to be distracted as she read the obituary of some old lady.

He blinked down at her, his fingers squeezing her hand which made her eyebrows rise, but she moved her attention to another boxed article instead of reacting. Still, a smile tugged at her lips and her breaths got quicker, like his, she noticed. “Kinda disappointing that you were too busy fucking around with Crowley to take care of that for me, had to take matters into my own... hands.”

He let go of her warm hand and she acted casually, as if she hadn’t just admitted to masturbating earlier today in their shared bed. Her pen touched the paper to circle something interesting and he growled her name softly at her irritating behaviour. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

“Can I help you?” She asked, looking up at him innocently. Her eyes examined his face now, moving from his angry, creased eyebrows, to his green eyes, now clouded with lust and annoyance. Breaths were shallowly escaping from his beautiful nose, his lips were wet with his saliva and pink from biting them. She licked her own at the sight of their puffy state, and bit her lip at his stubble, remembering the tickle of the coarse little hairs of his jaw between her thighs.

She squeezed her legs instinctively when her cunt began to feel the echoes of pleasure from his tongue. Her eyes fluttered back up to his and she smiled sweetly, leaning forward to catch his lips in a kiss quicker than he could react, then she pulled away just as he was melting into it.

“I’m gonna shower now that I know you’re safe.” She put her pen down and he stood there, speechless, watching her fold the newspaper. “You know, since you were too entertained with your new friend to call or text to let me know you’re fine, or coming home late, at least.” She neatly organised her papers and he glared at her, his face hot with arousal and frustration. “You can join me, if you’d like, unless you already did that with Crowley. too,” She stood up, taking her cardigan off the chair, and finally looked up at his locked jaw. A grin spread over her lips and she made her way past him for only a few inches before he grabbed her arm firmly to stop her.

“You’re getting on my nerves,” he told her, his hot voice thick with desire and irritation. She turned around to face him and narrowed her eyes at him despite the warmth that pooled between her legs.

“You’re getting on mine,” she whispered, weakly tugging away from him. He grasped her tighter, then pulled her forward until she was pressed against his firm and warm body.

“Sit. Down,” he whispered harshly. When she didn’t listen, he manhandled her until she was turned around, and kicked the chair out with his foot for her to sit in. “Sit.”

She huffed out a defiant breath, pulling her arm out of his grip, “No.”

“Have it your way,” he growled, taking cuffs with etchings on it out of his black jacket. She looked at his face, incredulous as he took her forearm in his large hand to slap one cuff around her wrist and the other to the chair. “Sit,” he ordered, snatching the cardigan from her to drop over his duffle bag. When she didn’t listen, he gripped her shoulder tightly and he pushed her down until she plopped down on the wooden chair. She pouted at the cuffs and then glared up at him.

“You know, I can easily get out of these,” she informed him, tugging halfheartedly at the cold metal that bound her to the chair.

“So why don’t you?” He smirked, his hand gently wrapping around her throat. She instinctively circled his wrist with her free hand and he moved his to grasp the soft locks at her nape instead.

“I like this chair,” she shrugged, letting him pull her hair to force her head to tip back. He hummed softly, smirking when she hissed at the slight sting in her scalp, leaning forward to peck her lips once. He groaned softly at the spark-like feeling that covered his mouth when it immediately made contact with hers, like stardust scattering over his lips as they brushed against hers.

“Where’s Sam?” He asked softly when he let her hair go. She settled into the chair, watching him lean back to remove his jacket while biting her lip.

“Sleeping,” she replied tonelessly. She stared at his athletic body, entranced by the way he slowly slipped his indigo flannel off to be folded haphazardly over the table with his jacket. He sat on the table and grinned at her, lifting his foot between her slightly parted legs, he slowly undid the knot of his laces and then did the same to the other boot. They fell loudly on the wooden floor when he kicked them off, revealing some adorable banana socks that made her smile softly.

When she lifted her gaze up to his face, she shamelessly admired his body in the black t-shirt, the way it stretched over his chest and broad shoulders, the short sleeves exposing the muscles of his freckled arms. He was gorgeous. More importantly, he was hard. She dropped her eyes between his legs, his crotch practically right in front of her, and she cocked an eyebrow at the tent in his tight jeans. God, they did wonders for his fantastic ass.

She tugged at the cuffs, wanting to free herself of them. He looked down at her wrist and then raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” He asked innocently, using one hand to undo his belt, the other moved one of her rebellious strands of hair into place. She stared at his busy hand, her eyes glittering with excitement the way they always did with his adept skill of being able to remove his belt one-handedly rather fast. She didn’t know if she wanted to squeeze her legs together or spread them apart farther for him. “You’re so quiet,” he murmured, then he slid the belt out of his jean’s loops.

“Is there something you wanna hear, Dean?” She grumbled, her free hand reaching over to palm at his cock over his jeans.

“F-fuck,” he groaned, staring down at her hand, allowing her to touch him just for a few moments. “No touching, you’ve been too annoying tonight,” he grunted. She pouted at him, squeezing his cock defiantly. He moaned, surprised. He took her wrist quickly and used his belt to tie her only freehand to the chair.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

He glared at her and she smiled at him sarcastically, tugging at his belt to test its tightness. The leather creaked with her movement and he grinned.

He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, getting off the table to kick them off completely while looking at her to make sure she was not actually pissed at him. When she smiled at him distractedly, he removed his shirt and she licked her lips at the sight of his flat stomach and the v on his hips that led down to what she secretly wanted most, what was hidden beneath his black boxers. He had the tiniest waist too. Fuck, all those layers of clothes he wore didn’t do his gorgeous body any justice.

She was getting wetter and wetter by the second as she admired him like he was a worshipped sculpture in a museum, created by Michelangelo himself. Her body was slowly becoming warm like a spring sun and her heart was beating rapidly like the beat of a glorious song, excited to see him, to feel him, to get closer to him.

“Dean,” she said firmly. His cock jumped at the way she said his name and he looked at her face with his breath caught in his throat, and then his eyes dropped down to the creaking leather of his favourite belt and over to the clinking chains of the cuffs.

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart,” he warned her breathlessly.

She pursed her lips to stop herself from begging and she looked away from him, her eyes sticking to the blue journal Sam got her last Christmas. She didn’t want him to see the pleas in her eyes and she ignored him when he pulled his boxers down slowly. The creaking of leather, the small chains rattling, they gave her away, and she wanted to moan, to rub her thighs together, but she refused.

Her head snapped towards him when he pulled her chair she was sitting in closer to him. The wooden legs squeaked against the floor and she looked down to make sure no marks would be left behind. It would normally piss Dean off to see the wood ruined, but obviously, he could do what he wanted. She narrowed her eyes at him when she looked up at him.

Her gaze reluctantly flickered down to his cock. Even his dick was perfect, it was truly unfair. It stood erect, throbbing, pink, with mouth-watering beads of precum that made her insides quiver. She swallowed thickly and lifted her eyes back up to his stupid, smug face.

“I don’t like you right now,” she pouted, turning away from him.

He chuckled as he cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her. She kept her lips pressed together, refusing to kiss him back, and didn’t open up when his tongue swiped across the seam, silently asking for permission to enter.

He pulled away and contemplated her body language for a few moments. “Open up,” he told her darkly.

“No,” she pouted. He sighed dramatically, pushing himself off the table and she straightened up, squirming a little when he walked behind her. His fingertips gently brushed over her bare shoulders, the voltage of his touch igniting her skin like the neurons firing in her brain, and she shivered. He reached over for the hair band on the table that she had been playing with earlier and tied her hair into a messy ponytail.

She gripped the arms of the chair, panting a little when he stopped touching her. She could only feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, his nose ghosting along her jaw, and she licked her lips as they became dry with the air that slipped past her parted mouth. His lips brushed against her ear and she bit her lip, her spine tingling at the sensation of having him so close behind her without doing anything. She turned her face slightly to gaze at him and he forced her to look forward, his fingers harshly holding her jaw in place.

“Don’t,” his hushed voice warned.

He walked back around to face her, his eyes trailing over her body. He hummed softly as he looked at the cropped tube shirt she wore. The white, soft cotton covering her chest was convenient for easy removal down her body—like a skirt. And she was wearing a pink jean skirt. He got down on his knees and she blinked down at him, wiggling a little when his fingers undid the silver button at her waist.

“Up,” he told her, tugging the skirt down her hips and she did as she was told, this time. She lifted her hips up off the chair, letting him drag the skirt down her legs and off her completely. He left it with his jeans on the floor and started to pull down the shirt she was wearing that had a little pink heart at the centre. She was wearing a beige strapless bra underneath and he pouted at the sight of it. It made her break her stubborn and bratty character and she smiled at him with amusement.

He removed the shirt slowly, then reached behind her to unclasp the bra and he bit his lip at the sight of her round breasts, a hum of appreciation resounding in his chest. The sound made her shift a little in the chair, he noticed it, his ego absorbing the pleasure of knowing what the smallest things he did did to her.

Her beige panties were haphazardly hanging onto her hips from the amount of times he’d dragged clothes over them and the sight of them aroused him. “You like making things hard for me, don’t you?” He grabbed her knees and pushed them apart, then grabbed her hips and pulled them forward so her ass was barely on the chair.

“Not things,” she rolled her eyes, then very matter-of-factly said, “your cock.” She smiled innocently and he had to laugh. The sound made her eyes soften and she melted a little, a real smile spreading over her face like butter on warm pancakes.

“I don’t think I can keep you tied up for much longer,” he admitted, smiling lovingly at her. He looked away and hooked a finger under her panties to push them aside and look at her pussy.

“Well, sweetheart, I think I quite enjoy being tied up,” she told him offhandedly.

He hummed distractedly, “I can tell.”

He parted her wet folds with two fingers and she squirmed at the cool air of the room that hit her wetness and then his warm breath made her moan. She wanted to shut her legs out of sudden coyness, but his broad shoulders between her parted knees stopped her.

He suddenly flicked the tip of his tongue over her swollen clit and she gasped at the little spark of pleasure, her toes curling in her pink ankle boots. Her stomach fluttered and she looked down at him, catching his watchful gaze, and she blushed, her confidence slipping away as light travelling through vacuum space.

He noticed and smirked, nuzzling her thigh with his stubble, then kissing her pelvis. “Dean,” she whispered.

“Where’d my annoying, bratty, little girlfriend go?” He teased, then his mouth returned to her sex. He moved his tongue leisurely, tasting the arousal at her entrance with a moan, dragging his tongue through her folds, up to her clit, until she was panting heavily. He smirked, lazily continuing to massage the swollen little pearl before moving to her entrance again, just to taste her dripping juices. “You’re so wet,” he purred against her, his words muffled from him not moving away from her heat to speak.

“Shit,” she whispered, feeling conflicted on whether to stare at him or close her eyes with her head tipped back.

“Makes it real easy for my big cock to slip inside your tight.. hot.. needy little cunt.” She swallowed a moan, fidgeting with the discomfort of her arousal and the gradual attention he was giving her. He grabbed her ass, lifting it slightly off the chair, and thrusted his tongue into her entrance. Her breath hitched at the warmth inside her and she tightened around his tongue, struggling against the two different materials around her wrists that kept her bound to the chair.

He continued to plunge his tongue in and out of her, imitating the movement his cock made when he fucked her. She wanted to break out and pull his hair as she watched him, he looked too pretty and arrogant between her shaky legs. The sight of him looking at her through his beautiful, curled lashes while his nose nudged her clit made her whine, her face flushed and her skin sweaty from the intensity of his teasing.

He slipped his tongue inside her, pushing as deep as he could, and wiggled it inside her. “What the fuck?” She gasped, moaning out in surprise at the nice sensation. Then, she yelped when his tongue slipped out and he lapped at her asshole. No one had ever done that—and to be fair she did not have a long list of sex partners, there was only Dean in her list of people she’d had sex with, and he’d never done that before. “No!” She squealed, easily lowering her hips, then she pushed the chair away from him as he chuckled.

“You really don’t like that, huh?” He laughed and she smiled, shaking her head bashfully. “Okay, I’ll take note of that,” he murmured, then shuffled closer to her again. She slowly parted her thighs for him, her teeth digging into her lip, as he placed his mouth back on her sex. He parted her folds with two fingers and used his tongue to play with her clit, his tongue brushing between his fingers with each passive stroke of tongue, just to make her squirm again, and she giggled breathlessly.

“Dean,” she moaned. He pulled away at the sound and stood on his knees to kiss her. This time, she opened up to him readily. She didn’t care that he was smearing her arousal onto her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue as it rolled against hers like soft waves. He dragged his two fingers down to her wet hole, slipping his middle finger inside, pushing in and out gradually. He swallowed her moan, pushing against her lips needily, until they were kissing desperately, wishing to somehow get closer.

“I’m just waiting for you to beg, angel,” he whispered against her lips. He added another finger inside her, scissoring them inside her to prepare her for his cock. His cock which ached and hardened at the feeling of her wetness trickling down his palm and knuckles.

“I don’t do that,” she whispered defiantly. He shook his head, keeping his lips close to hers, brushing like leaves on branches did to each other, their breaths tangling. She felt lightheaded with arousal and she just wanted to eat him up like a Leviathan or something. Wow, loving aggression.

“Suit yourself,” he told her quietly. He slipped his fingers out of her and stood up, using his wet fingers to stroke his painfully erect cock. He pressed his fingers against the throbbing veins of his cock, teasing himself, massaging just underneath the head of his cock, drawing out more precum from the slit. He used his thumb to gather it, then popped his finger into her mouth so she could taste him.

She felt a new wave of wetness exude from her cunt at the taste of him, her cheeks turning warmer, redder, when he cupped the back of her head and lined his cock up with her mouth. Her mouth watered and she willfully opened up for him, letting her hot mouth engulf his heavy cock.

She looked up at him, her eyes pretty, like her red lips that rimmed his cockhead. He moaned down at the sight of her, teasing himself, testing his patience as he pushed only the tip in and out of her mouth. Her tongue teased his slit, circling the frenulum, and lapping at the precum as she drooled around him.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he praised, letting go of his cock, to push more of himself into her. She sucked at him, her tongue slithering along the bottom, moving her head back and forth, she let him guide her.

He dragged his fingers down to her chest, kneading her breasts, squeezing the warm flesh in his large hand. “I bet you’re all achy and wet, you little brat,” he growled, pushing himself all the way down her throat. She choked and made a surprised sound, her teeth brushing gently against his sensitive cock to warn him.

He hissed, pinching her nipple roughly so her throat constricted around him to stop noise from coming out, and he moaned at the feeling. He chuckled at her glare, feeling her knees try to close around his legs as he stood between them. He moaned softly again, pushing in and out of her throat roughly, her throat made obscene sounds as he fucked her face, and he stopped when he felt his orgasm approaching.

Her pretty eyes were tearing up, glassy with tears, her long lashes sticking together from a few tears that were falling from his relentless throat fucking, but she didn’t mind. He brought his hand to her reddened cheek, caressing her hot face, and brushing tears away, losing himself in his lust all at once.

He mercifully unlocked the cuffs from around her wrist and he kissed her deeply. She pulled her mouth away from him and he just stared---a gasp escaping him---as she swiftly used one hand to remove his belt from her wrist. It was faster than his brain could keep up with and before he knew it, she was pushing him into the table, her hand wrapping around his cock to stroke him quickly while her other hand moved to his nape to bring his mouth down to hers again.

He moaned loudly, shamelessly throwing his head back, abandoning her mouth as his lips parted to verbalise his pleasure. “God, I wanna make you cum like this,” she told him quietly.

“I have other plans,” he moaned. Y/N bit her lip as he spoke, her eyes sparkling with love and amusement when he looked down at her. “They involve you, only you,” he whispered and then tensed up, about to cum.

He turned them around so that she could sit on the table, easily hoisting her up with his hands on the curve of her waist, forcing her to let go of his cock all at once. He breathed shakily as his cock twitched, aching and longing to spill at last, inside her or on her heated skin. He groped her sides lovingly, worshipping her body with his big hands, squeezing the fleshy parts until he felt like he could continue without cumming in five seconds.

They both breathed heavily, their skins charged with electricity and sweaty from the heat of their aroused state. She admired him quietly, the flex in his muscles from his effort to regain control and his composure. His touch took her breath away, like his gentle kisses along her fiery skin. She didn’t want to look away from him, or stop touching him either as he mouthed at her neck and bit at her collarbones. His sharp teeth dragging along with his tongue to taste her sweat and the natural flavour of her skin beneath the sheen. His plump lips suctioned at her body, leaving behind territorial marks that he licked at while she dug her nails into his strong body.

He felt weak in the knees holding her. Felt like giving into the intoxicating urge to fuck her with abandon when he heard the soft sounds she made when he touched her, when she pulled at his hair and made him grunt. When she squirmed and dropped her forehead on his shoulder, her chest rising and falling unevenly with stuttered breaths. He made his path down to her breasts. His teeth scraped at her nipples, sucking at the tight buds as she arched into him, inviting him to give her more. He moaned softly, dragging his mouth back up to her face and dropping messy kisses along her jaw until his lips were ghosting over hers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She blinked at him, dazed with his love, her mind hazy with thoughts only of him. She held his face in her hands, confused. She didn’t stay confused much longer because he kissed her. The kiss was slow and breathy which made it even hotter. It was the way he panted against her parted lips when he pulled away—just a few millimetres, just for a millisecond, then lazily pulled her close, cupping the back of her head with one of his hands and slipped his tongue back into her mouth.

He held her waist with his other hand, pulling her closer to the edge of the table, moving himself as close as he could between her parted legs, until his hot cock was touching her warm skin. She gave him control of the kiss, melted into him as his velvety tongue swiped over hers, exploring all of her, feeling the familiar space he’d tasted many times before, until he changed the kiss again.

He pecked her lips once they’d closed up a little, and pressed firmly, like a promise. A promise that only he knew, a promise she was unaware of. She felt content, felt the worry and fear of the Mark of Cain slip from her mind when he started to undo her hair again. He was sucking on her bottom lip and tasting the ghostly remains of her favourite lip tint—rose petals—with a satisfied moan.

Once her hair was free again, he moved his hand back to his cock, and pulled away. Her mouth was red, lips swollen and gorgeous, all he wanted to do was kiss her again but he denied himself the pleasure and instead bit his lip. She moved her hands off him, placed her palms on the table and followed his gaze as he watched himself drag his leaking cock through her weeping folds.

Upon contact with her warmth, he moaned. He felt so aroused, when he towered over her, he had to place one of his hands flat on the table close to her hand to stabilise himself. She was writhing slightly, panting each time he brushed against her swollen clit, and he couldn’t even tolerate his own teasing anymore either.

He kissed her forehead like he always did, aligning the tip of his cock with her entrance and slowly pushed into her. He inspected her face to make sure she was good, groaning at the sight of pleasure that dawned on her face as he pushed in just an inch of himself. He withdrew slightly so she could adjust to the pressure and the stretch of him, then shoved in just a little more.

“Umm,” she whimpered, her hand flattening over his sweaty chest was her silent signal that she felt like she couldn’t take him. She could feel the rapid hammering of his heart against her palm and she clenched around him, eyes locking onto his to see past the madness of his lust, a tender fire that devoured everything else like a hungry beast.

He could read it all in her eyes too, her love, the way her adoring gaze blanketed over his entire soul, making him feel so loved and safe. It made his stomach flutter, made him feel like just pushing all the way in—just to feel closer to her. Instead, he brought his hand to her clit, rubbing slowly as he withdrew again and pushed back in, deeper. “You’re taking me so fucking good, baby,” he reassured her, his voice raspy and thick with lust.

The sound of him so wrecked made her shudder, temporarily closing her eyes and leaning back slightly in hopes of getting him inside her more easily. He kept his pace slow, mindful of her body, her limits, the way he always did as he pushed himself into her. He nuzzled her cheek and kissed her jaw, breathing unstably by her ear, “just a little more,” he murmured, looking away from her eyes to check that there was, in fact, just a bit more of his thick length that she had to take.

She stared at him for a few moments, studied the aroused fascination that brightened his honeydew eyes and with demure hesitation, she let herself look down too. She watched him pull out just a little, revealing how wet she left him and she gasped, a flurry of excited butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

It made him look up at her, his eyes knowing, gleaming with pride. He had her right where he wanted her, he always did. He pushed himself into her all the way, still gentle, he leaned over her a little, his arm wrapping around her waist so she’d hold onto him instead of balancing on the table, letting her adjust as he dropped kisses over her shoulders and the side of her neck. The scrape of his stubble tickled, but she found it more sexy than uncomfortable.

She wiggled beneath him, wrapping one of her arms around his neck with one hand flat on the table as she brought his mouth to hers. “I’m okay,” she murmured against his lips. He nodded and moaned softly, moving his two hands under her thighs, lifting her up slightly until she was only able to hold onto him.

He pulled his hips back and thrusted into her, feeling her arms squeeze him slightly. He cursed under his breath, twitching inside her at the feeling of her walls dragging along his cock. His pace was still slow, his breath catching as he felt the velvety ridges of her wet walls tightening around him. Only the head of his cock remained inside her and he pushed in slowly, his breaths shaky and shallow.

“Y/N,” he moaned, placing her back down when his hips were flush against hers. He gently pushed her down onto her back with a hand on her sternum. He slowly slid his hand down to her tummy, his eyes locked on hers, both of them more patient and tender than usual, but he knew the reason why as his arm ached. He lifted her feet up to the table, spreading her out more, pushing himself all the way---deeper---until he could feel her cervix if he swivelled his hips.

“Dean,” she mewled, her lips parted as she tipped her head back, her eyebrows furrowing while her eyes fluttered close. She reached out for his wrists, her hands sliding up until her hand rested over the Mark, squeezing reassuringly. He looked down at her small hand, her lavender nails creating crescent moons as she tried to reach all the way around his arm. “Please, move,” she finally begged, lifting her hips up a little to encourage him.

He admired her the whole time he started to thrust into her. His eyes stuck on her body as she jolted up the table slightly only for his hands to keep her hips planted where they were. Her breasts jiggled, abandoned and covered in small marks from his mouth and he twitched inside her, a grunt leaving his throat. Everything about her turned him on, the way they locked eyes, like a passing meteor getting pulled in by Earth’s gravity, they could only stare at each other.

He loved her so much, he didn’t want to look away. He needed her more than the air he breathed. She was everything to him. The only reason he smiled everyday, the only reason the weight of his guilt and shame didn’t crush him. It was the tenderness of her eyes like a Magellanic Cloud, the way she cut through the darkness in his life like a galaxy hurtling through space.

He, on the other hand, was a dimming and dying galaxy until she collided with him, dragging him along for the ride and perfectly melding into each other so that her stars were his, so that her planets and her suns also belonged to him, so that he could never remember or comprehend where he began or where he ended, only that he’d always find her at the end of his despair and at the start of every joy.

She brought life to him like a sun, terraforming him, blossoming his withering hopes and dreams. Her love for him grew like the universe itself, every moment expanding into the nothingness beyond, utterly unrestricted.

“Fuck, I…” he whispered brokenly. He couldn’t always bring himself to say ‘I love you’ and it frustrated him how awkward the words felt on his tongue, and it’s not like he’s never said them before. It was terrifying, especially in moments like these. It was serious and it was real. And he felt that that was exactly why he should say those words, that in moments like these it’s exactly the right moment to let them slip out. But he couldn’t. He found them easy to type, to press the button, and send it to her so she could read them.

He momentarily gave up on his admission and brought his hand down to her clit to rub quick circles. Like the final bit of pressure needed for a star to be born, the bursts of pleasure became overwhelming as she clamped down on him, drawing a growl from deep within his chest as she came. His name poured from her lips like traces of stardust and CMBR as she trembled on the table, his thumb slowly drawing out her orgasm as his warm release spurted into her.

He grunted her name mindlessly, swivelling his hips, pushing to keep his cum as deep inside her as physically possible until he was spilling out of her from how full she was. He didn’t care about what Sam would say if he walked in, he only cared about claiming her and filling her up. His soul burned with pride and fervour knowing she’d be wet and full inside for days with his cum as she walked around and worked, that her cunt and clit would be swollen from his usage for the next hours, sore from the penetration of his cock, her skin bruised by his hands and mouth, and her nipples tight from his tongue and fingers.

“Umm,” she started quietly. He snapped out of his daze, a lazy smile growing on his lips as he looked into her soft eyes, but didn’t dare to slip out of her. He lifted a hand to move a few strands of hair away from her flushed face and saw her perk up slightly. “Funny how I was annoying you earlier…” she trailed off, her fingers brushing against the Mark, relaxing him.

He hummed softly, shaking his head. “You’re not annoying,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against her cheek. She smiled at him, an adoring tenderness radiating from her features like sunlight that flustered him. “I.. I am sorry,” he whispered.

“Hmm? What for?” Her voice was quiet and curious, stunned about his second apology.

“You know.. Crowley, for not calling or texting, for everything before that if I haven’t apologised, and for everything after, just in case I’m too stupid to realise I’m wrong,” he told her, just a little bit of guilt and shame making him look away.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, like everything else about her, and he looked up at her again when she tugged at his arms. “I’m always going to forgive you,” she informed him, then shut her eyes as if he wasn’t allowed to argue with her. She hummed softly at his thoughtful silence, her hands reaching out for his hips, pulling him into her so he’d brush her cervix again as a way to distract him.

“Sam… He, uh,” Dean paused to laugh sadly, “he gave me the talk.. the ‘don’t hurt her’ talk when you and me started.. dating, when I.. popped outta Hell,” he spoke up randomly. She remembered, it felt like just yesterday he was having nightmares of what he’d done in Hell---even now, there was still the aftermath of Hell affecting him. She lifted a brow, opening her eyes, and tilting her head like a puppy to give him her undivided attention.

Then, she smiled, images of Sam acting like the overprotective brother that Dean once played entertained her. “Oh.”

“I always knew no one could love like you do, and I wanted to.. uh, hold onto that innocence, that goodness in you, your kindness… I thought it’d wither away, but looking at you now, there’s only… more of it. I don’t know how… but you still care and love and feel so deeply.” He finally pulled out of her, biting his lip as he shamelessly watched himself slip out while his cum followed.

“What are you trying to say?” She didn’t notice what he was enthralled by, too caught up in trying to analyse his words, so he blinked away his arousal and picked up his folded shirt to clean her up.

“I don’t wanna taint that, I don’t wanna ruin it, to make you… lose that. I love you so much for it, and I have… this,” he pointed to the Mark on his arm, “so I know I won’t be.. stay good.. like you. I’ll be a demon, just evil, cold, and dark…” he trailed off, focusing on cleaning her up while feeling her eyes probing his very soul without even having to slip into the doors of his eyes.

“Don’t.. do you think… that now, as a human, you’re nothing more than that?” Her voice was quiet, like she didn’t actually want to know the answer, as if it’d break her to know the truth. She shooed his hand away as she sat up, her eyes never once straying from what she could see of his face.

“Well, yeah, I mean, that’s why Cain gave me this thing, because I was worthy or whatever,” he mumbled, busying himself by putting both their dirty clothes into the duffle bag to wash later. “Not something I should be proud of bein’ worthy of,” he muttered, putting his boxers on. She was quiet for a moment and let him dress her in his flannel as she tried to find her next words.

“He’s wrong, he doesn’t know you, not really,” she started. He caged her with his arms, his hands flat on either side of her hips and he finally looked up at her, their faces really close, but far enough for her to see his scepticism. “So, he’s seen like.. point one percent of what you are, you are so much more, Dean.” She hid her face in his neck, kissing his tattoo before she pulled away to add, “I look up to you, so.. if you love who I am, just know it’s because of you… that I am this way..”

“What?” He blinked, pulling back just to make sure he heard right, his brain incapable of retaining the meaning of her words.

“What? You really don’t know?” She asked with disbelief, a sad smile washing over her face. “That’s somewhat endearing actually,” she murmured with a somewhat sad, little laugh. She scooted forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, a little sigh drifting between her lips. “The first thing I noticed when I met you was how kind you are. How you took care of Sam.. then I found out you’ve done it all your childhood and you didn’t complain.”

“It wasn’t your job, you could’ve just.. not done it, but you did. With no reward, no thanks, nothing. You could’ve lied and ‘taken care of him’---no one was watching---but you still did it, and he had a better childhood than you. In fact, he’s turned out quite wonderful. You made him want more, made him feel worthy, valuable, which is why he went off to college.”

“You shielded him as much as you could from hunting, that for him there was actually a way out. Something you couldn’t see for yourself because you made it your job to take all the weight. Then, you took care of me and tried doing the same. And.. well, if you love who I am, thank yourself, Dean. You were like a hero to me, different from your dad, different from all the hunters I’d seen, and I thought, ‘this.. he is what I want to be, not a killer, not a thoughtless, violent, bloodthirsty, unchanging hunter---a hero’. I loved you for it back then too.”

“Then, when we were hunting together---all three of us, to look for your dad… I saw more of you.. there were the random kids you saved… how gentle you were---and still are---with them. You’ve shown mercy to monsters, to people who could be considered dangerous. You changed your mind about what hunting’s all about, you’ve evolved past killing anything that isn’t human, you’ve grown, and other hunters stick with the same ‘all monsters are killers and need to die’ motto. You’ve realised that they’re just like us too. That they can be different and.. fuck, if that’s not goodness, then I don’t know what you wanna call it.”

“You’ve done everything you’ve done—even getting this damned Mark—out of love, for the world, or for Sam, or whoever, because you’re good. I’ve seen all these billions of different, tiny, bits and pieces of you, and.. to me.. you’re.. like a whole universe, filled with light, hope, love, life, sadness, pain, grief, and you’re so fucking beautiful I’m just.. overwhelmed with how much I adore you for being who you are. I would never ask you to change.”

“And you’re still trying to save everyone. You, Sam, and even Cas might not always succeed when you try to do something you think is right or good to try to save the ones you love or the world, but the point of being a good man is that you’re even trying at all. No one sees you, no one tells you to, no one thanks you for it, you just help people because it’s right, because it’s the least you could do, above all, you do it because you’re kind, Dean.”

Silence fell over them momentarily as Dean let her words sink in. His mind worked quickly to absorb her sentiment and her love for him, and he wanted to cry. Tears of happiness and adoration stung his eyes and he blinked them away, swallowing past the tightness in his throat that made a strained whimper melt away, stopping it from making its way out.

“Y/N..”

“You don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know that, I just want you to hear the truth from someone who loves you and knows who you really are. Someone who accepts you as you are and doesn’t try to change you.. or.. act like all you are is.. bad. I see you, at your core, your very soul and your mind.. all of you… is just.. glorious. Nothing needs to be added to you or changed or removed because you’re already perfect, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a daft cow and their opinions don’t matter, obviously. You’re my everything and I love you,” she murmured, smiling playfully.

“You’re so…” He broke into a smile too, his hands landed on her hips and he pulled her closer to him, their faces inching closer. Close enough for their breaths to make them dizzy with a more tender haze of desire washing over them.

“Shh, let me.. I love you,” she whispered lazily against his lips. She kissed him deeply, both of them smiling and trying not to laugh as their lips moved together.

“You’re delirious,” he mumbled, entertained by her playfulness.

She pulled away from the kiss, her legs wrapping around his hips with her ankles locked together. She nuzzled into his neck again, finding a comfortable position and whispering, “shh, I said I love you, let’s go to sleep.”

“Not in our... bed?” He suggested with a chuckle, kissing her head.

“Oh. Right.. yes.” She pulled away, hopping off the table and fixing his shirt she was wearing. He bit his lip, claiming her waist under the open shirt with his hands. He pushed the shirt open more with his forearms to admire her nakedness.

“It’s okay, I love you.” He smiled like a dork as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re adorable when you say that,” she grinned, circling his waist with her arms. He blinked down at her, his eyes lighting up when he backtracked and remembered what had slipped from his mouth.

“I.. uh, sorry for not saying it more often,” he mumbled, still a little proud of himself for saying it at all.

“Don’t worry. It’s pretty hard for me to say it to you sometimes..” she confessed bashfully. Of course she’d understand that he had difficulty saying those words, as overdue as they were. She knew he’d found other ways to express it, everything he does for her he does out of love. At least now he knows there’s nothing he needs to overthink. She really knows him. She really sees him.

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