#she’s so fucking precious like I can’t handle it

[lizzievereker]

Katherine behind the scenes of Here We Go season 2. 🥹🩷

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what’s mine is yours

synopsis. suguru is a good best friend—he shares everything. just this once, he shares you too

word count. 2.1k (it's short i promise)

contents. fem! reader, reader is suguru's girlfriend, minors do not interact, virgin satoru <3, cuckolding, fingering, safe sex (who am i ?? jk suguru would not let satoru hit raw lol), petnames (princess, baby, and sweetheart), suguru teaching satoru how to fuck <3

notes. dash pls look away. i am horny at 1 am

satoru, for all his big talk and loud front all these years, is still a virgin. suguru finds it a tad bit funny—but out of the kindness of his heart, he decides to help his best friend change that.

how? you, of course.

“be careful how you handle her,” suguru says with a sly smile, “she’s still my girlfriend—and i have to take care of her. isn’t that right, baby?” his gaze turns to you, finger stroking your cheek gently as you whimper.

“so wet,” satoru mumbles, fingers sinking curiously into your dripping cunt, flexing slowly to pump in and out of you as you whine. his fingers are long, maybe longer than suguru’s—but not nearly as skilled.

“yeah?” suguru chuckles, “bet you like that, huh? careful though, satoru—don’t get used to this. she’s still mine.”

suguru, the ever gracious best friend, has always been one to share. he decides perhaps he can extend the favor to include his girlfriend too—but you’re precious, sweet and kind and oh so doting. he can’t share you permanently. no, it’s a one time thing—after that, satoru will have to find his own perfect little pussy to savor.

“you really get all of this? all to yourself?” satoru marvels, thumbing your clit as you gasp, your hand reaching over to clutch at suguru’s pants. his hand rests over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he hums soothingly.

“yeah,” your boyfriend grins, “every day. whenever i want. right, baby?”

“uh huh,” you nod—and then you cut yourself off with a squeal when satoru’s fingertips brush against that sweet spot deep within your walls, making you flutter around him with a tight squeeze. he doesn’t find it as easily as suguru, doesn’t know how to angle and curl the tips of his fingers when he sinks into you.

and fuck, satoru thinks, suguru is so damn lucky.

“she’s a vocal one,” he chuckles, “you’ve been living the dream.”

“you should hear her when you use your mouth,” suguru chuckles—how embarrassing. you want to crawl onto his lap and hide away in his neck, hide away from satoru’s eyes that are watching you so carefully. satoru has good eyes—the best, even.

but you also like it. for some reason, when his eyes stare down at you with a darkened shade of blue you’ve never seen before, you feel the slick pooling from your core, smearing down your thighs and glossing over his fingers, wetter than ever.

satoru has that effect on people—even if he is a bit inexperienced.

“do i get to do that too?” he asks, sending your boyfriend a lopsided smirk.

suguru raises a brow, tightening his hand’s grip on yours before grunting a low, “don’t get ahead of yourself, satoru.”

“you said it yourself, suguru,” he chuckles, “what’s mine is yours.”

“not her,” suguru growls. and then, sweetly, he turns to you before pecking your forehead with a gentleness he keeps for only you. “you ready, princess?”

“princess,” satoru repeats thoughtfully, “yeah i guess you’re a bit of a princess, aren’t ya?”

“p-please,” you sniffle, tugging on suguru’s wrist, “need more, sugu.”

“yeah? he’s not doing his job, is he?” suguru pouts in sympathy, but his eyes are laced with amusement—like he’s enjoying the show in front of him. you’re sure he is, if the throbbing erection he sports is of any hint.

“hey,” satoru gasps, wounded, “i’m doing exactly what you told me—”

“here,” suguru throws him a condom, cutting him off, “put that on. you’re out of your mind if you think you’re feeling her. that’s only for me.”

“fine,” satoru huffs. you watch as he rolls the condom over his neglected cock—it’s red, swollen and aching, flushed at the tip and drooling with pre cum as he hisses when his hand wraps around it.

it’s pretty, you’ll give him that. satoru isn’t as thick as suguru, but he makes up for it by being a bit longer. he curves a bit with a thick vein running along the underside of his cock, balls heavy as they hang painfully, achingly full. he’s neatly trimmed—messy white strands of hair unlike suguru’s dark ones. you don’t know which one you prefer, if you could even pick one of you had to.

you watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his mouth parts with a low gasp when he accidentally teases the tip a bit as he clumsily works the rubber over himself. he’s sensitive at the head—just like suguru. gives those sweet little breathy whimpers when his slit is thumbed at. it’s cute, you think, maybe not as cute as suguru—but it’s still pretty adorable.

“go slow when you go in,” suguru warns, “if you hurt her, i’ll kill you.”

“she’s tough, she can take it,” satoru pats your cheek with a sly grin, “aren’t you, princess?”

“watch it, satoru,” you hear suguru growl, “don’t get too comfortable.”

“aw, it’s all in good fun, right? she’s taking it so well.”

you do take it well—you let satoru’s fingers play with your for ages, let him learn where to find that sensitive spot is in the back of your walls, let him rub your clit slowly—even if you ache for those fast circles suguru always gifts you with. and now, you’re even letting him slide into you, slowly but surely, inching his hardened cock into your impatiently wet cunt with agonizing patience.

“that feel good, baby?” suguru asks you once satoru’s buried to the hilt, splitting you almost in two as you breathe unevenly and nod. and satoru? well, he’s not faring any better—grit teeth and clenched jaw, panting harshly as he focuses on not cumming right then and there.

you’re tight—way tighter than his hand, and way warmer too. fuck suguru for making him wear the condom, and fuck suguru for landing such a perfect pussy too. he doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to using his fist after a taste of this.

“you can move now—go slow at first, and then go faster when she’s close. she likes that. and don’t forget this,” suguru’s hand travels to your clit, giving a soft little pat that makes you whimper before he rubs it with those quick circles you love so much. “she likes when you touch this too. they all do—so when you get yourself your own girl to fuck, make sure you remember that.”

“i know what the clit is,” satoru grumbles, “i’ve watched porn, y’know.”

“i bet,” suguru chuckles, “is this your first time seeing a clit in person? pretty, isn’t it? everything about her is pretty.”

“suguru,” you whine in embarrassment, burying your head back into the pillow as much as you can, “you talk so much.”

“baby,” he insists, “someone has to humble him. he’s all bark and no bite.”

“i can too bite,” satoru grunts—and to prove it, he angles his hips to pull out, almost completely, before thrusting back into you. you cry out—clutching suguru’s hand tightly as your tits bounce. satoru let’s out a choked moan, gasping as you squeeze around his sensitive cock, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure.

it’s so good. suguru has it so good. you’re so good—perfect, even.

“f-fuck, more, need more,” you sob, and because suguru can’t help himself, his hand grabs at your tit, pinching and tugging at your nipple as he lets you squeeze his other hand in yours. “please, please—faster.”

“you heard her,” suguru hums, “she needs it faster.”

satoru’s good at fucking you—for his first time, he’s got your back arching and toes curling rather quickly. the blunt head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot with ease, long and curved enough to nudge against it with every roll of his hips. of course, no one knows how to fuck you until you see stars like suguru—but he comes to a close second.

your gasps have turned into long, wanton moans, and satoru moans in sync, head falling next to yours on the pillow as his breath fans over your shoulder with every harsh pant. his hips are rutting into you, slamming desperately as he feels you squeeze around him with every deep thrust. you can hear the squelching sound of your arousal as he bullies into your dripping cunt, smeared along the insides of your thighs. it’s messy, it’s rushed, it’s desperate and it feels so, so good.

satoru has never felt this good—and you? well….you have to admit you’ve never felt like this before either. it’s new, maybe not better, but certainly not worse.

“oh, fuck,” satoru groans, voice cracking as he whines against your shoulder, “f-fuck your so tight—‘s so good. so, so good….’m not g-gonna last much longer.”

“are you close, baby?” suguru strokes your cheek, watching as your eyes squeeze and your face twists in pleasure, “can’t have him be the only one cumming. that’s no good.”

“close! ‘m…’m so close, sugu. gonna cum,” you gasp as you nod.

if satoru wasn’t so lost on the feeling of your tight walls constricting around him, fluttering so perfectly that he almost feels like he can’t move, he might have protested that you addressed suguru and not him—he’s the one fucking you after all. it should be him you’re telling that you’re close, not your boyfriend. just because suguru is your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s the one who gets to bear the reward for making you cum.

right now, that’s satoru.

“aw c’mon, sweetheart, you’re gonna—o-oh, shit,” he cuts himself off with a breathy moan, “you’re gonna make me cry. say my name too, yeah?”

“satoru,” suguru warns lowly.

“see? jus’ like that. yeah, pretty? say it just how suguru did,” satoru, murmurs against your ear, biting your earlobe softly.

your hand, much to suguru’s dismay, tugs from his grasp so your arms can wrap around satoru’s neck and cling to his large figure as he towers over you, fucking you mercilessly. his pace is frenzied now—that steady ache building up in his throbbing length is about to burst, and that coil in your belly feels like it’ll snap any second too.

“s-satoru, please—‘m c-close, so close,” you mewl, “wanna cum.”

he grins, blue eyes raking over your body as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harshly over it in that way you’ve been craving.

“yeah? you close, pretty? ‘s good to hear. i am too,” he murmurs lowly, finishing the sentence off with a shaky gasp as you squeeze around him.

and then you fall over the edge—he sends you hurtling into your high before you can ever register it. it’s new, satoru thinks—it makes his hips stutter for a second when he feels you spasm around his cock like that, sucking him in and squeezing around him enough that he chokes on a whimper and cums right then and there too. he thinks it’s a miracle he held out just long enough to cum after you, thanking anyone who’s listened to his prayers of lasting. it’s almost impossible not to finish immediately with how your walls hug around his length.

by now, his hips have lost any rhythm they might’ve had before, sloppily rutting into you as he desperately rides out his orgasm, thick ropes of cum spilling into the condom that separates him from fully feeling your warmth. he’s sensitive—his cock is throbbing even as he lets go of that built up tension in the form of white, hot release. you milk him until he’s almost certain he’s got nothing left to give, dry and worn out from the way you pulse so harshly around him.

“so good—m-make me feel so good,” satoru breathes in wonder as he finishes, thumb slowing itself along your clit before his body slumps over yours.

it’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s a mess of limbs as he rests over you, still quivering over your body from the aftershocks of his orgasm. it’s earth shattering—how you make him feel. has he really been missing out on this all this time?

“you’re heavy,” you grumble, patting at his shoulder. he chuckles into your neck, catching his breath.

“yeah? heavier than suguru?”

“i’m careful enough to collapse next to her,” suguru mutters from the side.

“fuck, that was amazing,” satoru rolls over, sprawling himself on the mattress next to you, chest heaving as he breathes, “i see why suguru spoils you so much. you keep him happy, huh?”

“oh yes,” suguru drawls, eyes narrowing. gently, he grabs your wrist and tugs at you, making you sit up as you eye the bulge in his pants and the large wet spot of pre cum staining the fabric. “you’ll see just how happy she makes me in a second here—she’s good with her mouth too.”

idk what possessed me to write this i rly don't. all i know is i want them both carnally

NO PART TWO — please STOP commenting that

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ love me, connie springer (nsfw)

thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’

“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”

connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.

you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.

your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’

you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.

“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.

“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.

you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.

“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.

you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”

your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”

with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”

connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”

you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”

connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”

a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”

connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”

“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.

“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.

“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.

connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”

“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.

“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.

you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”

connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”

you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.

“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”

“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”

suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”

more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“

“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”

it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“

“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.

“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.

“dio mio.”

[leqonsluv3r]

Can I pls request one where Leon is obsessed with his wife’s small baby bump? Like especially when she wears dresses he just can’t stop staring 🧎‍♀️🌸

baby blues

—re4!leon kennedy!husband x pregnant wife!reader

— a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, a lot of fluff, leon being the best baby daddy out there, reader kind of hates being pregnant at times, reader deals with some body issues and how their body is changing, leon is so sweet and supportive, gives cocky hot dad vibes, mentions of pregnancy pain, oral (f receiving), breast play, lots of kissing and praise, mentions of past sex, mentions of doctors offices, cursing, leon and reader being the cutest little husband and wife out there.

“you had tried. tried stretching, tried taking a pill and had tried sleeping. but everything hurt. everything. your feet, your head, your back and especially your breasts. it felt like something was tugging and poking at all the soft parts of your body. it was torture, almost. if there wasn’t a handsome man next to you, rubbing your back as you laid on your side. leon dulled the ache a little, he looked at you still like the day he met you four years ago, even when you were pregnant, fat and you felt like death had taken over certain parts of your body. leon still looked at you like you were the most precious thing. and it made you wanna cry, scream and kiss him all at the same time.”

— or reader gets pregnant and tries to come to terms with it and leon has no problem helping her out

masterlist taglist

an: thank you for the request anon <33 hope you enjoy it. this was such a cute little thing to write. might make a headcanon list soon just for this specific request :,)

you and leon had talked about kids, about babies.

about the joy it would bring both of you to have something made by the two of you. to make you both enjoy the ties of your marriage and love.

you, however didn’t expect to get pregnant so soon after your marriage. but leon…leon was hard to resist and your body craved him and it was your choice. a choice that you made over and over and over again.

until two lines changed his life and yours entirely, it was hard ignore how the both of you panicked. the excitement, nerves and the rushing of your heart beating accelerated as you stared at the test…four month ago.

you both had been so careful, so very careful, but in one night of heated touches and sloppy kisses, you decided to fuck the condom and just deal. thinking the birth control you took would be enough, but it…it was not. definitely not.

you dealt with being pregnant like a champ, or tried to. you were sore now, you were fatter and you felt like a truck had hit you when you simply moved to grab something.

you loved the idea of carrying a child in retrospect, when leon had pounded you into the mattress many times before, thinking and muttering all the obscene words and images about breeding you. you literally keened at the idea, but now, now that you were here and doing it, you wanted to rip this kid out of you.

you hurt every moment of everyday, you were tired and hungry and whenever you saw that stupid ASPCA commercial on the tv with the dogs, you started bawling like a child. it was obnoxious and to think it would only get more strenuous as the moments that passed was literal torture.

and the doctors appointments, the vitamins you had to take and the way your body changed. it was a lot to handle, you had leon. you had him to help but sometimes it didn’t feel like it was enough. you couldn’t dress like you usually did anymore and could only wear the sundresses and other dresses you had hanging in your closet.

it felt like you were playing dress up, but it was the only thing you were comfortable in these days. the only thing that fit over the bump. the only thing that made you feel pretty and not like an inflated blimp.

and the one thing besides the pain, the bloating and the never ending amount of morning sickness you’ve had to deal with…the one thing you held onto was by the end of it you would get to be a mom. leon would get to be a dad, that was the only thing that kept you tethered to reality these days.

but leon enjoyed the sight of you in your dresses, that was one thing that also kept you tethered. the way he still ate you alive with his eyes, scouring you still as if you haven’t changed at all. you would always find his blue eyes piercing into your pregnant frame whenever you’d slip on a dress for the day or when you were bare and just got out of the shower.

it made you more aroused then usual, the only thing worse was the leon never acted on it. he never once stopped you and brought you to your guys bedroom. he never offered to eat you out anymore. you didn’t know why he was staring but wouldn’t act. was he worried that he’d hurt you? or the baby? you didn’t know, you had no clue.

but it was festering, each look he gave you in your pretty little dresses with your bump of pregnancy was making your skin hotter everyday. you didn’t know how much longer of this pregnancy you could take if he didn’t act on his desires. most importantly, your own.

two weeks, later and your sick of everything.

your sick of walking, your back pain, the peeing every five minutes. just everything makes you annoyed or feel like your going to crawl out of your own skin. you don’t get comfort in bed, you toss and turn. you’re then frustrated because you can’t sleep on your stomach, you wanna rip this baby out of you and it’s only the four month mark.

leon is a saint though. he’s bringing you food, rubbing your feet, holding your hair back when you throw up from the morning sickness. you feel bad for being such a bitch, for being so mean and hormonal. you try not to snap or throw a hissy fit.

but it’s hard.

you’re also sick of the doctor asking you twenty million questions when you go to your next appointment. already fed up from lack of sleep and your bowel movements. the baby is healthy, so everyone is happy. just not you.

another thing, leon keeps eyeing you and basically fucking you with his eyes. another thing that’s just adding up into your short limit of patience. you wanna scream at him to just fuck you, do something. you need a release. and if you could do it on your own, you would. but you can’t even see over your stomach or much less reach it.

so your just stuck feeling pent up and frustrated with everything. until one day, one day you just snap. you just lose your shit. you don’t remember what really caused it to happen, maybe it was the fact that you saw leon wearing only a towel after his shower, practically making you drool.

but you lost it. you just lost it, for absolutely no reason at all.

“can you stop looking at me like that?” you say softly as you look over at him, your being patient, so patient at this point and it makes you wanna scream or cry. he’s digging for something in your shared dresser drawer at this point, minding his own business.

leon looks behind him, over his shoulder to where you sit on the bed. he raises a small brow, “i’m not even looking at you, baby. i’m getting clothes.” he says with a small hint of amusement in his voice.

“you know what i mean, leon.” you say in a annoyed tone as you shift on the bed, the many pillows for your back pain and a heating pad pressed up against it. you opted for a t-shirt of his and underwear, the only two things besides dresses that you could really stand these days.

he grabs his boxers and takes off his towel, you try to ignore the arousal that’s literally pooling uncomfortably in your underwear as you see it. your trying to stay annoyed, stay focused, but his dick is just right there. so far out of your reach but so close and you just want to pounce on him.

“i can’t stare at my beautiful wife now?” he says with a small notch in his brow, pulling his boxers up over his dick, making you disappointed and snap back into what was currently happening. you huff and rub your bump, shifting against the heating pad and pillows.

“no, you can.” you say with a small glare in his direction, “but if your not gonna do something about it, i’d rather you tell me then just…” you trail off when he crawls on the bed next to you, sitting beside you. “angel, you have something you wanna share with me?” he says in that low and intimate tone that gets your insides all bubbly.

you gnaw on your bottom lip in contemplation, “no. i don’t.” he chuckles lowly and moves even closer to you on the bed, putting his hand on your thigh and squeezing. “i hardly believe that, baby. no offense.” he says softly as he presses a kiss to your ear.

you were going to jump him if he didn’t stop this, he was teasing you. he had to be, it was ridiculous that he couldn’t even see how miserable this was making you. “can you just…?” you start and fail pathetically as you try to squirm into his touch more on your thigh.

“can i just what?” he says in a soft timbre into your ear, almost daring and pushing you to say it. to ask. you were beyond irritated and wound up now. everything hurt and your body felt hot. “can you please touch me?” you say softly, you sound whiney and desperate and it’s nothing like you. but a part of you really didn’t care anymore.

you hormonal, achy and moody beyond relief. you just wanted him to touch you, to fuck you even. it was getting annoying how much your body had craved him since you became pregnant.

he didn’t move his hand from your thigh, his breath still ghosting over your ear and the side of your face. “i am touching you, love.” he says with an arrogant smirk against your skin.

arrogant bastard. you thought to yourself, you were brazen in the moment. “it hurts, leon. just…please?” you practically whined in that moment, you didn’t like the teasing. not when your patience was already short enough as it was.

he pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head, “what hurts, baby?” he says softly as he rubs his hand up her thigh and over her bump, soothing tender circles over your body and the baby beneath.

you don’t even care anymore, the soothing feeling of his hand over your t-shirt was enough. your cheeks were red though and you guided his hand up to your swollen breasts beneath your (his) t-shirt that you wore.

“oh, honey.” he sighs softly in a contented whisper against your head, pressing a small kiss to your hairline. he doesn’t move his hand on one of your swollen breasts, just rests his hand there as if he’s just supporting it with his large hand over the fabric.

“leon…please, it hurts.” you hear yourself breathe out in a whimper, one of pain or of desire, you didn’t know. you didn’t care to know right now. “hold on, hold on.” he mumbled softly as he shifted next to you, getting closer to your side, he adjusted himself on the pillows next to you.

“can’t deny my pretty little wife. can i?” he says into your ear with a small nip as his hand squeezed and kneaded one of your swollen breasts. you couldn’t help the sound that came out of you, a mix of relief and desire that you didn’t know you could make.

he moves his lips to press against your neck, nipping and licking as he kneads your breasts, trying to make the pain subside as you moan. “feels s’good…” you mumble in between small noises.

“i know, i know. sorry, for teasing you all this time.” he mumbles into your neck, “gotta stop teasing you…” he mumbles again in between kisses as he presses one more kiss under your ear.

his hands working up your swollen and aching breasts, you could feel your panties practically dripping with release. you grab at his bicep, curling around the muscle there for balance. “please…” you whimper softly.

he moves his lips up to your ear, “what do you want? use your words, baby.” he nips at your earlobe and keeps kneading your breasts, alleviating some of the ache there.

you grip down on his bicep harder, your hormones from the pregnancy were going crazy at his touch. “anything…something, please.” you whine softly near his ear as you almost draw blood. you just needed a release and you weren’t going to get far with him kneading your breasts.

“how about i eat out that pretty pussy? hmm?” he practically purrs into your ear as one of his hands leads down from your breasts to beneath the covers. your soaked underwear beneath your rotund belly, he finds it. an amusing sound leaving his mouth at your ear, tracing the pads of his fingers over your wet slit of your underwear.

his words and his touches having a disastrous affect on your pregnant body, you felt like a match that he was striking with flame and then putting out. it was so much in the best way possible.

you just nod rapidly, emitting a small whine as you clutch his bare bicep harder. “okay, pretty girl.” he presses another kiss to your ear, smirking to himself. he traces your wet slit again, marveling at how soaked you were for him.

“practically drenching your underwear, this all for me?” he muses as he pulls back on the bed next to you, pushing the covers back from your body. your hand falling down to the sheets beneath you, “yes…” you manage to get out as he clicks his tongue. a growl almost rose from his mouth as he gets farther back on the bed, moving in between your knees.

he sees the wet patch that’s soaking your underwear, he knew you were hormonal from the pregnancy. but god, how much arousal could form just from you looking at him? it needed to be studied, but he couldn’t help but feel his ego and confidence inflate.

your bodies reaction to him would always be something he’d never get tired of. especially now when you were drenching your pretty panties.

“fuck, baby. missed this sweet pussy.” he rasps as he looks up at you with hooded blue eyes, his pupils dilated. you knew that look well enough to know that he was going to give you what you both wanted.

release.

you mewl, “please, leon. don’t wanna beg…” you try to reach down to yank his hands or his head closer but your pregnant belly stops you. he puts a hand on the inside of your thigh, “no begging required. i’m going to eat out my pretty pregnant wife. i’m hungry anyways.” he smirks devilishly as he massage the meat of your thigh.

he doesn’t waste anytime, your head hits the mountains of pillows behind you. your chest rising and falling fast beneath his t-shirt that your wearing. his hands come up to the waist band of your underwear and slowly pull them down over your hips and bent legs.

your bare pussy is on display now and you feel the cold air hit your most private parts, ones that he’s seen before but now…now that you were pregnant and carrying his child…things were different. you looked more delicious now, looked more like he could eat you out for days. eat you and fuck you until the baby came.

god help him.

he doesn’t waste anytime, none whatsoever. he’s going to give you what you want. he rubs his fingers through your arousal, spreading it everywhere and teasing you just a bit longer.

you whine, “leon, please…just stop. i want it.” he looks up at you from where he’s laying on the mattress in between your bent legs. “i know baby, just admiring how beautiful you are…everywhere.” he smirks to himself and presses a kiss to the hood of your clit.

you moan a little, he clicks his tongue. “so sensitive.” he muses, “good to know some things never change after pregnancy.” he whispers as he presses another kiss to your clit.

“fuck…leon…” you whine softly, clenching the sheets beneath you. your hormone fueled body making you out to be this whiny monster.

he just chuckles against the skin of your dripping pussy, “just sit back and relax, sweet girl. i’ve got you.” he says as he runs his hands up to the sides of your hips, holding you steady as he dips his head down.

he starts licking a long stripe up from your drenched opening to your clit, your head tilting back as you moan loudly. you never failed to amaze him, get him hard and all worked up. you both had that affect on each other, good to know it was still intact.

how had leon not done this yet? not touched you this way yet when you’d been pregnant? you were like putty in his hands right now.

he felt like an idiot.

a large one. 

he stuck his tongue into your soaked opening and licked, fucking you with his tongue as you clenched the sheets harder beneath you. “fuck, want…uhh, so fucking good!” you moan loudly, practically screaming.

he just keeps fucking you with his tongue, almost rutting his boxer clad erection into the mattress. he reached one hand down to rub his thumb over your clit, still fucking you with his tongue.

your back arches a little, as much as it can without you hurting yourself. a white knuckled grip on the mattress is all you have as he ravishes you, keeps his tongue and fingers working you into oblivion as you writhe and moan underneath him.

“leon! uhh…fuck…” you babble nonsense as you feel the coil start to build in your lower abdomen, you had never come this fast before. but the fact that you were pent up, more hormonal then usual and he was working you open with his skilled mouth and fingers…

you were fucked, figuratively and literally.

he took his tongue out of your opening moving the finger that was on your clit, down to your soaked opening. his fingers working you open now, sliding one in which causes you to release a long moan, his name rolling off of your tongue.

his mouth attaching itself to your clit and licking, sucking and swirling his tongue. he was smirking as he did it. knowing that he was gonna feel you come all over his fingers and face.

he could do this forever, keep you pregnant forever just so he could hear those pretty little sounds you made when you’d fall apart beneath him.

he kept moving his pointer finger in and out, swirling his tongue over your swollen clit as you moaned obscenely, thanking god and him and his mouth.

“just…yes! fuck! gonna cum!” you babble again, losing all rational thoughts as he continued to lick and rub and finger you. you felt helpless under his touch, but in the best way. the way that made you and the unborn baby inside of you feel safe and cherished, loved even.

he just kept it up, only breaking his licking at your clit to talk you through it, “good girl, pretty little wife gonna cum all over my fingers? huh?” he says with a raspy voice, his lips stained in a gloss of your arousal.

you moan softly in response and nod, your eyes fluttering open and shut, your pussy clenching around his fingers. pulling them out just to push another long inside of you and curl your fingers upwards until he found your magic spot.

you whine at that, smacking a hand down on the sheets underneath you. “there it is…” he muses in a low tone, “good girl, maybe if your really nice i’ll pump another baby into you tomorrow.” he says with a smirk.

you moan, “fuck…yes!” you yell out, the idea of him fucking you and promising to get you even more pregnant…it was making that band inside of you get closer to snapping.

“you’d like that wouldn’t you? filling you up with my big cock and pumping you full of my cum?” he teases as he keeps fucking you with his two fingers, the noise of your arousal would normally be a turn off but you were so close to release that you didn’t care anymore.

you moaned and nodded dumbly in response, his free hand sliding from your hip to rub over the swell of your belly. “pump another baby into you, fuck, you’d love that.” he says lowly.

“i-i would…fuck, want more babies…” you whine softly as you writhe more, some tears leaking out of your eyes. he almost growls at that, pumping his fingers harder inside of you and rubbing that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

he knew you were close, knew you were going to reach that point that made you all blissed out and needy. “cmon baby, come all over my fingers. know you can.” he encouraged with a kiss to your clit, his free hand still rubbing over your belly.

all it took was him talking more, working you up with his sweet words and his fingers hitting the mark over and over again inside of you. you moaned loudly, clenching around his fingers. your release coating all over his digits.

he didn’t say anything, just worked you through it until overstimulation set in, removing his fingers from you. he brought them both up and licked the release from his fingers.

you watched him with undivided attention, your eyes lazily opening and closing in the haze of your orgasm. he smiled softly and crawled from in between your legs to rest over you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“don’t you ever think for one second that i don’t want to fuck you, taste you or do that. i love you and i love making you fall apart. you being pregnant…has nothing to do with me holding off.” he says in a reassurance, pressing another small kiss to your lips.

being mindful as he leaned over you not to disturb the bump of your belly. your eyes locked on his as he looked down at you, “i’ve just been stressed and on edge with prepping for the baby. it’s had absolutely nothing to do with you being pregnant.” he says softly, reaching a hand up and running it through the hair at the base of your skull.

“your so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. i know you don’t see it these days. but you are even hotter now that your carrying my baby, our baby.” he explains with a gentle smile, making some water prick into your eyes.

“so don’t think for one second that i find you unattractive or that i’m teasing you on purpose.” he says with another small peck to your lips, “you understand me?”

you nod slowly as you look up at him, blinking the small amount of water away from your eyes. you should’ve never doubted him, should’ve never thought that about yourself.

and he hated that, hated that he made you doubt yourself and your body for one second. you were so beautiful, you were his and he loved you. he had loved you long before you both spoke your vows in front of god and each other.

he loved you so much, as much as you loved him. so he rolled off from hovering on top to you, cuddling his body next to yours, letting himself wrap his strong arms around your pregnant body.

he wanted to hold you close to his heart, he always did inside. he always kept you there because that’s where you deserved to be. you were his wife and the mother of his (soon to be) child.

he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, pulling the covers back up over you and him, cuddling you close. his hand rubbing over your belly with the fabric of his own t-shirt covering it. “your so very beautiful, baby. i love you so much. even when you don’t see it.” he says against the side of your head, pressing another kiss there.

you melted into his arms, your eyes fluttering close in exhaustion and in content. you didn’t feel so insecure and anxious anymore. you knew that he had been off, but he was just as stressed as you. he had to be, you were going to be a mom and he was going to be a dad.

it was a lot of pressure.

but as long as you both had each other, you knew you guys could do it. the rings on your hands symbolizing the best and worst parts of you and him, the parts that you accepted and promised to love forever.

and with him, it would never be scary. not if you had a husband like leon, and he would love you just as much as the baby inside of you.

it was a part of both of you, that could never be unloved. not if either of you had anything to say about it.

an: hope you guys enjoy. i couldn’t deny a double upload this week, my bad lol. i love you guys so much and i hope you enjoyed. happy friday!! i’m gonna be opening my requests again soon. i wrote this when i was ovulating so no harsh judgement. please reblog and like, kisses. xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl (if you wanna be on my taglist interact with the link at the beginning)



[dilemmaontwolegs]

helloooo, could you write a fic where the OC is also a f1 driver and they're Lando's rival, buutt one race weekend she goes into his driver's room to argue with him but they do more because they're both frustrated? like pure smut

The Fine Line || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!driver!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, angst, smut WC: 1.6k F1 Masterlist

No one tried to stop you as you stormed through the McLaren garage, ascending the stairs two at a time just to reach the driver's room quicker. Your heel planted on the door and it flew open with a bang and left a handle sized hole in the plaster where it struck.

"I get that you don't like me but you don't have to drive me into the fucking wall, Norris."

Lando had barely returned to the room after crashing out of the race with the collision but you were too angry to see the state of his undress, his fireproof shirt carelessly strewn across the floor.

“You really think too highly of yourself,” he scoffed, pulling the door out from the wall and slamming it closed. 

“So you didn’t cut into my line and take me out?” you dared, the video footage proof that it was exactly what he had done.

“I can’t stand you, why would I want to go anywhere near you and your precious racing line?” he growled as each step brought him closer until he was dominating your personal space.

Your lips pulled up into a taunting smirk and you tilted your head back to meet his eyes. “You are awfully close, for a man that doesn’t want to be near me.”

His eyes traced the curve of your lips before he dragged them back to your eyes and he dipped his head to whisper in your ear.  “You came here first.”

Your mouth was dry as you swallowed and the room suddenly felt too hot. “Because you put me into a fucking wall, Norris.”

“This is putting you into a wall,” he said as he pushed you back. 

You waited for the impact but his arm snaked around your back and his palm cradled your head before the contact came. His entire body was pressed the length of yours and a needy whine escaped your lips as the race high and adrenaline left your body screaming for an outlet. 

“You like that? Hmm?” he smirked but you returned it as you rolled your hips and felt his erection proudly digging into your stomach.

“Don’t take it personally, Norris, it’s not you, you just have the right…bits.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He fingers toyed with the zip and your collar, waiting to see if you would slap them away in this strange game of chicken. The only sounds were the quickening of your breath and the tear of Velcro before he drew the zip down your body and saw your skin-tight fireproof shirt beneath. 

You dragged your nails down his back and smirked as he groaned at the heat that flared from the five angry red lines. Nipping at his jaw, he bucked his hips before you pushed him away. “And I don’t care.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled when he recovered and combed a hand through his messy hair. “Just admit it, you want me.”

“I want you, Lando,” you admitted as you opened the door. “I want you…to stay the fuck off my race line.”

Two Months Later You had the cash ready in hand when the knock at your door came, but it wasn’t who you expected on the other side. 

“Blocking me?” Lando huffed as he pushed his way inside your suite. “That’s fucking low.”

You rolled your eyes at the scathing attitude. “You think I wanted a penalty? I wasn’t even impeding you, there was plenty of room if you used your eyes to look for something other than the paddock bunnies.”

You started to close the door when the food you had ordered arrived, the poor man looking unsettled as his eyes danced between you and Lando. “Are you alright, ma’am? Would you like me to call security?”

The hostility was palpable and you chuckled as you took the bag, handing the money over with a sizable tip. “I can handle him, thanks.”

He clearly wasn’t all that satisfied but nodded and left, wishing you a good evening before you closed the door. The entire hotel didn’t need to hear you and Lando’s war of words. 

“You can’t even handle qualifying,” he scoffed, peeking over your shoulder into the bag. “Is that katsu?”

“Yes, and no, you are not getting any.” You wanted to eat it while it was hot but you couldn’t ignore the papaya elephant in the room. “Did you come here for anything else?”

“Like what?”

“How would I know? I don’t know what goes on in that little head of yours. But I picture it’s something like that monkey banging cymbals together on repeat.”

“You were right with the banging,” he muttered as he helped himself to your mini bar. “Wrong with the animal.”

“Gross.” Effectively put off your food, you pushed the dish away and decided a drink was better. Lando was leaning against the countertop, his legs wide manspreading and his arms crossed, trying to look dominant. He watched you bend down to grab a miniature bottle of champagne from the fridge, not bothering with a glass as you popped the cork. 

“Want a sip?” you offered. “It’s the closest you’ll get to tasting victory.”

“God I hate you,” he growled as he pushed your hand away. 

You chuckled and took a sip of the sweet bubbles. “There’s a fine line between love and hate. I think you’re just confused.”

“Okay, I love to hate you.” 

You stepped between his legs and placed your bottle next to his on the bench. He watched with half hooded eyes as you reached for his belt and made no effort to stop you from unbuckling it. “Is that why you always find a reason to come to my room?”

“Don’t act like you don’t get off on it too.” His arms uncrossed and his hands drifted over your hips before disappearing into the back pockets of your jeans where he squeezed your ass. His breath teased the shell of your ear as a hand snaked up your neck until he cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing beneath your eye as he whispered, “I remember seeing tears last time, you came so hard.”

“Those were tears of disappointment, that you couldn’t last longer,” you lied. The bastard was right, no one could make you angry like he could but it made for some explosive sex. 

“I can go all night, baby,” Lando chuckled darkly before his hand dropped to the base of your throat and he crushed his lips to yours. His fingers tightened slightly, warning you of his strength as he pulled back and bit his bottom lip in contemplation. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you again.” 

The colours of your clothes clashed as they were abandoned to the floor, his McLaren papaya and your Alpine pink proving just how badly the two together were. But it didn’t stop you from taking him to your bed, from your bodies colliding with desperate need, from crying out his name in ecstasy. 

His body bore the marks of your nails, and yours held the marks of his mouth, where he had nipped and sucked his way across your collar. There was no care given between you in the primal need to chase a high, an outlet for the fire that burned inside of you, except for where you marked each other.

“There they are,” Lando chuckled proudly as his fingers left bruises on your hips, pulling you back to meet his hips with every long hard thrust. His pace was relentless, your thighs shaking as you lost all sense of self and screwed your eyes shut as you felt them begin to sting. 

Your throat was hoarse and your lips swollen from the dominating kisses that stole the louder cries from them. His skin was slick with sweat and his breath came in quick pants as his forehead crumpled in restraint, his teeth clenched together. 

“Go on, baby, open your eyes for me,” he taunted as a tear escaped the corner, disappearing into your hair as you shook your head. “No?”

He didn’t like to be denied and his palm slapped down on your clit, eliciting a sharp whimper as it only intensified the heat in your core. Your back arched and your lips curled into a smirk before parting with a drawn out moan as he snapped his hips even faster, the room filling with the sound of his skin slapping yours. 

“Open. Your. Eyes,” he growled, pinching your nipple sharply.

“Ah,” you cried out as your eyes flew open and to meet his. The heat exploded as you came again, the waves of the orgasm rocking your entire body and his jaw fell slack at the feel of your walls clenching tight around him.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he succumbed to his own release. He pulled out and spilled himself over your stomach, fisting his cock and squeezing out every last milky drop before sitting back on his heels panting. His face was smug as he memorised the sight before him, your eyes half closed, your lips parted, the hickeys he left on your collar, the mess he left on your belly, your clit swollen and oversensitized, your cunt dripping with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He climbed off the bed, stumbling a bit with lightheadedness before catching himself and grabbing his clothes. You rolled over like a lazy cat and watched him dress just as quickly as he had undressed before leaving without a goodbye. You would have remained silent too with his exit except you heard the telltale crinkle of a paper bag and everything you felt before came crashing back.

“Get your own fucking food, Norris!”

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 19]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Frank, admittedly, isn’t as fit as he used to be. 

Running through the desert, carrying all his gear, used to be an everyday thing he could do no problem, but now, running through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he finds his breathing to be a bit labored. 

Then again, that might be because he’s pissed off. He, Jones, and Red were in the middle of setting up for a night of surveillance, something Red insisted they do, when the costumed idiot took off into the night without a word.

Normally, Red will give them the damn courtesy of letting them know before he disappears to protect his flock, so him just starting to bolt had Frank and Jones scooping up their shit and following. 

One thing Frank’s learned while working with Matt Murdock is to trust the bastard when it comes to his senses - when he says they need to clear out, there is usually a damn good reason to start running. But he has always given a reason or a head’s up - taking off like this must mean something is going down.

Jones gave up trying to keep pace a few blocks back, but Frank is determined to find out what the hell is going on. Red has the advantage of not hauling an additional fifty pounds of gear, and he has taken to parkouring over the roofs, so has gotten about a block and a half ahead. 

Frank can keep him in his sights, at least. He’s making a bee-line right towards Chelsea and that’s causing a pit to start to grow in the Marine’s stomach. Not many things override Red’s deep seeded commitment to his city and only one of those things resides outside Hell’s Kitchen. 

He adjusts his grip on his bag and forces his legs to move faster.  

The buildings around him shift from businesses to residential and about two blocks into the change, Frank knows what set the Devil off. 

His little girl is in the middle of the sidewalk, crying hysterically as her mother struggles on the ground against some fat fuck in a business suit. Frank only sees the attacker for a brief second before fury incarnate grabs him by his thick neck and slams him into the ground by Mom’s feet. The sound of a skull being cracked rings clear before it's covered by angry roars and the crunch and squelch of someone’s face being pounded in. 

By the Grace of all that is Holy, Red’s baby seems to not care her dad is about to kill a guy and scurries to her Mommy now that she is free. Frank kicks his ass into gear to get there before she can be traumatized anymore. 

He doesn’t know if the little girl recognizes him or not, but she doesn’t fight it when Frank picks her up. She clings to him desperately, burying her face against his neck and just sobbing. Instincts he forgot he had kick in and Frank bundles Minnie up in his duster, rocking her and trying to soothe her the best he can.

“Hey, hey, sweet girl, it's okay, it's okay. I gotcha. Everything’s gonna be okay, I gotcha.”

Frank cups the back of her head, careful to not tangle his fingers up in her curls and turns her away from her bloody mother. He needs to check on you, to make sure your wounds are something he can handle, and they don’t need to take you to the hospital, but he can’t do that with a crying toddler in his arms. 

“He hurt my Mommy!” The baby wails and his heart just about breaks. He wants so badly to join Red in stomping the piece of shit’s head into the pavement for endangering such a precious child, but he knows he can’t. She can’t witness any more than she already has. 

As often as Frank takes digs at Murdock for being an altar boy, he can’t let Red’s daughter see him lose control and step over the line he swore to never cross. He’d never forgive himself for causing that trauma for her. So, he hugs the little girl closer, kisses the top of her head, then grunts, “Red!”

Murdock stills mid-punch, his bloody fist raised and ready to continue his punishment. He looks feral - he is snarling, and gore has splashed up onto his face. He is shaking with rage and for a brief moment, Frank can see why he claims to have the Devil in him. Then, just as his little girl cries for her Mom again, control returns to him. Red tilts his head in a way Frank knows he heard something, then he pushes himself up into standing. 

Red rips his gloves off, throwing them to the ground, before taking the few steps to clear the gap between him and Frank. He barely starts to rasp out his daughter’s name before she’s turning in Frank’s arms and trying to throw herself to him, sobbing.

“DADDY!”

The noise Red makes is not at all human as he crushes his baby girl to his chest. A new round of loud tears start and Frank knows he has to work quickly before they start attracting attention. 

He pulls his duster off and throws it around Red’s shoulders, trying to hide his garish costume. Murdock seems to realize what he’s doing - he curls into it while ducking his horn-head and moving towards the shadows as he comforts his daughter. Frank can’t hear what he’s saying - his voice is low and the crying covers it - but honestly he doesn’t care.

He turns his attention back to your limp body on the ground, dropping down and letting his knowledge of field medicine take over.

Your forehead is bleeding pretty bad, but a quick assessment of the wound tells him it looks worse than it really is. You’ve got a pretty good gash, but it is shallow, and he doesn’t feel any bone breakage under it or swelling. You’ll need a few stitches, and a hell of a lot of ibuprofen, but you won’t need a hospital. You probably passed out from a combination of pain and exhaustion from an adrenaline rush. 

Still, Frank checks your neck before deciding to move you, just to make sure it's safe. 

As he starts to press his fingers along your spine, Jones finally makes her appearance, jogging up to the scene. 

“What the fuck?”

Frank barely looks up as he growls out his reply, focusing on his work while formulating a plan in his head, “It’s his kid.”

“Oh shit,” she replies, then after a beat, “Is he dead?”

Frank barely looks over to the beaten man in question - his chest is still rising and falling so that’s good enough for him. “Nah, not yet. Call it in - then meet us up in her apartment.” 

He rattles off the address and apartment number as he scoops you up into a fireman’s carry. He’s glad he doesn’t have far to go, because your weight, plus his gear, isn’t doing any favors to his back. As he gets you situated, Jones steps over to the attacker and nudges him in the side with her boot. His face isn’t recognizable as human, but that isn’t what she comments on. 

“What is that smell? Did he shit himself?”

“Fuck if I know, just call it in,” Frank grunts as he begins to trudge towards the right building. “Red, let's go!”

He knows he doesn’t have to explain the plan to Murdock - fucker heard him the first time. Red falls in line and by some miracle, his little girl’s crying has tampered down. She’s still crying - Frank would be more concerned if she wasn’t - but she’s tucked herself close to her Dad and seems to be just more upset than actively terrified. Frank’s got no idea what Murdock could have possibly done to soothe her, but he gives him props for doing it so damn fast. 

He can hear Jones calling for an ambulance as they enter into your building, and once in the lobby, Frank wastes no time barking another order, “Take off your helmet.” 

That earns him a glare, or what counts as a glare from the Devil, and Murdock uses one hand to pull his cowl off and stuffs it between his chest and his daughter before starting for the stairs. Frank is right at his heel and being so close means he can finally hear what Red is repeating to his girl. 

“Just listen to her heart, baby, everything’s okay. You know that sound. Just listen to her heart.”

Frank has a good guess what that means - his theory about passing out from exhaustion and pain is probably correct. If your heart isn’t in crazy panic ‘I’m dying’ mode, you should be fine after a good night’s rest. 

The only problem they encounter in the climb up to your apartment is your door. They have to do a weird song-and-dance of Frank turning so Red can get into your purse to get keys while also making sure Minnie can’t see your face. He hasn’t gotten the chance to clean you up in any way and he’s not going to let any little girl see her mom like that if he can help it. 

Once they are inside the apartment, Frank goes right to the couch to lay you out. As he does, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna call Curt.” 

Just because you don’t need a hospital doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see a medical professional. Frank knows what he is doing, but he does not trust himself to stitch up your face. Someone with delicate hands needs to do that, and the best person he knows for that is Curt. 

Murdock, however, disagrees. 

“Call Claire,” he counters firmly. 

Frank knows better than to argue - this is Murdock’s family and Frank ain’t got a dog in this fight. So, once you are down, and his gear is dropped, he fishes out his phone to call the feisty nurse. As he does, Red starts back towards what Frank assumes is the bedroom, talking in a sweet tone to his little girl, “It's okay, Frank’s gonna clean Mommy up, then we can go see her. She’s just got a scrape, everything’s okay.”

Frank focuses on his task at hand - as the line rings, he raids the kitchen for washcloths, bowls, and paper towels. He’s on his way back to the couch when Claire finally answers.

“What did he do this time?”

A little smile forms on his lips at her bluntness - he’s always liked Claire and her no-nonsense attitude. 

“Ain’t him. His girl got mugged, hit her head pretty good,” he explains, as he dips a washcloth into the water to start on cleaning you up. The cut on your forehead is still bleeding, but only a little by this point. He’ll have to retrace their steps to wipe away any blood droplets, so they don't leave a trail right to your door.

“So, take her to the ER.”

He hums at the response, then adds the crucial element, “His little girl saw it all.”

The line is silent for a good five seconds before Claire is swearing, “I’m on my way. How bad are we talking?”

He feels a little for the nurse at the moment - she’s always having to deal with Red broken and battered and is probably thinking she’s going to have to do some sort of impromptu surgery. He gives a rundown on your injuries, then adds, “Your stitches are nicer than mine.” 

“Exactly what a lady wants to hear. How’s the kid?” 

“Physically ok, but probably going to have nightmares for a while,” is his honest reply. There wouldn’t be an attacker left to pick up in an ambulance if Minnie had gotten hurt - he would have made sure of that no matter what Red would have said.

Claire groans in response, “I don’t know anything about child psychology, Frank.” 

“No one’s expecting you to.”

The nurse may be a miracle worker in the eyes of Red’s little vigilante group, but no one in this world is qualified to deal with all their mental problems.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. You’re lucky I’m on this side of town already.” 

Claire hangs up on him and Franks stuffs his phone back into his pocket. He’ll need to call Mirco later to set up a camera on your building, something similar to what he’s got for Karen, and arrange for some background checks on the neighbors. The area seems to be working class just trying to get by, but isn’t that just all of the city now? Even if one drunk-off-his-ass guy just made some stupid decision, it put you and the kid in danger and that is a no-go in Frank’s book. As much Red will huff and puff and growl, his family falls under Frank’s sphere of protection and that isn’t something Frank skimps on. 

So, a full security upgrade is in your near future. 

But that is something he’ll figure out the details for later on. Right now, he puts his full attention in cleaning you up. 

The worst of it is the cut on your forehead. He folds a washcloth and sets it on the wound to help the remaining bleeding stop, then moves onto your cheeks. You’ve got some gravel stuck there, but he doesn’t see any glass or metal. There’s some bruising, but he doesn’t think it will be anything to fuss about - it will fade away within a day or so. He’s seen worse coloring on a hickey. The bastard who attacked you didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, or he was too sloshed out of his mind to be coordinated.

 Overall, you are just pretty banged up. 

But nonetheless, Frank takes care to make sure it just looks like you are resting, even putting the throw blanket left on the couch over you to hide the grime stains on your clothes. 

Red and his creepy bat ears must be listening, because as soon as he goes to dump the bloody cleaning water, he’s coming out of the bedroom with Minnie. She’s still in his arms, clinging to his neck like a koala, but her tears have stopped. She’s still sniffling, though.

Frank hangs back as the little girl is brought to her Mommy and his heart damn near breaks again when she starts talking. 

“She’s just sleeping?” 

“She’s just sleeping,” Red confirms. He carefully kneels down beside you and makes slow, exaggerated movements as he puts his hand over your heart. “You can feel, too. Just sleeping.”

He watches as the tiny little girl untangles herself from her father and stretches to put her hand next to his. She scrunches up her nose and gets a look Frank has seen a million times on Red. 

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

“Exactly, boom. Boom. boom. The same heart-noises Mommy makes when she sleeps.” 

They stay like that for a few seconds before little hands go up to your face and Minnie is examining your cuts.

“He hurt Mommy,” she says so softly that Frank wants to stomp back downstairs and unload his Glock into the asshole. “She has ouchies.” She turns so quickly in Red’s arm that Frank sees him jump just a little - probably still on high alert - and she slaps both her hands on his cheeks, “You have to kissy it better.”

Her voice is so serious and demanding, he’s surprised Red doesn’t instantly comply. Instead, he kisses his little one’s forehead. 

“A doctor is going to come and make sure all her ouchies are taken care of. Then we can kiss it better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Her curls bounce as the little girl whips around to address Frank, ordering in the same voice, “You have to kissy it better, too.”

He damn well knows better than to argue with a three year old girl - Lisa could put him in his place like no one's business - so Frank simply nods with a, “Yes, ma’am.” Red doesn't look thrilled at the agreement, but he's not the one who's opinion Frank cares about.

Her brown eyes sus him out, narrowing a fraction before he passes whatever criteria she has and Minnie turns back to her mother and father. “When is she gonna wake up?”

“She'll wake up when she's done resting,” Murdock gently advises. “She needs lots of rest right now.” 

Frank knows what question is coming before it is even asked. It is the universal toddler question. 

“Why?”

Red, it seems, needs to spend more time with his kid because he looks completely baffled by the question. He repeats the word, which just gets parroted back at him, and Frank can practically hear Lisa and Frankie chanting along with her. 

Why? 

Why? 

Why?

Why would you need lots of rest in a way a terrified toddler would get it? There's a slight hint of panic in Red’s sightless eyes as he fights to find an answer and Frank takes pity on him. 

He steps forward and asks the little girl, “Have you ever played really hard then needed a nap after?”

Attention swings back to him but this time he is prepared for it. Minnie considers his question, then nods, and Frank gives her a soft, friendly smile. “Same thing, sweetheart. Your Mommy’s body worked really hard and now she needs a nap.” 

“She needs a nap,” the baby replies and then, to his amusement, proceeds to stuff her fingers into her mouth and suck on them. He's got no idea what that means, but Red’s shoulders relax a fraction, so he assumes it's a good thing. 

He wonders if she's starting to get tired now that the action is over. He can't imagine why they were out in the first place, but he has to guess it was to get something from the store. That is his experience with bringing a baby in their pajamas out at night - there was something needed that couldn't wait until morning. That would also explain the black bag in your purse.

He looks to Red and his girl - Murdock has sat himself on the floor beside the couch, facing you, and Minnie is tucked in his lap, sucking her fingers still. Both of their focus seems to be on you. So, Frank lets curiosity get the better of him and he goes to snoop. 

There’s a bottle of Pedialyte nestled inside the bag, and by the tiny bit missing, he has a feeling he knows who it is for. He looks from it, over to the sweet child sitting in Red’s lap, and decides she probably still needs it if her mom went out in the middle of the night for it. So, he turns his snooping to the kitchen and opens and closes cabinets until he finds the one holding sippy cups. All of them have Braille labels on them and he briefly wonders what each says before grabbing one with Big Bird on it. He gives it a good rinse before filling it up halfway with the blue liquid.

He removes his tactical vest before he heads back to the living room. He thinks of it more of a sign for Red than Minnie. The little girl might be scared of the skull art, but he hopes it will help Murdock relax. He’s putting on a good face for his daughter, but Frank can see the tension in his jaw and how on edge and angry he must be, and he can’t be blamed. He knows how emotional Red can get and he’s surprised he’s managing to keep it together - so subtly letting him know ‘there’s no danger here’ and Frank isn’t a threat to his family might just get him to stop grinding his teeth. 

He approaches slowly and somewhat loudly, while holding out the sippy cup, “Here you go, sweetie.”

Minnie blinks up at him with those wide brown eyes and he can see the exhaustion starting to creep in - getting a bottle might just knock her out. He has to lean down so she can take it, but as soon as she does, her hand drops from her mouth and she politely mumbles, “Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” Murdock questions, nose twitching to try to figure out the smell. Frank doubts he’s familiar with the drink, but soon he’ll have it memorized.

“Blue Pedi-lyte,” the baby grumbles before the spout goes right into her mouth and she starts to nurse it. Almost instantly she starts leaning back against Red’s chest and Frank knows right away she’ll be asleep within minutes. 

He checks his phone as he goes to take a seat at the kitchen table. Claire should be here any minute and it's a toss up if Jones comes up or not. He’ll wait until everything is all settled to head out - he does want to make sure you are okay and he’s not going to leave Claire alone with an upset kid and her Dad-devil. 

Frank brings up his texts to Karen to start typing out that the op is a bust, when Murdock’s quiet voice interrupts his train of thought.

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Nothing to thank me for, Red. It’s your family. You don’t gotta explain that to me.”

“Still, thank you, Frank. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Murdock.”

---

a/n: frank has entered the chat and assumed Alpha Dad role. his family now.

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath 

 @allllium

@anehkael

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

[bunnyrafe]

hiii i hope your bday dinner was good!!! i’ve been thinking about rafe teaching his sweet girl how to protect herself w guns and stuff, bc with all the obx gold antics he can’t have her caught up in the middle of everything!!! nothings gonna happen to her on his watch but he needs to make sure that even when occasionally he’s not there she can protect herself,, + she’s scared so he has to explain all that to her but she learns n he’s like proud of her n stuff 🥰

+also do we think he makes her stay home so that she’s not involved in any of the criminal activities or does he bring her everywhere with him as an accessory attached to his arm just to keep an eye on her??? (i feel like this could also go either dad bf × soft pogue or just regular canon rafe × reader too like it suits both of them really well tbh)

thank you so much baby !!! okay so. this ask has me REELINGGG. i have thoughts and a lot of them on this— i definitely think he makes her stay home during more dangerous stuff, which is a pain ‘cause she has to wonder what he’s up to all day… but for more lowkey deals and whatnot she’s 100% with him, being a passenger princess and not even thinking about whatever illegal activities they may be up to…

ugh… the day he brings home a gun for you.

just imagining he’s been out all morning, barely answering your texts and calls while you try to occupy yourself with housework ‘n breakfast. you nearly run to the door when you finally see his truck pull into the driveway.

and then suddenly he has you in the backyard before you can blink, avoiding any and all of your questions about his whereabouts but still rambling about how you two need to keep safe. mind you, you’re still in your little silk robe and pjs while he’s trying to teach you how to shoot the pink pistol he’s gotten for you on a complete whim— “y’know, jus’ in case anyone ever stops by the house to fuck with you.”

he’s got your back pressed to his broad chest, large hands on your own which are shaking, showing you how to properly hold it because a sweet thing like you has never felt the weight of a gun in your hands… yet you unfortunately trust rafe with your life so you know you’re fine and quite literally in capable hands. although it takes him a moment to convince you that this is okay.

“princess, ‘s better safe than sorry. trust me,” he goes on & on, gesticulating his words by swinging around his hand and the bottle in it, “this way— i don’t have to worry about you as much while ‘m out handling shit, y’know?”

you guess he’s right. you’re not really sure anymore, considering how paranoid rafe can be.

he takes a sip of his beer, watching you fire off once you’re feeling confident enough to pull the trigger, suddenly losing all fear of the kickback— “atta girl!” he shouts before grabbing up your waist and pulling you into him, looking down at your precious face and now blown out pupils as the adrenaline takes over.

that same night, you pray you never have to use it… but you still put it in your handbags, taking it with you wherever you go. just t’be safe, as your rafey says…

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

-

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

-

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

-

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

[princessbrunette]

Okay now you’ve got me going, princess, that was so everything, i’m feeling a little unhinged now, but i promise i’m not actually crazy. I can see him killing for her, like actually killing a persons. and she’s the the bonnie to his clyde. He takes her into his arms when she find out and she’s all distressed, and tells her how he did it for you, & how he had to protect her, how he’ll always protect her no matter what it takes, how nothing in the world is as important to him as she is, and he would do it again if it meant she could be happy. Kissing her tear stained face and whispering “We’re gonna get of this fucking island, baby, just you and me.“ promising hes going to give her the life she deserves - 🍄

♡꒰ა 🎀 ໒꒱♡

oh 1000% . because his ass always takes it too far !!!! he didn’t mean to kill them, at first anyway — but they mouthed off about you! told him if he didn’t follow through with a deal, they’d come after you! n he just can’t have that. take everything from him, sure — but they can’t ever come after you or it’s guaranteed they’re losing their life.

thinking about catching rafe in his room with messy hair n blood soaking his shirt !! the red is all on his hands and flicked in specks on his handsome face too !! he didn’t know you were home, and when you approach him with wide glassy eyes n a trembling lip he really doesn’t mean to smear blood on your cheeks when he cups them to comfort you!!!! it just happens oops :(

“baby— baby i know, i know okay? but — but i did what i had to do. okay? handled business. this shit is not simple, okay— and — and i don’t expect you to understand that baby but i need you to know that this is all for you. yeah? all of it. not gonna let anyone hurt you. not now not fuckin’ ever. yeah?” he’s just rambling at u and you’re tryna keep up !!

“h—hurt me? did someone wanna hurt me, rafe?” and you just look so precious n innocent it further cements the idea that he really did do the right thing to protect you! he licks his lips, shifting on his feet as he strokes your cheeks firmly.

“they…they weren’t gonna do shit, baby but i— i couldn’t take that risk. a’ight? had to make sure nothing came back to you. ‘cos it’s me n’you. right? nothings gonna take you from me.”

before you know it he’s pulling off you to shower off the blood n telling you to pack a bag… the two of you are going on a “nice little vacation” for a little while :((

♡꒰ა 🎀 ໒꒱♡

[mykoreanlove]

sexy brain wasn’t having it

3.25 am.

Once again Namjoon lay awake at night, anticipating the next disaster. His thoughts were racing, fueling the anxiety that was rooted deep in his heart.

„Joon“, you mumbled sleepily as you twisted in his arms.

You calling him caught him by surprise, a welcomed yet unnecessary surprise.

„Why are you awake, love?“, he whispered in his deep raspy voice.

You chuckled as you patted his buff chest. „Well Sherlock, my precious darling is awake so I can’t sleep either.“

Namjoon smiled widely as he placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

„Sorry.“

„Is something on your mind?“

He sighed, not really knowing how to articulate his thoughts.

„Do you remember when I told you about my ex? The one that cheated on me?“

You nodded silently.

„Do you also remember the girl that shot daggers at you when I took you out to dinner two days ago?“

„The one with the crazy eyes?“

A sad laugh escaped his lips. „Yeah. Actually, same person.“

„No way“, you gasped, suddenly fully awake. „Why didn’t you tell me?“

„Honestly? She did some crazy things back then so I just wanted to forget her. I don’t want you to be near her. Ever.“

You tightened your grip around your boyfriend, deeply touched by his concern for you.

„You really care about me, huh?“

„Slightly“, he bickered back, making the both of you laugh.

„Are you afraid that she’s gonna do something to us?“

Namjoon closed his eyes and sighed deeply. „I expect her to.“

You drew circles on his chest, hoping this would make him calm down and drift off to sleep. It seemed like it worked, until it didn’t.

Frantic sounds alerted you both, someone was ringing the bell like crazy.

„Namjoon. Namjoon!! Open up, please.“

Her whines were slurred and chaotic. You felt him tense under your touch, unsure what to do.

„Just ignore her, Joonie. I’m sure she’s gonna leave in a minute.“

„Joon!! God damn it, Joon!!! Open the fucking door!“

Namjoon debated if he should get up, but he also feared hurting you. Suddenly, the door flung open revealing a very bad tempered Jungkook.

„Hyung, please. Go talk to her. I can’t sleep and I can’t keep listening to her begging for you. I beg you talk to that lunatic.“

You squeezed Namjoon‘s hand, encouraging him to go.

„I love you“, he whispered in your ear.

„I know“, you stuck out your tongue.

„Namjoon, fucking rap monster open this door no-„

Namjoon‘s ex swallowed her tongue as she actually succeeded with her plan - her ex was standing before her, ready to listen to her tantrum.

„Joon“, she tried hugging him but he pushed her away.

„You know what time it is?“

She nodded her head, slightly ashamed. „Joon, I am sorry but I need to talk to you. Breaking up was the worst idea we ever had.“

He rolled his eyes at her, trying to stay calm.

„Cheating on me was even dumber if you ask me.“

„I never“, she tried to defend herself but bit her tongue as she saw the hurt in his eyes.

„I’m sorry. What I did was wrong. It’s just, I couldn’t handle our love back then. You’re such a grown up and I.. I am a mess.“

Flashbacks of all the tantrums she created flashed his mind. She always argued with him, accusing him of the most disrespectful shit. Looking back he could simply laugh about this, wondering how the hell he kept up with her frantics for so long. He didn’t care about the past, nor her anymore. He only cared about you.

„I call you a cab“, he stated sternly.

„NO!“

Namjoon sighed in annoyance.

„What do you want from me? Why are you here? Do you honestly think I’d take you back? After all you put me through?“

„Why not? Because of that bitch?“, she spat out.

His nostrils flared up instantly. Namjoon would never resolve a conflict with violence, especially not with a female. He’d rather contort to hurting one emotionally.

„I don’t want you to talk about my girlfriend like that. Ever again. Understood?“

„That should be me! I’m supposed to be your girl, Joon. Don’t you remember how great we were?“

„Nah“, he replied dryly.

His ex scoffed, too many blows to her ego. „Oh please, I’ve seen her. Since when do you date someone so basic? She’s half of me anyways.“

Namjoon took out his phone and ordered a cab, making an end to this nonsense.

„What are you doing? Joon, listen to me! She’s not the one for you, can’t you see?“

He raised his left brow, holding back what he truly felt.

„She’s average. Basic. Boring. I think you should dump her. I think you should get back together with me. I think you and I should become Korea‘s hottest couple and live a beautiful life together. I think I am the love of your life!“

A real, heartfelt laugh left his lips. His ex‘ eyes widened in expectation, anticipating her victory over you.

Namjoon however disagreed.

„Thank you for telling me what you think. I however, don’t think about you. At all.“

He turned around and went inside, hoping to never end up in a situation like that ever again.

[neverchecking]

*slams open door*I see requests are open!

May I request something nsfw with one of the chain where reader doesn’t know how to swim?

Reader just randomly brings up one day that she can’t swim and ask the chain for lessons. The chain obviously isn’t gonna give up the opportunity to see her in a swimsuit help their darling

I want to say that the best swimmer amongst the chain would be the one to help her but I’m not sure who that would be?

They don’t want to overwhelm her so they decided on having 1 on 1 lessons with her would be ideal, but they’re all just fighting on who has the better swimming skills/experience

Once someone emerges victorious, whether due to a begrudgingly unanimous decision or reader just going “oh, maybe ____ is the best choice!”, they manage to find a lake separate from the others

While reader enjoys her swimming lessons, no one says the Link giving her the lessons won’t be having wandering hands ;)))

~💚

💚anon!

Last time I told someone I couldn't swim, I did not live them down. I still have not lived it down.

Slight! NSFW So Minors stay away anyway?

You didn't say if you wanted Sage or not, but I added him anyway bc I love him <3

CW: sage is a big of a perv. but c'mon. We knew that.

"C'mon in, Y/N, the waters great!"

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes-

"I'm okay for now." Your smile was as gentle as it was luminescent. Curving just enough to have the apples of your cheeks warming, but not enough to make your eyes crinkle in that positively adorable way. "Thank you for the offer though."

Re-emerging from the water, Hyrule shook his hair free of water before pushing it back. "Why not, love bug? Don't you wanna cool down?"

Staying out there meant staying out of their reach. Staying out there meant risking yourself in the elements. Staying out there put you at risk, didn't you see that?! You could get heat stroke, or sun burnt, or attacked by a rabid deer who's being chased by a feral bear. There were an unlimited number of possibilities that spelled nothing but disaster for you. And he couldn't handle losing you like that. Not in a million years.

Cherry red dusted your ears as they twitched and lowered, the tips touching your now hunched shoulders. You avoided their gazes, fiddling with the hem of your tunic. Why weren't you looking at them? Why weren't your eyes on them? WHY WEREN'T THEY THE CENTER OF YOUR UNIVERSE IN THE SAME WAY YOU WERE THEIRS?!

You mumbled something, which made their ears twitch only for it be in vein. A few glances around showed no once else had caught that either.

"Mind repeating that, dove?" Sky asked, still on shore with his own tunics half-off.

"I can't...swim." You grumbled, looking a tad more frustrated then before.

Silence.

"Well, why didn't you just say so, sunshine, I'd be thrilled to teach you." Arms wrapped around your mid-section, toned and muscled. Dark ink caught the peripheral of your vision. He all but purred into your ear before sharp canines caught the shell, gently pinching it before releasing.

"Sage-" You startled, arms flying out.

"You learned to swim with Sharks. Why the fuck would we trust you to teach them?" Hyrule snipped, eyes narrowed on their newest member. Hyrule had seen a lot in his time, don't get it twisted, but Sage was something new. A whole different creature. He was feral at best, down right savage at worst; with teeth sharper than some of their knives and a moral compass more broken than any villain he's ever faced off of. So in , what world would he trust that fucking loose canon with the most precious thing in his life?

"Because I still learned in clear waters. Not toxic dumps." Sage snapped back, those same teeth on display

"Knock it off." Time barked at the duo, glaring down Sage for his glare of disobedience before turning to his precious star shine, voice must softer than it previously was. "Have you just not wanted to learn? Or do you not have the opportunity?"

You shuffled a bit in Sage's arms. "I just- My old town was landlocked. Any lakes we had were used for fishing in the summer and frozen in the summer." You admitted. Which is a totally reasonable excuse. And not silly. And totally valid. And learning to swim is stupid and dumb anyway. >:(

The arms wrapped around your waist moved so hands could brush against your hips. Somewhere in the lake, there was a shout from Wind before a loud splash, someone throwing the poor boy deeper down stream.

"Offer still stands, I'd love to teach you, sunshine." Sage purrs, feeling your cheeks burn from where he was nuzzling into them. You hum at the offer, thinking for a second.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Sage grinned something sharp and malicious, redirecting you away from the others with a look over his shoulder.

"I'll bring 'em back when they've learned to swim. That may take all night however." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the glares directed at him.

Maybe one day they'd get to his level.

He doubted it though.

<><><><>

"That's it, sunshine, you're doing great."

"This is dumb-"

"No, you're doing so well. Just like that," His arms were spread beside him as he remained in front of you.

"Sage-"

"Shh, do you not trust me, my love?" Sage's smirk never left his face as he instead swept in closer. His one hand moved from treading water to brush up against your side. "Just like that."

Your blush deepened as he swayed his body effortlessly, laying underneath of you as he brought yours to lay over his.

"I've got you, don't you worry sunshine." His hand raised so his thumb pulled down you bottom lip. "Though, I do feel I've earned some sort of compensation. Maybe a little incentive to keep this lesson going?"

You swallowed.

"I mean...if only to continue the lessons I guess." You swallowed.

His smirk didn't ease your worries, but how could you think when all you could focus on was the blond's lips against yours?

You didn't even realized you were floating effortlessly.

Or the eyes watching your presumable private lesson, fuming in pure, red hot, anger.

[separatist-apologist]

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Nesta woke with a start to frosted windows and her ankle tied to a bedpost. “CASSIAN!” she screamed, voice hoarse from disuse.

“No need to shout,” he replied, sitting in a leather chair by an unlit fireplace. “I’ve been here the entire time.”

He had his wounded leg propped up on an ottoman. Shirtless, Cassian had on a pair of loose black basketball shorts and a pair of ankle socks, and his thigh was wrapped in a clean, white bandage. A prick of guilt slithered through her that she couldn’t quite banish despite what he’d done in response. Maybe they were even, she reasoned.

Or maybe he was a bastard who’d infiltrated her hidden life and now had her tied to a bed.

“Untie me,” she ordered, heart hammering in her chest.

Cassian cocked his head, dark hair spilling over broad, tattooed shoulders. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” “I’ll kill you,” she snapped.

He laughed. “You could have killed me days ago and you didn’t. You can’t kill me anymore than you can leave me, Nes. You know it.”

Looking up at the ceiling, Nesta reconsidered all her life choices. “Not killing you doesn’t mean I want to be with you.” “I assumed you wanted to be with me when I bent you over the kitchen table,” he deadpanned in response. 

“Let me go.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But there’s nowhere to run, Nes.”

“I’m not going—”

“Do me the favor of not lying to me,” he replied.

“Oh? Like you did?” she snapped in frustration. Cassian’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his guilt plain. “When did you decide you weren’t going to kill me?”

“Fuck, Nes, I was never planning to kill you. Ever.”

“Bullshit. Rhys sent you—”

“To keep tabs, that’s all. He wants your sister and she wants to be reunited with you and Elain. I was just watching until it was time to bring you back. I never had orders to kill you.” Nesta didn’t know how much of that she believed, despite the almost pained look on his face.

“And if he called you right now–”

“Christ, Nesta,” Cassian exploded, wincing as he rose to his feet. “Is it that difficult to believe I prefer you alive?”

“It’s difficult to believe you wouldn’t betray me if your boss told you to,” she sneered, heart racing. Nesta knew the truth—knew Cassian was no better than every other man she’d ever been with. They had no loyalty to her, and Cassian would betray her for his friends if they asked. All men did. 

Cassian untied the rope against her ankle, leaving Nesta to scramble to her feet, furious with him. She’d prove she was right. “I told the lie.”

Cassian sucked in a sharp breath. “What lie?”

Was he stupid? “The lie, Cassian. It was me—all my idea, my plan, my lie. I told Feyre to blame the murder on Rhys, I told the police it was him. This is all my fault. Does your precious Rhysand know that? Did you?”

Cassian took a breath, and then another. “So?”

Nesta blinked. “What?” “So fucking what, Nesta?” Cassian replied, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “Rhys thinks Feyre told the lie and you know what he’s doing right now?”

Nesta was too afraid to speak, to swallow the pooling saliva in her mouth. 

“He’s probably fucking her—”

“Don’t talk about her that way!” 

“No one cares about the goddamn lie, Nesta!” Cassian exploded, temper getting the better of him. “Did you think it would change my mind? Your father was a bastard—”

“Don’t talk about him that way, either!” she yelled back, not disagreeing with him. She merely wanted to fight him—if he’d told her his name was Cassian she’d have disagreed with him simply on principle. Nesta wanted to see how far she could push him before he inevitably backed off. Before he realized he wanted a fantasy and the woman beneath was no prize, nothing special. No one worth chasing across the country or obsessing over the way he was. 

“He was,” Cassian snarled as he stalked forward. “He would have done the same to you—would have traded you to someone worse if it suited him. What kind of father—”

Nesta slapped him. “Don’t,” she warned him, unable to listen to Cassian defend her. 

“Did it feel good to see his body?” Cassian asked her, gaze sharp and lethal. “Did you feel relieved knowing he couldn’t hurt you anymore? Or did you feel guilty, Nesta, that Feyre did the thing you’d always wanted to?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“I know more than you think. I worked with your father, you forget,” he replied, coming closer still. Close enough she could feel the heat radiating off him. Nesta wanted to press her face against him and tell him everything. The life before her mother died, when her parents made it clear they loved each other first and their daughters second. Realizing the blatant favoritism and how even their attention felt like a curse. The downward spiral when her mother died and the different ways he played them off one another while acting hapless and confused.

And Cassian was right. Nesta did feel relief. And guilt, because what kind of terrible daughter wished her father was dead? What kind of horrible person wished she’d had the strength to do what Feyre had? 

Cassian’s callused palm caressed her cheek. “If I had known…I’d have done it for you,” he murmured. “You’re too sweet.” “No one thinks that about me,” Nesta bit back, hating the way tears were gathering against the corner of her eyes.

“No one knows you. Not like me,” he replied, his expression cautiously guarded. This time, when Nesta raised her hand to hit him, Cassian caught her wrist. It wasn’t a bruising hold but it was firm, his eyes flashing with warning. 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Cassian breathed, crowding her personal space. “Push away everyone who loves you until you’re alone just to prove you deserve to be alone. The only person who thinks you’re unworthy of love is you, though. Not me, not your friends, and not your sisters, either.”

“What do you know about it?” she whispered, hating the hitch in her voice. Fuck him. Nesta hated him. She hated him for speaking about her insecurities with so much confidence, as if he had the right. 

“I know what it's like,” Cassian whispered in response, thumb rubbing a soft, soothing circle against her wrist. “My mom was murdered and my dad…I killed him. Hunted him down, let him see the man he refused to raise and the monster everyone said I’d be. He deserved it.”

Cassian spoke the words with such relish, his eyes bright as he conjured up memories of the past. “Would you do it again?” she asked him, throat dry.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “The only difference, I guess, would be my methods. I was too angry—I didn’t savor his pain. If I could go back, I’d prolong his suffering.”

“I think I’m a bad person,” she whispered, hating the way her body started to shake. “I couldn’t keep them safe. It was Feyre—Feyre who saved us. And she’s still…she’s in danger and I’m here, useless—”

“Don’t,” Cassian interrupted, his expression fierce. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Not in front of me.”

“Someone should,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his grasp. “What good is it to pretend otherwise?”

Cassian shook his head. “No one thinks half as harshly about you as you do.”

“I should have—”

“You’re sweet,” Cassian insisted, stepping in front of her as she tried to leave the bedroom. “My sweet Nesta.”

“No one thinks that.”

“No one knows you like I do. Someone told you you were cold and harsh, once, and you’ve never forgotten. But they were wrong about you. Let me be your weapon, Nes. Please.”

“And what do I do, then? Sit at home and—” “You asked me if I’d kill you if Rhys ordered me to?” Cassian began, eyes glittering with something that looked like triumph. “Ask me if I’d kill Rhys if you told me to.”

She just barely got the question out. “Would you?”

“Yes.” Spoken easily, without hesitation. “If you had a sword, I’d kneel and allow you to knight me. If you were a Queen, I’d beg you to make me your General. Your enemies are mine, your banner the only loyalty I know, your command my edict.”

“You like poetry now?” she asked, strangely embarrassed by his declaration.

“I read too, you know,” Cassian told her gently. But Nesta didn’t know that. While he’d been studying her, she’d been largely ignoring anything to do with him that didn’t involve his body laying atop her own. 

“You’re a bad man, Cassian,” she murmured, trying one last time. One last test, just to see, at least for now. Maybe there would be another someday, and maybe he’d let her down eventually.

But right then, Nesta saw his determination coupled with his realization he nearly had her. Damn him. 

“I never said otherwise,” he murmured, eyes soft. “I’ll be good to you, though.”

“Is this what you call good?”

He grinned. “How long did you know?”

“The minute you walked to my door,” she replied as he stared back at her incredulously. “You look nothing like a cop—”

“A compliment—”

“And also I can google. Do you think I didn’t look you all up years ago?”

“Ferye didn’t,” Cassian said with a smug smile. Nesta bit back the urge to scream a little. Feyre didn’t even google Rhys? It was so like her, to just put it all from her mind and trust that fate would guide her. And Rhys… “Is she safe?”

“Yes,” Cassian said solemnly, and Nesta believed he wouldn’t lie to her. Not about this, anyway. Nesta felt off kilter, unsure what to do or say next. It took her a moment to remember it all—he’d put a cloth over her face filled with chloroform and Gwyn and Em—

“My friends—”

Cassian grimaced. “Mor and Em are fine…well…Em is fine. Mor is…getting what she deserves, I think.”

“And Gwyn?”

“Az took her with him.”

Nesta was going to kill him. “Took her where?”

Cassian’s eyes slid to the floor. “I uh…I’m not sure.”

Nesta punched him hard in the shoulder.

“Ow! I didn’t kidnap her!”

“No, but you brought him to us!”

“Well, shit, Nes, I didn’t know he was gonna get obsessed when she put a gun in his face. Though…now that I think about it…I probably should have known,” Cassian mused, hazel eyes far away. “He’s always been…”

“Cassian, I don’t think you can judge him,” Nesta said, mind racing. Gwyn would be fine…right? “He’s not the…he wouldn’t…he respects the word no, right?”

Cassian’s eyes widened. “Of course. I’m sure he wouldn’t…do that.”

“How sure?”

Cassian’s gaze searched her own, face serious. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him for you.”

Nesta wasn’t sure she believed that, but his words soothed her a little.

“Besides, from the last update we got, it sounds like she’s giving him a difficult time.”

Nesta was tempted to press him, but Cassian turned and asked if she was ready to go home with a wariness that betrayed how nervous he was. She wasn’t leaving him, though—even if it was a betrayal of her time in witness protection. She was ready to go back to living her actual life, to stop pretending to be Agnes, a woman she hated, and living in a place she loathed.

Rhys knew the truth and he didn’t want them dead for it. And Cassian…a million memories slithered through her mind. He’d cooked with her and done yoga, and—

“Did you kill Tomas?”

“Of course,” he replied easily, tossing a couple things into an open canvas bag. Nesta didn’t know why it mattered, but she crossed the wood floor all the same to fling her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you.”

Cassian hugged her back warmly and without hesitation. She felt him inhale the scent of her hair, hand spanning the entirety of her back. “For what? I love killing.”

“Cassian…you know thats fucked up, right?”

He shrugged. “We all have our talents.”

“Take me home, Cassian,” she murmured. Cassian only smiled, lips in her hair.

“Consider it done.”

CASSIAN:

In his wildest dreams, Cassian never expected Nesta to come as easily as she did, in the end. Perched in the passenger seat, Nesta complained about the music he listened to—Divorced Dad Rock, she claimed—the route he took—What is your obsession with backroads—and the way he drove—Get your hand off my knee, Cassian. 

With any other woman, in any other circumstance, it would have been a nightmare. He’d have been ready to commit a trail of homicides before he ever reached home, but listening to Nesta settled something restless and wild in Cassian’s chest. After a lifetime of violence, she made him feel safe, somehow. 

It didn’t hurt that she had a gun holstered to her thigh and those sharp eyes kept vigil even at night. Nesta didn’t relax until the doors were locked, the curtains drawn, and the closets checked for monsters. Was it him, he wondered, that made her look? Or the life she’d lived before him? Cassian drew up the courage to ask the night before they arrived home, holding Nesta in his arms.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked into her hair, unsure what he’d say if she did.

Nesta snorted. “Of you? No.”

“Then why—”

“Habit,” she replied, reading his mind. “It doesn’t hurt anything though, does it?”

“I just needed to know.”

They fell back into silence, half asleep even as Cassian’s mind whirled. What was Rhys going to say when he came home like this? Maybe he ought to put a ring on Nesta’s finger…just in case. 

“Nes?”

She merely hummed in response.

“We should get married.”

There was a very pregnant pause in the dark. “Is there a question in there somewhere?” Nesta finally asked, rolling over so she laid on her back.

“If I ask, you might say no. I’m telling you we’re getting married.”

Nesta leaned up on her elbows while Cassian tried to suppress his grin. If he wasn’t careful, she’d shoot him again. Why did that turn him on? 

“You’re telling me?” she repeated, her voice lethally soft. “Do you want to try again? I’ll pretend I never heard you say that.”

“No.”

In that, Cassian was certain. If he gave her the option, it was too risky that Nesta would say no. She’d fight him no matter what, but this way, at least she knew the outcome. He’d take her to the altar kicking and screaming if he had to. But Nesta was going. 

“Cassian—”

Cassian had her before she could raise her fist, pinning her beneath him quickly. Using his knee to spread her legs, Cassian settled himself between her thighs before lowering her head.

“Do you imagine a life without me, Nes?��

“Maybe.”

That wounded him, though he was determined not to show it. “Oh? And how do you figure?”

“Maybe I’ll get bored of you,” Nesta said in that flippant, bratty way of hers. The words shot straight to his balls which irritated him. He was never going to win a fight against her if he couldn’t keep his body in check. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, teeth tugging roughly at the lobe of her ear. “Do you think I’ll ever be bored of you?”

“Probably,” Nesta said, though there was a breathless quality to her voice. “Maybe you’d prefer someone less difficult.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful, Nes. There will be no one else. For either of us,” he added, just in case she thought he was giving himself some sort of out. 

“Cassian—”

“You shot me, remember?” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. He would like a recreation of that moment. Nesta, gun pointed at him, Cassian, helpless. Though, he’d prefer it ended with him fucking her against a wood floor rather than picking a bullet out of his leg. 

“And that made you want to marry me?” Nesta asked, fingers brushing the stubble of his cheek.

“No,” he admitted, “though it certainly didn’t hurt anything. The sight of a gun in your hands, I just…fuck. Tomorrow. We’ll get married tomorrow.”

“How do you think we’re going to get married? We don’t have paperwork, a license—”

“I’ll figure it out,” Cassian interrupted. 

“Do I have a choice, Cass?”

“You could shoot me again. Run off, if you want. But I’d find you,” he added, just in case there was any doubt. “I’d bring you back.”

“Seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’d like it better if you were excited,” Cassian murmured, kissing just beneath her jaw. “If you said yes.”

“You’d have to ask me a question if you wanted that,” Nesta replied blithely. 

Fuck he wanted her.

“Marry me?” he asked, changing his inflection just enough it was a question.

“No.”

Cassian covered her mouth with his own, kissing her with a brutal intensity that left him breathless. Desperate. Of course she said no. She likely had to, couldn’t have said yes even if she wanted to and still it did something for him. 

“Marry me, Nesta?” he whispered again, lips inches from her own.

“No,” she said again, though there was a whine to her voice that hadn’t been there before. Cassian kissed again, and again, his tongue stroking her own as his hands began skimming down her sides. How long before she said yes? Would they be fifty years in before Nesta finally admitted she liked being his wife? Three kids, eight grandchildren later?

Cassian ignored his desperate need to hear her say yes in favor of making her want him again. It felt as though it had been a lifetime since he’d last felt her beneath him, but right then he thought if he didn’t touch her, taste her, he’d go mad from wanting. Why was she wearing so much clothing? Nesta was in one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear, all of which felt criminal right then.

He’d marry her, and then he’d keep her naked in his house, he decided. She could do whatever she wanted so long as she did it without a top. Cassian pulled it off over her head, dislodging the bun of hair she’d set just before they’d fallen asleep.

“I put moisturizer on—”

“I don’t care,” he growled, kissing her again. Fuck her skincare routine, and her pretty hair, and everything else. Cassian liked Nesta when she was fussy because it made undoing her all the more fun. Raking his fingers through her silken hair with one hand, Cassian used the other to palm her large, soft breast. He was painfully erect and making it her problem, grinding himself against her pelvis until he could feel her arousal through the thin fabric of her panties. 

“Cassian…” Nesta breathed, arching her neck as he began to drag his mouth down her skin.

“Marry me,” he replied, certain he’d be repeating this well into fucking her. 

“Shut up, Cassian,” Nesta replied, just in time for Cassian to lick her nipple. He sucked a little harder than he needed to, groaning when she arched into him. Her hand slid between his legs for his cock, squeezing a warning.

“Do that again,” she whispered, her eyes somehow bright even in the pitch dark. “I dare you.”

“Fuck,” he panted, wishing she’d keep stroking. Nesta released her grip in favor of raking her nails down his back before her palms settled on his shoulders to push him lower.

Cassian settled between her legs, peering up at her in the dark. “Are you going to marry me?”

“I guess it depends how well you do tonight,” she replied, which was an improvement from the outright no of before. 

“When have I ever done a bad job?” Cassian asked as he slid the fabric of her white panties to the side. There was something about letting her wear them that turned him on. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t, touching something forbidden. Nesta was a lady—she should have been off-limits.

And there he was, running his bloodstained hands all over her immaculate skin. This was Cassian’s religion, his home—his purpose. How could she not want to marry him when he’d never been more sure of anything in his life? That first taste of her felt holy, and when her legs fell fully open, Cassian truly believed there had to be some sort of higher power.

How else did you explain a woman like Nesta Archeron? 

Nesta’s fingers found his hair as he began to lick at her, taking his time in the dark. Where did he have to be? Outside of just returning home and telling Rhys what he’d done, Cassian didn’t need to be anywhere at all—and Rhys could wait, besides.

Rhys would wait. 

Cassian took his time, eyes adjusted to the dark as he licked slow circles around her clit. His fingers teased, using the fabric of her underwear to rile her up until Nesta was panting, thighs squeezed tight around his face.

“Cassian—”

“Are you going to marry me?”

“Cassian!” she replied, but he’d pulled away entirely to look at her. He wanted to hear her say yes—it was killing him that she wouldn’t, and if that was the only way he’d get that answer, well…

He’d done worse things than this. 

“Cassian, please,” Nesta all but begged, and he couldn’t stand that, either. Maybe it was just his aching cock begging him to get on with things, but Cassian returned his mouth to her pussy, licking faster this time because he wanted to hear her come. He’d missed the sound of her breathy sighs and the way her chest flushed red when she got close. Nesta’s legs trembled, arching and rolling against him in a mimicry of fucking. 

He needed to be inside her more than he needed anything else. Cassian pulled her close, wishing he’d sat her on his face so at least she could touch him. That was heaven and hell all at once, the desperate need to taste her and the frantic urge to fuck her. 

Cassian pulled back moments before Nesta came, panting roughly as he pulled his cock from his pants. Nesta whined, arching her back so her nipples pointed directly at the ceiling. Fuck.

“Marry me, Nesta.”

“Yes,” she replied, too lost to pleasure to think about fighting him. Cassian was quick to slide his cock into her body, using the pad of his thumb to rub her clit so Nesta came as he was entering her body. He felt her tighten around him, the sensation causing his eyes to roll up into his head. She was so wet—so warm. Cassian laid himself against, letting himself feel the waves of her pleasure against his otherwise still cock—he was too close and he hadn’t done a damn thing. 

“No take backs, Nesta,” he whispered against her ear.

“We both knew I was going to say yes,” she replied, eyes fluttering open to look at him. “I just wanted to give you a little hell.”

“I like hell,” Cassian murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “And I love you.”

Nesta smiled, a sweet smile on her lips. “I know you do.”

If he’d been in his right mind, Cassian might have demanded she say it back. It was very Nesta not to say it, to let him wonder if she meant it. But he knew, as she reached for him, that Nesta felt the same. He didn’t need words—her actions screamed it. 

Cassian had pulled himself out and was simply too drunk on the woman beneath him to care about anything else. Especially when her whole body tightened as he reentered her body, drawing a ragged whimper from Cassian’s lips. Somewhere in his head, he thought he heard Nesta asking for more. Maybe that was merely wishful thinking—Cassian couldn’t be sure.

He pumped, though, fingers slipping between their sweat slicked bodies until he found her clit again. He needed to hear her, needed to feel her. He was dangling on a precipice and yet he couldn’t finish, in part, he thought, because he wanted to feel the rhythmic clenching on his cock again.

Nesta came loud enough that if they had neighbors in the hall, they certainly heard her. Assuming, of course, the headboard knocking against the wall hadn’t alerted everyone to what they were up to. Cassian didn’t care, spilling himself right behind her the moment he felt her tighten around him like a vice. His orgasm ripped through him like a bomb, making a fool of him as he panted and pleaded her name. 

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. 

Reality slipped back in like an unwanted house guest, forcing Cassian out of Nesta so she could quickly make her way to the bathroom, complaining about how much he’d come. As if that was a bad thing. 

“Cass?” Nesta asked, naked and illuminated by the harsh glow of the bathroom lights. He was once again struck by how beautiful she was. Ethereal, like some kind of angel sent from heaven to shoot him with his own gun. 

“Yeah?” he said, eyes on her face though he was looking at her boobs through his periphery.

“Can we…stay…for a day or two? Before we go back? Just us?” she added.

Cassian grinned, beckoning for her to come join him in bed.

“Whatever you want.”

And he meant it. Whatever she wanted.

Forever.

[ashsd3ad]

# t. fushiguro — eighth world wonder.

word count: 0.8 k

tooth rotting fluff; thoughts about having a kid (toji); reader is referred to as sweet girl and it’s implied she’s mamagumi <3; this is so fucking sappy.

he thought he let it go

he was sure he had left it, everything, behind.

his pride, his feelings, they had been left to die in that wretched childhood house of his.

so why?

why was his heart racing in his chest as he laid beside her, unable to sleep?

—

lay beside me

let’s share the gloominess

hand in hand in the darkness

i feel like i’m holding my life in my fist

her face was smushed in his chest, limbs tangled in an endless knot, skin to skin. disheveled hair framed those angelic features of hers he had grown accustomed to staring at, long eyelashes gently laid on her cheeks in her apparently dreamless slumber.

her chest rose and fell steadily, soft breaths hitting his pecs, penetrating his skin and flesh, going straight to warm his battered heart.

these devils around my bed

are waiting for me to fall asleep

the room was swallowed by darkness, thoughts swirling around his tired mind. toji was never the one to ponder much about his feelings; he acted, he didn’t waste time thinking.

during some particularly silent nights though, he allowed his brain to wander, he allowed his heart to be ripped out of his chest by his own consciousness.

the reality of my nightmares scares me

a knife rips my chest apart

it’s an open heart surgery

he had promised himself to never let the muscle between his ribcage feel again, the mere thought too painful to handle. yet, here he was, cradling her body like it was made of the most precious and fragile porcelain, expertly crafted to look flawless. just for him.

with the door and windows closed

the light can’t get through

but if your caress me i can reopen my eyes

tears dry

every wound stitches itself back together

he had honestly forgotten what comfort felt like for a long time, his body and mind getting accostumed to constant stress, anxiety and loneliness, all self inflicted. but then.. she stepped into his life.

with her soft giggles, lighthearted jokes and sunny smile, and she messed everything up. every wall he’d worked so hard to put up crumbling helplessly under the weight of her gentle voice.

i promise you, i’ll learn

to not hate everything i have

both in good and bad

wether it’s rain or snow

for your name, i’ll kill.

his merciless hands had ended many lives, cold and heartless in the process, but it never came from something personal, at least that’s what he liked telling himself. he was the one who left it all behind, the small satisfaction that came with eliminating a gifted one was just a small figment of his imagination.

so why did his entire body shake in pure fury only imagining someone bringing harm to the little slice of heaven he held in his strong arms?

lay down beside me

let’s share the sun

me and you, hand in hand in the desert

but when you smile, suddenly it pours.

i know who you are

you’re splendid, like your name

such a sweet girl she was, and that’s what he always called her. his sweet girl. if toji had to be frank, it was only fitting.

saccharine voice pulling him out from far more nightmares than he liked to admit, dainty hands pulling him back to slumber, running through his unruly locks.

she was so sweet, the sweetest.

suddenly, he felt her stir in his arms, his eyes quickly darting to the digital clock on her nightstand. 3:45 am. fuck, did he wake her? were his thoughts that fucking loud?

“mhmm.. ‘ji, why aren’t you sleeping?” she said, nuzzling her face into his chest, voice still heavy with sleep.

us, a monster and a little girl

hand in hand, navigating the world

towards a new life, i’m ready

this is the ascent from rock bottom

“don’t worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout that, sweet girl, go back to sleep” he replied, voice gruff and husky, while caressing her back in an attempt to lull her back to sleep.

“why don’t you join me, mh?” she readjusted her body, face now in the crook of his neck, trailing chaste kisses all the way up to his jawline.

“don’t wanna you bein’ all grumpy in the morning" she chuckled in a whisper.

my god, what are you?

the eighth world wonder

the gods’ daughter

you who made the impossible happen

gave me my will to live back.

god she was just so fucking perfect.

his hands trailed from her back down to her waist, pulling her into him more. he needed her impossibly close, bodies melting together, never wanting to let go.

that night toji realized he’d marry her, even give her a kid. maybe he could be selfish for once, and make another little blessing for them to share.

and if the world is too small for us

we’ll redefine space and time,

us.

“yeah.. sorry for wakin’ ya doll, let’s go back to sleep, ‘aight?” he squeezed her hips gently.

i love you.

☆

this was inspired by one of my favourite songs!

listen to it here !!

| @ASHSD3AD ‘S WORD, DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE |

[moongreenlight]

It's WIP Wednesday and I'm thinking so hard about “Chateau Lobby #4 (In C for Two Virgins)” by Father John Misty that my head explodes.

Retired!Price x Divorcee/single mom!reader (titles are hard who cares)

Cw/Tw: Pressure to perform sex/sexual acts

Little 1k blurb that ends right before the smut because I just got done ovulating and the thought of writing about cock and dick is not in the cards rn.

There was never much time to date while John was working. Never enough of him to occupy all of his work and pleasure. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to spread himself thin enough to coat the surface of all his wants.

He tried for a few years, early, when he could stay out late and still feel alright putting in a full day’s work the next morning. But he’s a romantic at heart. Never found much appeal to a fast-and-loose lifestyle and eventually stopped looking for trouble in places he would find it.

He was now alone, but with more time to figure out what he really wanted after retiring. Had more of himself to portion out. Pursued his hobbies. Picked up odd contracting jobs out of a need to keep himself busy. Found trouble with a single mother and recent divorcee who hired him off of an online ad because she needed help with a few things around her new house.

He knew he was in for it the moment she opened the door. Asked her out while he was half inside a cupboard under her sink. She said no twice.

Third time’s the charm.

She must have been put on one of those religious conveyor belts and turned out like she was on a factory line- that or she had parents to piss off. Married, turned out two kids, and split young. Must have been straight out of high school, because now that the divorce is finalized she’s cheating her way through a business degree at the community college around her day job.

Still carries some of that youth and innocence in her even though she’s only a year or two his junior. In the way she snorts when she laughs and hastily covers it up by holding the back of her hand over her mouth. The three times already tonight she’s prefaced that she doesn’t kiss on the first date and she’s got a strict rule about no ‘secondary locations.’ It’s charming. Like she’s spending any fleeting moment of free time discovering herself.

And is he glad she’s wasting her precious time on him. Even more glad he caught her on a weekend where her ex had the kids, though the idea of introducing himself to her house, her innocence, her little family, was fucking intoxicating. Made him forget the two fingers of whiskey sitting up right of his plate.

He gets so tipsy on the thought of besting her rules that he can’t help but push his luck after she- ever so delicately- refused the waiter trying to drop a dessert menu at the edge of the table.

“Cheap date.”

A snort from her. She has to pull her lips away from the rim of her wine glass to stifle it. House, even though it’ll give her a headache, she says. Couldn’t possibly bring herself to spend a dime of his money further than what was necessary. Darling thing. He’d love to see how far that ‘good girl’ act went. How much pressure it could handle.

She’d probably pull him in warm. Gooey in the middle when he finally got her spread open.

“Wasn’t out to test your fiscal limits”

She dabs the corner of her smile with a napkin. It’s his turn to laugh now.

“Shame. Half my appeal is the restaurant.”

She falters for a breath. Her eyes go a bit wide, like she’s suddenly worried she hasn’t thanked him enough. Hasn’t been good enough to please him. The thought makes him ball his hand into a fist to distract from the tightness in his slacks.

“Gosh, John, and it is such a nice place. Dinner was fantastic. Thank you, really.”

Her fingers curl around his fist. She has to stretch a bit to reach him from across the table. Her fingertips don’t touch even when she tries to wrap her hand around his. Earnest is thick on her voice now. It honeys her tone. He wonders if when she pulls away she’ll leave a sugary stickiness on his skin.

He tsks, a smile flirting across his mouth. Unable to help himself. A hungry stray being tossed a hot meal.

“And how impressive would it have’t be if I had my heart set on bringing you ‘round t’mine for a nightcap?”

She wrinkles her nose at that, though there’s a glittering of humor in her eyes when she gives his hand a kittenish slap.

“You couldn’t afford it.”

Sharp as a tack.

He has to clench his jaw shut to keep from sinking his teeth into her. They ache to see if she’s candy-floss all the way through.

“No?”

“Dinner was fantastic, John. Thank you.”

She throws him a warning glance with that. There’s the faintest outline of severity blurring into the soft edges of her voice. He digs his nails into his palm.

“M’I that bad to talk to?”

He’s pulling out stops now. Ignoring the chirping alarm sounding in the back of his skull that tells him that he should be able to pick out if he’s insisting for the right reasons or not.

She’s more difficult to guilt a second time. Rolls her eyes and starts folding her napkin on the side of her plate.

“Must be.”

She is fucking delectable.

Trouble. Everything about her. Every new layer he peels back sets him ablaze. He’s smoldering in his chair, waiting for the smoke curling off the crown of his head to set off the smoke detectors.

It takes some effort, but he���s able to get her to settle on him coming ‘round to hers after dinner. ‘One drink, John. I’m serious.’ She digs her heels in a bit, but he’d already made his mind up. He’d have her. Tuck her in a paper bag and take his dessert to-go.

She makes him turn away when she punches the code into her garage opener. Says the remote in her car is dead, and while he looks around the edges of the house for security cameras, he makes a note to come back and get both of those things taken care of for her. Doesn’t like the thought of her alone in her driveway after work tired and vulnerable.

Never mind if she had to step out in the rain. Sugar melts.

He tries to convince her to sit on the couch with him while she nurses a weak pour of wine, she refuses. Sits on a plush armchair catty-corner to him in the living room and smiles while shakes her head.

“Not used to being told no?”

It’s less of a question than it is a plain statement. A surface-level observation. It should strike him as an insult, but watching the words fall from her pretty mouth made pride swell in his chest.

“Should I be?”

Trouble. He’s inching toward the line.

“You’d think.”

He wonders what she would think if he took her down to the studs. Not much of anything- if he was lucky.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

I discovered your blog a little bit ago (back when your requests were off) and got super excited when I saw that you wanted a Sam Winchester request!

So I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader is insecure about her stretch marks, but Sam reassures her and shows her that he has stretch marks too from growing so quickly and much when he was a kid going from tiny to giant in like a snap. Reader is obsessed with them now that she’s seen them (and wants to lick them ;)) snd there’s so much appreciation on both sides. Thank you so much!

Love your writing!

.⋆｡Natural Matching Tattoos｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

You never liked your body but you love Sam and he adores every part of you so maybe you should let him show you just how incredible you are

Warnings: self deprecation, fat phobic thoughts, stretch marks, fear of rejection, fluff, implied smut, reassurance 

WC: 997

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Hunting was apparently not a great form of exercise, you thought as you stood in front of your full length mirror dressed in nothing besides a bra that should’ve been thrown out years ago and your laundry day underwear. With a critical eye, you glared at the overhang of your stomach, the seam between your thighs where there should have been a gap but especially the shimmery skin stretched too far along your body. 

You tilted your head as you traced those lines with the tips of your fingers. How many things had you tried to get rid of them? How many years have you spent avoiding mirrors just because of this? You sighed dejectedly, your entire body sagging with the weight of your hate. You were exhausted with it, it ate away at you until there was only a speck of the love you once had for the body you inhabited. 

“Princess, have you seen my- oh.” Light from the hallway streamed into your room, casting a new light upon yourself which you immediately turned away from, and instead met the deep hazel eyes of your barely official boyfriend. Sam filled the doorway, his presence overwhelming.

“Sam.” You could barely breathe out his name with the massive weight of shame sitting on your chest. You felt his gaze burning into your skin as he took in every inch of your mostly naked body. Your vision wavered as tears began to build.

Yet he said nothing. “I-“ But no more words would come. This was what you feared most, that he would finally realise that he could do so much better than you, that you could never compare to Jess or Eileen or even Ruby. As you braced yourself for heartbreak, Sam stepped closer, lost in a trance.

Your arms curled around your stomach and you looked away, squeezing your eyes shut. Your fingers brushed the tell-tale smoothness of some of your stretch marks and suddenly you wanted to scream. Why couldn’t you just be fucking normal, you wanted to shout at yourself, why couldn’t you just lose the weight before he saw you naked for the first time. You expected to hear him insult you or say that you had a pretty face for someone so big, but then, just like he always managed to, Sam surprised you.

Far softer than you could ever imagine a man like him to be capable of, Sam cupped your forearms, prying them away from your body and leaving you vulnerable to him. You whimpered under your breath. There was a moment of quiet where all you could hear was his heavy breathing and your own pounding heartbeat and then-

“Gorgeous.” 

His large hands hovered over your hips like he was handling a piece of precious artwork. The calloused tips of his fingers grazed the fat along your pelvis in reverence. “I always thought you were beautiful, but now, I can’t believe that you’re real.” 

“Sam-“ Part of you wanted to stop him, to push away his affections but the way he cradled you and looked at you with those big hazel puppy dog eyes, you didn’t think you had the strength to stop him. He gave you that stupid grin of his that showed off his dimples and made his entire body light up. “But my stretch marks.” You managed to stammer out as some sort of last ditch effort to get him to realise the truth.

Finally he laid his hands on your skin and your mouth snapped shut. His thumbs brushed against said stretch marks, leaving behind a warm, buzzing sensation that you could feel in your bones. “What about them?” He murmured but you could tell that he was already lost in the texture of your skin.

“They’re ugly.” You admitted like it was some shameful secret. Sam froze for a moment and gazed deeply into your eyes. 

“You really think that?” You nodded. Your skin was cold where he let go of your hips, it made you wish that you had just kept your mouth shut and let him love those parts of you that you hated. 

You jolted forward to try and grab at his hands but they were already pulling at the buttons of his flannel with a determined look on his face. You gave an embarrassed squeak as suddenly, Sam was topless in front of you, his perfectly sculpted torso so achingly close to your hands. “Then you must think mine are ugly too then.”

In the soft light of your bedside lamp, you could see the silvery lines that trailed up his slim hips, starkly contrasted against his tanned skin. They were almost identical to your own and they were beautiful, like silver threads that had been placed upon him like jewels. You couldn’t help but reach out to them, desperate to feel them beneath your hands.

Sam chuckled deeply in his chest but did not try to stop you as you laid your palms flat against his toned stomach. “How?” Was all you could manage to say besides something else incredibly impolite about your boyfriend’s body.

“I’m 6’4 princess, and Dean will absolutely attest to the fact that I grew over a foot in one summer. I was bound to get some stretch marks.” You hummed, now understanding why Sam had been so distracted by your own body moments before. “Still think stretch marks are ugly?”

You shook your head without hesitation and he beamed. “’S like we have matching tattoos.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple as he once more wrapped you in his arms to hold you close. “That’s my girl.” You sank into his embrace, content and warm. The weight of your insecurities was slightly lessened with someone you so dearly loved taking some of the burden and you couldn’t be happier about it. Well, there was one thing.

“Can I lick ‘em?” Sam’s laugh reverberated through the room.

“Only if I can lick yours.”

SPN Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3sloth @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @km-ffluv

Supernatural

@hc-geralt-23 @mandythemint @jenniferpendragon @certifiedhunter @lover-of-books-and-te

[ironbabey]

July

Peter Parker x Reader

angst, maybe fluff?

Word Count: 1k

Inspired by the song July by Noah Cyrus

~~~~~~~~

I've been holding my breath, I've been counting to ten, over something you said

“So uh, what do ya say? Wanna give it a shot?” Please say yes please say yes please say yes-

“I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m gonna have to say no.”

No. He said no.

It took you months to work up the courage to finally tell him how you felt, ironically you told yourself the worst he could say was no. Fuck, it hurt.

You were crushed. “Oh uh, that's okay. We can just stay friends.” It’s not okay, you don’t want to be friends. Well, you do. You also wanted-no, hoped- for something more.

He smiled, god you loved that smile. It never failed to make your heart skip a beat, even breaking it at the same time.  “Glad this won’t change our friendship. I care about you a lot.” He says, you can hear the pity in his voice.

He cared, just not in the way you wanted.

I've been holding back tears, while you're throwing back beers, I'm alone in bed

You were always told rejection hurt but you didn’t think it’d be this painful. Peter went out while you were sulking in your bed. There’s more fish in the sea, right? You shouldn’t have fallen for him, everyone told you not to, and yet here you are.

How could you be so stupid?

Of course he didn’t like you.

You were nothing compared to her.

You didn't have the perfect teeth, the perfect hair, the perfect skin, the perfect...anything. You were just you.

You stupidly thought that it would be enough for him, she didn't even remember him, but you made new memories with him.

You know I, I'm afraid of change. Guess that's why we stay the same

You two were fighting now. It's your fault anyways. You lashed out on him just because he hadn’t reached out to you since that day. He's ignored your texts, calls, hell you even tried an email for the fun of it. He stilled ignored you.

The day you confessed really fucked things up.

You decided to be the bigger person and show up at his door. He would've known you were going over if he read your messages.

“I thought we agreed that wouldn’t change us. You said you wanted to be friends so why are you being such a dick?”

 “I’m being a dick? Oh, that’s real funny coming from you. I have a life full of other people, not just you. I don’t see why I have to be the one to do everything.”

You bit your lip and looked at the ground, embarrassed that you were acting childish, “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

So, tell me to leave, I'll pack my bags, get on the road

Peter let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, the soft hair you used to play with during the times you'd study together. “I think you should go. I can’t handle this—you—right now.”

You refused to cry in front of him. “Yeah, okay.” You grabbed your bag and slammed the door shut on your way out. You fucked everything up, didn’t you?

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know

A week went by, and he finally texted you, asking you to go over and talk it out. In the end you were still his best friend, and he didn't want to lose you.

You picked up a photo that was in a beautiful golden frame on the coffee table, you knew who the woman was, Peter talked about her all the time, and it killed you. You thought he was over her.

 “What are you doing with that?” He grabbed the framed photo from your hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

You blinked back the tears that were threatening to come out, “It was just sitting here, she’s pretty. Really pretty.”

Peter smiled, “Yeah, she was. The greatest too.”

‘Cause you remind me everyday, I’m not enough but I still stay

You two sat in uncomfortable silence. He wanted to make up, wanted things to be normal again, but you had other plans. You wanted answers. “What does she have that I don’t? What’s so different?”

He groaned. “Please, don’t start this right now.”

You stood up from the couch, “No! I want to know why you’re after someone who moved on. Someone who doesn't even rem-“

“She was the only one there for me through all of it! She helped me from beginning to end! I ruined everything just to make sure she got into the school she worked so hard for!" His voice went soft, he couldn't hold back the tears that went streaming down his face. His brown eyes were hardly visible through them, "She was all I had. She was the only girl that ever looked my way and actually liked me.”

Then what am I?

I've done a lot of things wrong, Loving you being one. But I can't move on

“What?”

“Then what am I?”, you repeated deep down you knew you were being a little selfish, but he had no right to say you didn't care, “I’ve been there for you. I’ve laughed with you, cried with you, I even fought with you and you’re still tossing me aside?”

“Listen-“

“No! You listen to me! I’ve done nothing but love and care about you but clearly that’s not enough! Nothing is ever enough for you! I-I’m not enough.”

Peter stood to hug you. To tell you that you was more than enough. To tell you he was just afraid of being more than what you were now.

If you want me to leave, then tell me to leave, and baby, I'll go

You moved away from his attempted hug. How dare he cry when it was him who was hurting you? “N-No, you don’t get-get to cry.” you choked out through your own tears.

“I’m sorry please just understand.” He begged.

“Tell me to leave. Tell me you don't want to see me again and I’ll stop. I’ll leave you alone just like you want.” That’s not what he wanted, not at all. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if you left him too.

“That’s not-I want you to stay.”

You remind me every day, I'm not enough, but I still stay

“Okay. I’ll stay.”