#st: plot drop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theyluvjake · 2 months ago

Text

our little secrets. — lhs

pt1 pt2 pt3 ...

Synopsis: cam boy heeseung. class president reader. the schools perfect student harbors a dirty secret, a dirty secret thats alot closer to her than she realizes. what happens when their paths cross? will they discover eachothers little secret?

MINORS DNI!

PAIRINGS - camboy!heeseung x innocent!reader

CONTENT - college au, smut & fluff with plot!! series, slow-burn, multiple chapters.

WORDCOUNT - 2.2k

WARNINGS - smut, but this chapter doesn't have anything except for masturbation, hee is kinda a perv.., reader is innocent class president who just so happens to have a secret obsession with a cam boy.. reader is a virgin, and almost completely inexperienced

NOT PROOFREAD

the schools golden girl. class president, never once has anyone even seen her with even a hair out of place. she was perfect in every way in the eyes of everyone else at the prestigious university. smart, pretty, and endlessly bubbly and kind. though she was friends with just about everyone, there was very limited people that were in her real "inner circle". the only couple of people that knew her well were her two best friends, also upper class and also very popular. yunjin and sunoo.

but then, there was lee heeseung, he wasn't the top student per-say, and he wasn't exactly "popular" but that's not to say people didn't notice him. he was definitely attractive and in an obvious way. he had a decent amount of friends due to his status as football captain. known for getting into trouble, fights, naturally, why would the two of you get along?.... complete and total opposites. .... or so it seemed.

but unbeknownst to anybody, you had a secret. a secret you would die if anyone found out. that would absolutely shatter your reputation. which is why you couldn't even tell your best friends.

one night you were scrolling on twitter when you came across a certain.... suggestive photo. you knew you shouldn't have clicked on it but it had just about hit the hour of the night when you started developing certain curiosities and you just couldn't help yourself... besides how would anyone find out?

yes. you were in college, you were 22 years old to be exact. and as embarrassing as it may seem, you didn't really have any dating experience. let alone any sexual ones. mostly due to the fact that you were more immersed in keeping up with your status and grades to be bothered with dating. its not that you didn't want a boyfriend... but you just didn't really know what to do? boys at school, honestly seemed too afraid to approach you, which ultimately led you to thinking that no one really had an interest in you. so here you were, at 2am on twitter, discovering a whole new world of pages you'd never seen before..

profile name: gamer.lhee

you read the username before your eyes wandered back down to the photo. the photo was sort of posed like a outfit-check, so at first you didn't really notice anything that was out of the ordinary. you just thought the photo was attractive... especially seeing the veiny hand that laid across his thigh. but as your eyes wandered further you could see the outline of his huge boner in the light grey sweatpants he was wearing. your eyes widened and jaw practically dropped (in preparation) before swallowing hard. you tried... (sorta), to look away but there was no use, as the pulsating between your legs was already evident.

*click* you pressed the profile icon, seeing his page littered with a plethora of pictures and short videos. along with a streaming sight & schedule linked within the bio. "Wendsdays and Fridays..." curiosity took over, as you began to scroll on the page, of course the account you were using wasn't your actual account. you were completely and fully aware of the presence you had on your public social media accounts. practically everyone from university followed you, you were their class president. if you had been liking or following anyone like this, someone would see.

and so this is how it started. a mindless scroll and now you were watching a clip on loop of some guy pumping his dick in his hand, while your own slid down into your pajama pants, feeling the warm sticky residue between the fabric of your panties. honestly, sadly and embarrassingly, you have never even fingered yourself before. you didn't exactly know what you were doing but you needed to feel something.. so just like that your fingers began to mindlessly play with your pussy, finding your clit fingers circling the bundle of nerves. — you didn't even realize how good it could feel just to to touch.. not even having to put anything inside. in all honesty that part sort of scared you a little bit.

shamefully, it was only but a few minutes until you felt your legs shaking, mindlessly whining as you imagined the filthy scene of you and this random man drilling into you.

now, you found yourself every single wednesday and friday night, logging onto his website to watch him. and it wasn't even just that he was physically attractive, and sure he was. but it was everything about him. the way he spoke, his voice, his confidence, his aura, that drew you in so deeply. and ever since then nothing and i mean nothing. else could get you off.

you kept telling yourself "its normal" "its healthy" "everyone does it" but they were just words to comfort yourself. try to hide the fact that you felt so dirty for enjoying it, feeling like a pervert for having a smallest crush on a random man on the internet to which you had never even seen his face.

or so you thought.....

—

lee heeseung. the two of you knew of each other, maybe walk past each other a few times, spoke maybe once or twice in a group setting. but it wasn't much. not much at all. he knew you were seen as "untouchable". but that didn't mean he didn't want to try. miss perfect, class president, perfect grades, perfect face. heeseung had always sort of kept his eye out on you. sure, so did pretty much every other guy in school, but with him it was different. there was something about you, actually it was everything about you. not to mention you were just about the prettiest girl to exist in his eyes.

but something about your perfect little persona made him wonder what it would be like to tear that down. what would be underneath it all? he hated himself for it, but he became borderline obsessed with the thought of ruining you. day in and day out the classes that you two shared, you were almost completely unaware of his presence, but little did you know, almost all day he was staring at you from the back of the class. eyes undressing you, imagining what you'd look like without your pretty school uniform on. fuck. he quickly shook his head trying to calm his racing thoughts. he didn't know how yet but he knew by the end of the year he had to have you. one way or another.

—

"a party..?" you sighed completely dumbfounded your best friend's had even suggested the idea.

"when have i EVER, been to a party?" your tone was completely telling of your stance on this insane suggestion.

"that's the point!!!" yunjin jumped around excitedly at the idea.

"no. no way. , don''t you think that will just make everyone i don't know.... not take me seriously?"

"who cares what they think!! its college y/n you have to go to at least one before we graduate. plus i doubt it will make anyone take you 'less seriously'... well, like as long as you don't get shit faced."

you sighed completely perplexed you were even considering the idea at all. but you couldn't lie and say that you had no interest at all, actually you did. but unlike your outgoing confident best friend, you unfortunately did sort of care what other people thought.

"fuck it. fine." you sighed and watched as yunjin and sunoo practically jumped around in circles excitedly.

"i don't really have anything to wear.." — "say less. i already have some outfits planned for us both!" yunjin smiled excitedly. what.... had you gotten yourself into.

—

it was the weekend of the party. friday night. typically you spent your friday's at home and when it got late... tuned in for a particular stream. but almost like a blessing, for some reason hee tweeted earlier in the day, he wouldn't be streaming tonight but tomorrow instead. you were just sorta glad you wouldn't have to miss it. as weird and coincidental as it was.

you yunjin and sunoo all shared a dorm, so it was easy for you all to get ready together. while yunjin was still overflowing with excitement, you on the other hand were almost a little anxious? particularly when yunjin showed you the outfit she had planned for you to wear. "no. no way. yunjin you cant be serious... will that skirt even cover my ass???" you held up the mini skirt concerningly.

she shrugged, "i don't know, doesn't matter though! anyways go try it on and see, its gonna be soo cute!!"

you sighed as you picked up the clothes heading back to your room. she had picked out a white ruffled mini skirt with a baby pink corseted top, along with some cute mary janes and thigh high socks that had small little bows at the tops. the literal only positive of the outfit, was that she at least kept your personal style in mind. only meaning the colors, frills and girlyness of it all.

when you put it on, thankfully it did cover your ass, barely. but it did. you uncomfortably tried to pull the skirt down and attempted to adjust the top so that your boobs weren't completely spilling out of it. god. what am i doing. you sighed and took another look in the mirror. you looked good, hot honestly, but it was the unfamiliarity of it all that made you uncomfortable. never once in your life have you went out of the house like this. and now, you were, and of all places, somewhere where all your fellow classmates would see you.

before long, yunjin had done a full on makeover and curled your hair perfectly. at this point your didn't even recognize yourself. "who's- AH ! omgod. y/n?!?!?" sunoo jumped dramatically when he saw the finished look, acting as if he had just saw a total stranger for a minute. and honestly, you don't blame him. "do i look ridiculous?" you squinted, though yunjin obviously had been hyping you up, you definitely needed another perspective to make sure this wasn't completely insane. "no, you look... hot. if i liked girls, i would totally-"

"ok shut up. thanks i guess.." you rolled your eyes sarcastically before the three of you made your way out of the shared dorm and drove over to the address of the house where the party was being held.

mentally preparing yourself, you took a deep breath before exiting the car, yunjin and sunoo locking arms with you as you walked together towards the house. the first think you smelled was alcohol. so much alcohol, the air was thick and the house was dimmly lit with blasting music. but what you didn't notice while you were distracted taking in the atmosphere was the people starting to stare, quietly whispering to their friends. "is that y/n?? there's no fucking way.."

to say people were shocked to see you at a frat party, was the understatement of the year. as soon as you came back to reality you could feel the stares. "is everyone looking at us.." you leaned over whispering in sunoo's ear.

"no!! definitely not! .... - they are looking at you~" he playfully winked. and as a result you just sighed as to try and shake off the anxiety overflowing through your body. the three of your finally found the kitchen where yunjin introduced you to a group of guys you hadn't even been aware she was friends with. most of them of which were on the football team. "hey sunghoon!" she smiled and walked up to the boy, "hey yun, you're attending parties now?" he laughed and she playfully hit his arm. "y/n is with you?" he not so discreetly eyed you up and down.

"yea, she made me. hey sunghoon," you smiled a bit timidly. the rest of the boys in the group introducing themselves like you all hadn't already known each other's names. you knew of each other, but didn't really know each other. "hey im heeseung,"

"yea i know! your in my economics class," you smiled,

"and lit and physics." he held his same warm smile as you looked a bit flustered, feeling a bit embarrassed for not having noticed the amount of time you two were actually together, unknowingly.

"oh yea... sorry"

the boy just chuckled softly, "no problem pretty, maybe now you'll notice me,"

you were a bit taken aback by the sudden compliment, but more-so, the way he said it.. "pretty". it was almost like you'd heard it before. but you were absolutely sure you hadn't. if you did you definitely would have remembered.

"oh my god." your heart started to race cheeks that were slightly tinged with color now completely red. "no fucking way. hee ... seung? hee? no no no there's no way." it was only just a matter of seconds to which your mind had been racing around. only snapped back into reality when you heard the voice of him again, this time he was holding out a drink for you, but your eyes went to his hands. not the cup.

"i - um i have to go.. to the b-bathroom.." you quickly almost ran through the crowd of people, muttering small excuse me's and sorry's. with no actual clue where you were even going. leaving the rest of the group utterly confused.

— tbc.

pt2.

#enhypen smut #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen series #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #heesung enhypen #heeseung hard thoughts #enha heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung #heeseung fanfic #heeseung hard hours #enhypen heeseung #our little secrets

1K notes · View notes

jacobbenisreal · 1 year ago

Text

"Damn, girl. You got those munchies, or something?" JBI asked, mostly because he remembered telling a fellow student about also finishing the oreos the last time he got them. That's when he really looked at her. "Oh, dude. You look so..." He didn't finish, since he wasn't sure who was listening. Though, it was very clear. Still, he just chuckled, because he couldn't image being stone through all this. JBI was dressed pretty comfortably, having been planning a night of blogging and watching late night movies before all of this. "Also, no thanks. Is that all the snacks you have left?"

In a shocking turn of events, Josephine had gone from playing patty cake and partaking in the devil’s lettuce with her pal Puck, to be evacuated to the gymnasium with her peers. Due to the state she was in, she couldn’t manage to find her own clothing to change into and was forced to choose from the selection of the boy’s. After a quick sniff check to make sure the clothes were clean, she opted for an old William McKinley tee shirt and boxers. Paired with shoes that were several sizes too big, she truly felt like Adam Sandler in the moment.

Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it cool.

Sitting on the ground, she is trying to ease her racing thoughts (thanks to the hash for making her a little more paranoid than usual). Knee nervously bouncing, she shoveled some of her Cheetos into her mouth. “Shit, you hungry at all? I still have some left. I did also have Oreos….but those are gone. It can be our little secret!”

#josephine st james 1;#black out plot drop;

18 notes · View notes

seiwas · 1 year ago

Text

₊˚⊹｡ i left my keys on your bedroom floor | miya atsumu

wc: 2.4k

summary: atsumu is the clumsiest guy you've ever met; nothing ever goes to plan, especially when it comes to love.

contains: f!reader, use of ‘misus’, mostly fluff with a bit of misunderstanding, reader wears heels, some swears, atsumu thinks he’s going to have a heart attack but it’s just him being him, atsumu is an idiot in love

a/n: not related to the plot, but take a chance with me and fearless remind me of atsumu’s feels in this one (and paper rings will forever be an atsumu song for me)

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

Atsumu thinks this is the dumbest fuck-up he could have ever fucked up.

Wood isn’t supposed to feel this cold, but his leg is freezing rested against it.

Is this what it means to be weak in the knees?

Out of all places, of all times, Miya Atsumu finds himself knelt down on one knee by your bedside, legs feeling like jello at his attempt to look under your bed for his apartment keys.

This wouldn’t be a problem at all, really; he kneels down all the time—for lunges during training (the bane of his existence if you ask him), for helping his Ma plant those herbs he’s sure she does for Osamu (he hates how the soil sticks to his skin), and for buckling the straps on your heels even, when you need him to (he doesn’t like it, only because he prefers you much more comfortable in softer shoes, unchafed ankles and all).

So, kneeling isn’t really that big of a deal for Atsumu—

—but you’re there, standing by the bathroom door, staring at him with overwhelming surprise, evidently anticipating something serious enough to bring tears to your eyes.

This is wrong. It isn’t at all what you’re thinking—he was just looking for his keys.

“‘Tsum…” you choke out, mouth partially covered by your shaky hand.

Fuck, if this isn’t the worst way he could possibly do this.

He’s sure his eyes are wide, brows furrowed by a mixture of worry and regret.

“Wait,” he holds two hands up, slowly coming to a stand, “S’not what ya think.”

This is seriously the dumbest way he could fuck this up.

The expression on your face drops, warmth rushing to your cheeks. If Atsumu could describe how you look, he’d call it worse than heartbreak—the horror in your eyes flashing embarrassment and the creases between your brows screaming rejection; what once were lifted cheeks have now sunk, turning into an undeniable frown.

There are tears threatening to spill from your lash line, for a different reason now, he thinks, and it’s all his fault—it makes his heart break that he’s the sole culprit.

And the sick thing is, despite all this, he still finds you the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, backlit by a halo of fluorescent white that he’s tempted to drop everything he originally planned just to do it right now.

“O-oh,” you mumble, “sorry, I just thought–” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath, “nevermind, that was stupid of me, Tsum.”

When you open your eyes, a single tear falls, and he tries not to comment on how you wipe it quickly, feigning a smile as you walk past him, mumbling something about making breakfast and preparing his lunch for when he heads out.

And, well, he feels shitty, that’s for sure. One, for making you cry, and two, for even making you think, just for a second, that he doesn’t want to marry you.

It wasn’t stupid of you to assume he was proposing at all. He’s hinted at it enough in the past few years, calling you ‘the misus’ enough times when mentioning why he’s heading home early from post-game dinners and parties. His Ma keeps a photo of you and him in his childhood home, and Osamu’s given you a family discount at Onigiri Miya now, too (which is only 1% higher than the friends one, but it’s the fact that he considers you as family that makes it feel much larger).

He likes coming home to you, likes that you don’t force him to do anything. That if he chooses to stay out, it’s all fine by you—he’s just stopped looking for that kind of life anymore; it’s a lot more fun getting to cuddle up on the couch with you.

His legs still tingle, and he crouches down again with a big sigh. The silver key is there, glistening from the light directed from his phone, and he reaches to grab it, fishing for the metal that, if he’s being quite honest, hasn’t fully served its purpose in the past three years anyway.

Four years together, and Atsumu has lived with you for most of them. The only reason you still have separate places by name is because of the apartment he owns in Osaka, meant for training season and game days.

Other than that, home has always been your place.

And lately, he’s been thinking of moving somewhere where home can now officially be both of yours—it’s the whole reason he was looking for his keys in the first place, with property managers and realtors coming in to assess the space.

The new place—he’s hoping for it to be somewhere in the middle of both you and him, maybe a bit bigger, who knows? He was planning to ask you about it after the proposal—the one he’s planned and has been trying so hard to keep a secret from you.

It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep it this hush so far. He’s got the ring, the venue, the speech, and has even asked Osamu to take the video (even though he knows he’ll never let him live down every jitter and stutter he’s bound to make). And the date, the oh-so-important Valentine’s day that you’ll both remember forever.

The living room is awfully quiet when he steps into it, no sign of you and your usual humming to whatever song’s been stuck in your head. He walks to the kitchen counter, eyeing a plate of eggs with a bit of fried rice; you packed his lunch, just like you always have—fatty tuna with some rice and vegetables on the side.

Atsumu thinks he could cry, his upper lip already trembling as he stares at the piece of paper in front of him.

Written in your delicate handwriting is a short note: ‘grabbing some grocery, be back later.’ signed with nothing—no ‘love you’, no ‘see you later’, no x’s and o’s. Just nothing. It sucks even more because the grocery is your place, your one escape when he’s upset you enough that you can’t even look at him.

Yet, you still made him breakfast, and you still packed his lunch—that’s the only thing giving him hope that he hasn’t fully fucked this up.

“Samu, I think am g’na die.”

The scenery beside him whizzes past quickly, creating a blur of blue, green, and white. His head leans against the window, and he adjusts an earbud, increasing the volume to hear the call better.

Osamu sighs on the other end, the sound of clinking pans and crinkling plastic muffled in the background.

“Y’said that t’Ma the last time, what’s it now?”

Atsumu groans, the memory still fresh in his mind; when he called his Ma a little over three years ago, he was a stuttering mess, breath unsteady and voice shaky at 1:00 a.m. The pounding in his chest would not stop, he thought for sure he was going to have a heart attack.

His Ma diagnosed him all right, called it a serious case of ‘in love with you’—because, when he recounted everything he could have done to cause any potential uptick of his heart rate, all he could talk about was you. How you held his hand and laughed at his jokes, called him handsome even when he was sweaty and gross; how you nursed him to health even though he was probably stinky and dehydrated from an insane diarrhea episode.

All these years later, and he’s even more in love with you.

“I fucked it up, ‘Samu. The plan ‘n everythin’? Poof.” he gestures with his hands, even though he knows audio call doesn’t allow him to be seen. “Dunnow if there’ll even be ‘nyone t’propose to.”

Then, he tells Osamu everything—the search for his keys, kneeling on the floor, the mistaken proposal but how he would have done it there, how he wanted to but didn’t because he actually managed to plan something and didn’t want to throw it away.

But then he said it all wrong, then you cried, and he really did mess it up; he wasn’t even able to say goodbye. He’s miss-called you thrice and you’ve only replied with ‘can’t talk right now.’ (which he knows is suggested text because you always say ‘later, baby.’ or something else more time-efficient).

“Ya dumbass,” Osamu sighs again, words still sharp but tone a bit more rounded, “just give it time, ‘n stop catastrophizin’. Y’ve put y’self in stupider situations ‘n hav always made it somehow.”

Atsumu feels like crying, again, but Osamu’s always right. He lets out a tear or two, maybe a sob for another five minutes, and when he recovers into small sniffles, Osamu tells him to get some sleep to clear his head—he’s holding the line in Onigiri Miya during peak time.

His Osaka apartment feels even emptier than usual even though it shouldn’t be all that different. Meetings with realtors and property managers finished an hour ago and all they need is the go signal from him before they put the property up for lease.

He was supposed to stay here until the end of the week, to meet with PR for sponsorship deals and brand campaigns throughout the year. But, the only (non-suggested) text he received from you today was an indication that you were home and heading in early for bed (which, he knows is a lie, because a new episode of your favorite show is airing tonight and there’s no way you’re missing it after last week’s cliffhanger).

And he can’t, just can’t, leave you thinking that he doesn’t want to marry you.

So he decides, fuck it, and packs it up—books a last minute train ticket back to you and hopes to god that he gets the words right this time.

He’s never been this nervous in his life.

The olympics is a close runner-up, but nothing compares to this, standing outside your door with his finger hovering over the doorbell. It’s funny, because he has your keys, knows your passcode too—but it feels wrong entering your space without the assurance that you still want him to.

What makes him ring the bell is the sickening twist in his stomach that warns him: this fuck-up could make him lose you.

So he presses it once, then twice for good measure, and before he can do it thrice, you’re opening the door, in sweatpants and a hoodie (his hoodie) as you rub the puffiness out of your eyes.

You’re beautiful like this, too, he thinks—dressed in his clothes, staring at him with those eyes, standing in front of him and looking like the rest of his life.

“Please don’t break up wit’ me.”

The words stumble out of him freely, with barely any time for him to process it. Atsumu feels each pounding in his chest and knows now, just as his Ma said, that it’s all the love he has yet to let out.

“I–” he begins, hesitating. He’s still wearing the same joggers and bomber jacket from this morning.

His hands clench into fists and he pushes them in his pockets, unsure what to do with them; the bottom of his lip trembles and it’s starting to make sense why people tell him and Osamu apart by ‘the one who always cries’.

“T-this mornin’,” he looks up to find you leaning against your door, listening, “Was lookin’ ‘round cos I left mah keys on y’r bedroom floor.”

You nod, tilting your head to urge him on.

“And I was kneelin’,” he breathes out, “and y’thought it was somethin’ else, but I said it wasn’t. And I shouldn’t ‘av ‘cos it came out all wrong and it wasn’t what I planned. Then ya cried but still made me breakfast ‘n lunch and it was good, just like everythin’ ya make is. But ya went to the grocery, and baby,” he chokes up, tears falling, “‘m sorry. S’not what I meant. Please don’t break up wit’ me.”

Atsumu is a bumbling, stumbling, stuttering mess as he cries in front of you, his incoherent rambling a jumble of all his mixed-up feelings. He’s sure he looks dumb as hell right now, a fully grown man in tears at your door—but your brows furrow in concern, jaw tightening as the pout on your lips deepens. Then, you take a step closer, arms stretched out to pull him into your shoulder for a hug.

This is why Atsumu loves you—

This is why Atsumu has never been more sure of the future he wants.

—because, even when he’s fucked things up and has made an absolute mess of himself, you’re always there, picking him right back up.

“T’sokay Tsum,” you hush, rubbing circles on his back, “there’s no need to explain.”

He sniffles, tucking his face against your neck. It’s impossible to miss the sadness underlying your comfort.

You’re wrong—it’s not okay, and he absolutely has to explain.

After he’s calmed down and the tears have subsided, he pulls away, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and apologizing for all the snot he left on your hoodie.

You look confused and a little bit surprised as he takes a step back away from you, his hand immediately reaching inside the pocket of his joggers.

“Y’know I can’t keep anythin’ from ya, right, baby?” he flashes you a small smile, a little nervous.

You nod, because it’s true. Not a single birthday or celebration has ever surprised you because Atsumu’s always ruined it; he just can’t keep a secret from you. Either that, or things just never go accordingly.

“Well, I kept this one real good. Planned it ‘n all. Had everythin’ set.”

The velvet box in his pocket is smooth to the touch, his fingers turning it over. It feels tangible and real now, a moment’s away from his life being changed, forever.

He feels like crying again.

“Was g’na do it on Valentine’s, ‘cos I had it all rehearsed ‘n shit.”

Realization dawns on your face, eyes wide and your chest caught on hold—as if you’re expecting the wrong assumption again.

But when Atsumu gets down on one knee, reaching from his pocket to present to you a ring hidden in red velvet, his fingers tremble when he says, “Know s’not Valentine’s, but can I be your forever Valentine?”

You blink once, then the tears fall—the smile on your face is a little bit wobbly but an awful lot in love. You kneel on the floor with him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

The both of you are a tear-y mess on the floor, but when you part, he leans his forehead against yours, ring held up between his fingers as he asks just to be extra sure, “So… s’not a goodbye kiss is it?”

You smack him on the chest before slipping in your finger.

“S’a yes kiss, Tsum.”

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for suffering through this atsumu train with me & @soumies + @mysugu for helping me with tsumu characterisation and for listening to me ramble abt this fic!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #atsumu x yn #haikyuu!! x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x yn #miya atsumu x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #how to be your lover boy collab

2K notes · View notes

queenie-ofthe-void · 8 months ago

Text

Hear Me Out, Keep Me Guessing

Steddie || wc: 2.5k || rating: T || tags: alternate first meeting, pre-S4, Eddie is a rollercoaster of emotions, Steve is over it, fluff and flirting || ao3

Inspired by my own post

☆☆☆

“Okay, Munson. What’s your fucking problem?”

Eddie hops on top of the wooden picnic bench to gain a slight height advantage over whoever’s decided to fuck up his day, when he spots none other than Steve Harrington headed towards him through the trees, fighting his way through brush and bramble.

“Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Crawling through the dirt just to visit his former court jester.” Eddie smirks, hears Harrington mutter something under his breath that sounds a lot like jesus christ before he finally makes his way over.

Harrington’s looking up at him, squinting into the sunlight, and Eddie’s slightly repelled by his sudden desire to run a hand through King Steve’s hair. It shines in the sunlight, matching the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Eddie takes a step to the left, casting him back into shadow again where he’s just his normal, asshole self and not the angelic image Eddie conjured from his horny, queer little brain.

He can’t remember if it’s his turn to talk or Harrington’s, but it seems the King’s lost the plot as well. Completely zoned out, he’s just standing there staring up at Eddie, mouth dropped open and eyes wide in a way Eddie will certainly not be thinking about later tonight. Absolutely not.

Eddie coughs. Loud and obnoxious enough to break whatever trance they’ve found themselves in. Harrington awkwardly chuckles, running a hand through his hair. An image of Steve leaning against lockers, towering over a girl with heat in his eyes and a hand in his hair floods Eddie’s brain before he can shake it out like an Etch A Sketch. What the fuck is even happening to him?

“Yeah, Munson. Like, what the hell is your problem?” It lacks punch and drama the second time around, but it gets them back on track. Harrington props his hands on his hips, his lip juts out into a tiny pout, and Eddie wonders if he thinks standing like a disappointed mom is effective in getting what he wants, or if being adorable just comes naturally to the former King.

“You’ll have to be more specific, my liege.” He watches as Harrington brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and he makes a mental note to develop a better, more refined taste in men.

“The kids, man. Why aren’t you friends with the kids?”

“Kids? What the hell– what kids?” He hops down from the table. If this is going to be a legitimate conversation and not a shake down, he figures it’ll be easier on even footing. Harrington takes the seat opposite him, his shoe accidentally knocking Eddie’s ankle.

Steve doesn’t move his foot. Neither does Eddie.

“My kids, man. They said they tried talking to you all week and you wouldn’t even hear them out!”

Eddie watches his fingers tap absently on the table top. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s shocking that Eddie is just now realizing that Steve’s actually anxious. Normally Eddie considers himself better at reading people, when he’s not distracted with puffy, pink lips and a confusing line of conversation.

He looks down, rewinding the past week. He’d made it through his first week of his third senior year without anyone getting in his face. Maybe he’s old enough now that even asshole seniors like Jason Carver have decided to leave him alone. Thankfully it seems the offer also extends to Gareth, Kenny, and Jeff, who’ve only reported minor name calling and a light shove.

That’s where he spots them, stops the tape midway through lunch on Wednesday when a group of three freshmen approached the table. He’d spotted the curly-haired kid earlier in the week, bravely decked out in a Weird Al shirt and a hat from some science camp. The kid was enough of a freak to earn free admission to Hellfire, but the other two required a bit more thought.

Eddie clocked Little Wheeler through the station wagon window Monday morning when he’d cut Nancy off in the parking lot. The kid seemed alright, but with a priss like Nancy as a sister, it was a tough call. The other kid seemed a bit too sporty, and a little too interested in basketball tryouts.

When the three amigos started talking DnD, the guys invited them with open arms. It was a relatively peaceful lunch. Exciting even, at the prospect of adding new members to their campaign. They’d mentioned trying to convince a few of their friends to play. A girl named Max Mayfield, who turns out lives a few trailers down from Eddie.

But when the curly-haired kid mentioned Steve Harrington, the Hellfire boys clammed up tighter than nun’s ass. His named dripped from their mouths like it was covered in gold, the hero-worship rotting them from the inside and Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. No true freaks would stand to be friends with an asshole bully like King Steve.

Of course the freshies tried to argue, saying he’d changed. It didn’t matter to the Hellfire boys. Clearly the freshmen were corrupted, and they couldn’t be trusted. So he’d sent them on their way, and the three of them posted up in the corner of the lunchroom every day since. Far away from jocks and freaks alike.

Now, Eddie looks across the table and sees false bravado slathered over the anxiety etched into the former King’s face. He doesn’t know how three freshmen freaks found themselves under the wing of Steve Harrington, but it seems the feeling is mutual. Steve cares about these kids.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I remember them. What’s it to you, Harrington? Aren’t they a little too old for a babysitter.” The joke falls flat when Steve sighs, heavy and exhausted, like somehow a rich boy from the Loch carries the entire world on his shoulders.

But he plays it off, trying to meet Eddie’s quip halfway. “Babysitters get paid, dude. I do it from the goodness of my heart or some shit.” Steve leans back, scrubs his hands over his face like he can erase whatever’s behind his eyes.

Eddie stares at him, hoping to catch a glimpse. The only consolation is Steve puts his other foot on the opposite side of Eddie’s, his ankle now fully cradled between Steve’s.

“They’re nerds, man.” Harrington states it like it’s a fact and not an insult he’s hurled at Eddie a hundred times over the years. “They’re freaks, you know– like you.”

Moment officially broken, Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the table wondering why he ever entertained talking with Harrington in the first place. As he grabs his lunchbox off the forest floor, he hears shuffling behind him.

“Wait,” Harrington shouts. “Just, fuck man, can you just let me finish?”

“Finish what, exactly?” Eddie snaps, whirling around to crowd into his space. He wears big and scary like how the King wears his crown and how assassins wield their blades. With enough power and confidence to scare off any enemy. “Finish listening to you shit on the little guy? Listen to you harp on the freaks of the world, or how you corrupted your little pions?”

“What?” Steve asks, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched. Eddie’s not surprised his jock-rattled brain couldn’t find that word in its very limited dictionary, but what does surprise him is that Steve doesn’t back down. They’re practically nose to nose, so close Eddie can spot a small freckle on his lash-line, and Steve’s standing here like he doesn't have a care in the world while Eddie screams in his face.

It’s quiet again. He can hear the rustle of tall grass and birds overhead. He can feel Steve’s breath on his lips and Eddie can’t remember what they were talking about. Again.

Steve grabs his shoulders, and in his daze, Eddie lets himself be maneuvered back to sitting at the picnic table, while Steve stands in front of him.

“Are you always big and loud and obnoxious? Can you just cut the shit for like, five minutes so we can have a normal fucking conversation. Jesus christ, you’re practically perfect for them.” The last part is quieter, seems more like an unfiltered afterthought.

“Ok,” Eddie says. If Steve’s willing to take the crown off long enough to talk with Eddie, then maybe he can shed his own metaphorical battle vest. “Say what you have to say, then.”

Steve clears his throat, shuffles slightly as he gains his footing. He looks at Eddie with a determined set to his shoulders.

“Henderson, Sinclair, and even Wheeler– they’re my kids. I’ve spent the last nine months watching out for those little shits because all they’re good at is getting into the worst kinds of trouble.” Eddie tracks him as Steve paces the forest floor, rambling and raking a hand through his hair like it helps him think. “But I remembered you didn’t graduate, right? And you run that Dungeons and Dragons club–”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stops, turns to face him, and shoots him the bitchiest glare Eddie’s ever seen, but before he can say anything, Eddie pushes on. “You, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, leader of meatheads and bimbos alike, know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

Steve sighs, hands back on his hips as he rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, Munson. Don’t worry it’s all against my will, okay? I’m not coming to steal your freaks and weirdos so I can lead them too.” He smirks, and it pulls a laugh out of Eddie, shocked that Steve’s willing to joke around with Eddie at all, let alone when it’s at his own expense.

“Now, quit interrupting me, you’re as bad as Henderson.”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed, only to open his mouth to swallow the imaginary key. Butterflies explode in his chest at the sound of Steve laughter, and Eddie wonders if bashing his head into a tree would be a decent excuse to explain the red flush erupting on his face.

“Anyways,” Steve chuckles. “They’re smart as shit but don’t know when to give something up just to get out of a fight. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten their asses handed to them already, and everyday I pick them up all I'm thinking about is which one of them I’m gonna have to stitch up. Sure, some of the guys in the grade below were alright, like Andy. But guys like Hargrove, like Carver.” Eddie can practically see the dark cloud form over Steve’s brow.

He remembers as well as anyone the fallout of Harrington v Hargrove, Fall 1985. There’d been endless rumors about what happened, each one more ridiculous than the last. Now he’s left wondering if it’s not really about Nancy, or drugs, or Billy fucking Steve’s mom, but about these kids. The timing checks out, nine months on babysitting duties lines up pretty well with when Steve showed up to school beaten and broken.

Maybe Steve isn’t all he seems to be.

“Guys like Carver won’t mess with you. They’re too scared you’re using DnD to worship the devil and get kids into sodomy and drugs and shit like that. I told them that you’d be cool. That you’re big and loud, that you play DnD like them. You're smart and you read the same nerdy books. I told them they’d be safe with you, man.” Steve rubs his face again, until his hands fall to the sides and he tilts his head up towards the sky. “I just need to know someone’s looking out for them. Please, Eddie, just–”

“Okay.”

Steve’s attention snaps back to him, relief written plain as day in the wide set of his smile. “You’re serious?”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Steve smile so unguarded, and never aimed his way. The sheer brightness of it fills him with warmth he wants to wrap himself up in.

All on top of the fact Eddie's never gotten this many compliments from anyone before, let alone from a guy as gorgeous as Steve Harrington. His ears are practically on fire.

“Yeah, Harrington. I’ll share custody of your little nuggets.” Before he knows what’s coming, Steve sweeps him up into a hug, lifts him fully off the ground and can feel the tinkling of his laughter on the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, Munson. Damn, you have no idea how freaked out I’ve–”

“What about the other stuff?” Eddie can’t stop himself from asking. He has to know, deep in his bones, that Steve is thinking this through. That Steve won’t change his mind in a few days or months and decide it’s time for Eddie Munson to eat dirt.

He lets Eddie go, but holds his shoulders at arms length to look him in the eye. Any lingering mirth has been replaced with intent curiosity. “What stuff, Munson?”

He can tell by Steve’s tone they’re both talking about the same thing. Rumors that’ve haunted Eddie since eighth grade after Davey Richardson beat him up under the bleachers. It didn’t matter that Davey kissed him first, all that mattered was he was popular and Eddie was weird.

He’d grown numb to the slurs over the years, but how could he forget hearing the reason why Byers beat the shit out of King Steve. The only surprise from that fight was it sounded like he never even tried to fight back.

“Harrington, if I don’t get to act loud and obnoxious, then you don’t get to play dumb.” The intensity of Steve’s stare reminds him of the few conversations he’d had with Chief Hopper before he’d died. The man could tear Eddie down to the bones with one glare, and he’s sure it’s the only reason the Chief brought him back to the trailer instead of a jail cell.

“Eddie,” Steve says, tone firm, “I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t care about the shit people say, especially self-righteous assholes like Carver. The only thing I give a shit about is you watching over the little gremlins and not selling them drugs, so I can breathe easier when I don't have eyes on them.”

Steve shakes him lightly, like it’ll sift this world-changing view into his brain, then pats his shoulder as he passes by him.

“Wait,” Eddie shouts, always a glutton for punishment. He spins around to catch Steve walking backwards away from him, hands in his pockets, effortlessly cool. The sun’s catching his hair again and there’s a smirk on his lips. “You really don’t care?”

Steve laughs, taking a step back. He chews on his bottom lip, and he smiles when he catches Eddie looking. Because he knows. Steve knows now, before Jeff or Wayne or anyone else.

“Eddie, whoever you decide to love or fuck– or not– is none of my business.” He turns to leave, and as Eddie relaxes he hears Steve call out, “unless you want it to be.”

Steve’s light laughter follows him out of the woods, and Eddie plops himself down in the same spot on the same wooden bench in the exact same forest as he always does every Friday after school. Except a twenty minute conversation with Steve Harrington leaves Eddie feeling like his world's been turned upside down.

Maybe ‘86 will be his year, after all.

#and then eddie follows him to the bimmer and they bang it out #steve's bad with words except when he's flirting with a pretty boy #good babysitter steve harrington #eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington #even though he kind of hates himself for it #alternate meeting #excessive flirting #pre season four #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things au #steddie #steddie ficlet #queeniewritesstories #stranger things

494 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month ago

Text

Need a ride?

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this was not planed, but that scene with Valentin on the bike was just too hot to process. You can officially blame my cat who woke me at 3 am today if this totally sucks.

Warnings: plot? never heard of it. Pure SMUT. Sex in public, Valentin giving quite some Dom vibes, fingering, oral, p in v

Word Count: 3,1 K

Summary: your tire is mysteriously gotten flat and you have no other choice as to accept the offer of a ride home from Valentin - the insanely sexy health mentor you've been eyeing from the moment you started working at The White Lotus luxury resort

“Need a ride?” a familiar, soft voice rich with that insanely sexy accent reaches you over the hum of the idling bike as it comes to a stop beside you.

For a moment your confused gaze remains glued on the completely flat tire of your moped, as if trying to will it to reinflate by your sheer disbelief only, before you slowly lift your eyes to meet that cheeky smile you’ve been fond of since the first moment you set your foot on the grounds of the luxury resort that was supposed to be you new home for a while.

It might not have been the most rational decision of your life to drop out of the university for a spiritual self-discovery trip through the East but it was definitely not the worst. OK, you ran out of money after something like one month, but that didn’t mean you were ready to give up on your plans.

Thailand being your next destination after having left behind the breathtaking temples of Cambodia and incredibly beautiful landscapes of Vietnam, you decided to combine business with pleasure as you stormed the manager’s office of The White Lotus – the biggest and probably most expensive resort in the area – the advertisement from the local newspaper, announcing that the hotel was looking for an English speaking service staff, clutched in your hand.

You weren’t naive, nor were you particularly experienced or life hardened. Something in between. You were impulsive, stubborn and still liked to believe in stories where the good guys saved the world and won the princess, even if deep down you knew it not to be true.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur with slight puzzlement in your voice as your gaze shifts back to your moped. “Everything was perfectly fine when I parked it here this morning.”

“Let me see,” the smooth, velvety voice makes your stomach flutter as the engine goes silent and a pair of leather gloves land carelessly on the tank as their owner swings off the bike and moves toward you.

“You’re new here, I haven’t seen you before,” there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you feel both – a cold shiver creeping up your spine and heat hitting your cheeks.

New is quite a relative term. Yes, you’ve been here for just three weeks, yet you are perfectly aware who is the handsome owner of the only Harley Davidson for the miles around even if he has apparently remained oblivious to your very existence.

But you also have to admit that it is hard not to notice Valentin – the resort’s infuriatingly handsome health mentor and fitness guru, especially when he remains number one topic of nearly every piece of gossip going around.

Last week he was spotted sneaking out in the middle of the night from the private villa of that arrogant rich bitch from South Dakota, the one who had been terrorising the whole hotel for weeks already – the pool wasn’t warm enough, the massage table was not comfortable, the food was terrible and God forbid she was served the wrong champagne with the oysters. It seemed almost like a miracle to see her smiling the next morning at breakfast.

Then there was that rumor that the swollen lip and the spectacularly bruised eye of one of the hotel’s personal trainers had nothing to do with the alleged jump rope accident but rather with an argument about a stolen client, apparently ending with Valentin throwing a punch. Though no one could really confirm if that part was true, some still swore of having seen him leaving the gym with blood on his knuckles.

Ah, and, of course, there was the affair, or at least, that’s what the housekeeping staff whispered about after noticing how the resort owner’s wife, easily twice as young as her husband, by the way, had taken an unusual interest in the fitness center with private stretching lessons, late-night sauna sessions and meditation practices once of a sudden becoming a regular part of her so called wellness routine.

Yet, despite all the fuss, you have to admit you’ve never actually seen him be anything but polite and smiling. And you have seen him. Just like everyone else, you find it impossible to look away from that broad muscular chest when he strides through the resort only clad in his yogi pants, heading to greet the new arrivals, or from those flexing biceps when you happen to pass by the training ground with him having a course - not that you’d ever admit to staring or having actually no business around there during that time of the day.

A broad chest clad in a snug dark green t-shirt that does more to accentuate than cover the perfectly chiseled muscles beneath, moves past you and your gaze involuntary drops down and lands on his hand, the conversation from the previous day rushing back absolutely uninvited.

“Have you noticed how big his hands are?” The question had made you freeze mid-motion, the pillowcase in your hands nearly slipping to the floor.

“Huh?” You had blinked and raised your brow questioningly, turning to Pam, your coworker, a nice girl you became friends almost immediately.

“You know what they say…,” she had leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and giving you a knowing wink.

You had frowned, not really getting it this time, until Pam rolled her eyes, her cheeks already turning pink, as she cleared her throat. “The ones with big hands have big… you know… big khm…,” she had nodded meaningfully toward the lower part of her body.

It still had taken you a second before it finally clicked.

“Ahhh, you mean his dick,” you had said, watching as Pam practically choked on air, her face turning red as a beet, while you burst into laughter.

Yes, it is big. His hand.

“I’m Valentin,” he introduces himself, extending his hand like he expects you not to already know his name.

You hesitate for a second before shaking it, his grip is firm but warm, his somewhat rough fingers sending an unexpected jolt up your arm.

“I know,” you say, then immediately cringe at how blunt it sounds.

His smirk deepens, amusement flickering in those sharp eyes. “You know?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Everyone talks about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

You let out a short laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”

He tilts his head, as if considering your words, then glances at your moped. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this tire isn’t going to fix itself.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I figured. I just don’t understand – how does a perfectly fine tire suddenly go flat?”

Valentin crouches down, inspecting it. “Sometimes, it just happens. Heat, pressure, bad luck. Or…” He pauses, running a finger along the rubber.

You frown. “Or?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Or someone let the air out.”

A chill prickles at your skin despite the humid air. “You think someone did this on purpose?”

“I think someone doesn’t want you going anywhere tonight,” his gaze shifts back to you, and his tongue flickers between his teeth as he licks his bottom lip.

Shit, why does it look so fucking hot. That tongue can definitely do more. Wait, no, stop, you innerly slap yourself but it’s too late, the next thought is already there as you wonder – is it true, that thing about big hands and big… you know…

He heads back to his bike, and leans against it, arms crossed, watching you closely. “So… need a ride?”

Your heart stutters at the way he looks at you – his lips are smiling, but there is something in his eyes, something you can’t quite put your fingers on, something that makes you feel like a mouse before a big grinning cat.

You should say no, you should figure this out on your own, but the way he’s looking at you – the way he’s offering, like it’s not just a ride but something more – makes it very, very hard to refuse.

Fuck it, we ball, you smile back at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Take it easy, little doll, relax and enjoy the ride,” the hot whisper against your ear does exactly the opposite, you feel your heart racing even faster, each thumping beat pulsing between your legs, as you struggle to calm your breathing that threatens to spill into moans at any second if those thick fingers don’t stop their slow, torturous movement.

“I… I can’t… Valentin, please…,” you breathe, your fingers gripping the edge of the table for support but your thighs part just a little wider beneath it.

The bar is dim, only the dance floor flashing in neon bursts, drawing all attention away from the shadowed corners and the shallow booths positioned along the walls with tables and red leather, plush and comfortable sofas - all tucked away in just barely enough secrecy to keep you somewhat hidden. A small mercy you feel thankful for, the sound of the pounding bass of the music being another one, as it drowns out that moan you can’t bite back anymore as Valentin’s fingers push your panties aside, part from your pulsing clit and glide through your wet folds, to slid inside you with devastating ease.

“You’re soaking, baby doll, just sitting here, waiting for daddy Valentin to take care of you, aren’t you?” That velvety voice edged with steel is killing you, not that those fingers inside you, curling, stretching, teasing, his thumb brushing firm, controlled circles against your clit, is making it any easier to gather any coherent thought.

“Mmmmm… mmhhh,” is the only thing that rolls over your lips, your body reacts instinctively, muscles clenching around him, spine arching slightly against the seat as you melt into the sensation and sink back against the cushioned backrest, legs falling open just a little bit more, surrendering.

Valentine’s other arm sneaks around your shoulders, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” he rasps. “Want me to ruin you, don’t you? Want me to fuck that tight, greedy pussy of yours, until you can’t walk anymore?”

“Ahh-ahhh,” your moan is barely muffled as his fingers curl against the wall of your core and press into that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. Oh, fuck, he’s good.

The bar is full, the booth next to you crowded with a group of friends, laughing and clinking their glasses, but you don’t care. You can’t. Your head is spinning, thoughts dissolving, and every last bit of your self-control is fading away, all your senses dulled and consumed by the feeling of his fingers inside you, by that hypnotic voice dripping filth into your ear.

How did you even end up here? The ride, the bike, your arms wrapped tight around his steel cut abdomen, holding for dear life – the memory is somewhat hazy, swept away in the whirlwind that is Valentin. You can still feel the wind lashing against your skin, your breath stolen as you tucked yourself against his broad back.

“Wanna go out for a drink? You have a free day tomorrow, don’t you?” The question had sounded so casual but there was something in Valentin’s voice, some slight metallic tone, that should have been a warning, a sign to you.

“Yeah, sure! Why not?” words had left your lips too easily, although you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were a prey stepping into a trap, absolutely willingly – if you wanted to be honest with yourself.

Because of all the whispers that followed Valentin, one was clearly absent – he never went out with anyone from the staff, never even really flirted. Never. Not that they didn’t want him to. The majority of the serving staff being girls, you knew for sure that most of them would kill to go out with the dangerously handsome health mentor, but he never asked. Not until now, not until you.

And you were certainly not letting this chance slip away through your fingers, to see more of him in real life, outside the resort's controlled microclimate. Was it a Russian roulette you were playing? Absolutely, and you were all in for it.

“Fuck… yes,... oh shit, it feels so good…,” your whines are swallowed by the pounding music, your body trembling as you feel his fingers move faster, expertly working you toward the edge and then you’re coming undone in a bar full of people, music thumping in your ears in sync with your rapid heartbeat.

Your eyes are heavy and half lidded, head fallen back against the plush backrest, your panties are ruined, completely drenched, and your hips keep rocking instinctively chasing the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. Was this how you thought the evening would end? Fuck, yes! And something tells you it’s far from over.

“Breathe, kitten,” Valentin’s voice is a dark purr in your ear and it slowly brings you back to reality, as he withdraws his fingers from you. You whine quietly, your thighs twitching at the loss, and your eyes flutter open, finding his gaze already on you.

Valentin is watching you, a spark of satisfaction dancing in his gaze, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing ghost of a touch, then he leans in.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work, sweetheart. Will you do that for me?”

You sit up, straightening your spine as you reach for the champagne glass on the table, fingers slightly shaking.

“Here?” you ask, turning to him. “You want me to give you head here, where everyone can see?”

“If you are up to it, baby doll,” Valentine’s smirk deepens, amusement dancing on his lips, and it just makes your heart skip a beat.

“But I think you are very much enjoying this, aren’t you?” He leans closer, taking the glass from your fingers, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls you back against his chest, while his hand captures yours, guiding it downward and pressing your palm against the hardness straining beneath his pants.

“Look at what you’ve done to me.”

Fuck, even through the thick fabric, he feels huge, and you can’t help but smirk as the thought slips in that it must be all true, that thing about the hands and the dicks.

Your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the dance floor pulses with bodies under shifting neon lights, the waitresses weaving between tables, laughter and music filling the air, you swallow harshly as the thought alone of sucking him off here practically in public in the tenuous cover of some shifting shadows sends a fresh surge of heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers already move on their own as the heavy buckle unfastens with a soft clink and the zipper parts beneath your touch. You slide a hand inside, wrapping around the length of him, drawing him out.

Valentin inhales drawing air through his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest, as your fingers tease over his leaking tip, his fingers weave through the strands of your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle, as his grip tightens and he urges you down, his silent command unmistakable.

You glance up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, watching you, waiting.

Your fingers trail along his length, teasing, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Fuck, he’s big, thick, hot, pulsing against your skin.

Slowly, you lean in, your lips parting as you let your tongue flick over the swollen tip, tasting the beads of precum gathering there and Valentin exhales sharply, a curse slipping from his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dissipating in the thumping bass of the music.

You take him deeper, wrapping your lips around him, savoring the way his breath hitches as he disappears into the wet heat of your mouth.

“May I get you something else,” you hear the voice of the waitress through the haze and you freeze, unsure what to do, adrenaline surges through your veins, making your heart hammer in your chest. Panic and arousal clash violently inside you, but Valentin’s hand in your hair firmly keeps you exactly where he wants you and you don’t know what you feel more shame or the intoxicating thrill of surrender. The way he controls you, the way he holds you in place without a second of hesitation, sends a sensation through you that you've never felt before and it's rush is so deep it steals your breath.

“Thank you darling, we are well served,” his voice is smooth, utterly composed as if he weren't sitting here with his cock buried in your mouth. You can't see the waitress, your face covered by your disheveled hair, the footsteps fade away, and before you can even process what just happened Valentin guides you back down his cock, resuming the steady rhythm of your movements, and you can't but moan around him. Your tongue glides along the thick vein running down his length and you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue, his groan is low and guttural, barely restrained and that sound alone makes your core tighten with need.

"Just like that, kitten," he rasps, his hips jerking slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth, your own pulse pounds in your ears, matching the rhythm of the music, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and electric. Your fingers tighten around the base of his cock as you set a steady pace, sliding up and down, working him with eager precision, and you feel his thighs tense beneath your touch, the muscles flexing under your fingers.

You take him deeper, moaning around him, letting the vibration send a shudder through his entire body.

"Fucking hell…," Valentin’s hand tightens in your hair, his head falls back against the booth, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling unevenly, you can feel how close he is to letting go and coming undone right here and now, and that thought alone makes you throb between your legs, but before you can push him over that edge, he tugs you back by the hair, pulling you off him with a slick pop. Your lips are wet, swollen, and you look up at him, dazed, your breath coming in short gasps, Valentin smirks down at you, his chest heaving, his cock still thick and flushed in your hand.

"Naughty little thing," he murmurs, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, his voice rough with barely-contained lust. "That was good. But I’m not done with you yet."

He drags you up, his mouth hovering just above yours, as he whispers. "Now, let’s see how well you take me when it’s your turn. Do you want daddy to fuck you? I know you do,” and before you can even respond, he’s already moving, pulling you into his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips as his fingers push your panties aside once more, the head of his cock is already at your entrance.

“You know how to play this game, don’t you?” he asks, his mismatched eyes boring into you. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Your colour, baby doll?”

You know exactly what he’s asking, your mind is hazy, body burning, every nerve tuned to him but there’s no fear, no hesitation, only raw, unfiltered desire.

“Green,” you breathe, and he pulls you down in one swift motion, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your body shuddering as his thick shaft fills you completely in one go, while one of his hands wraps around your throat and the other digs into the soft flesh of your ass beneath your dress, and with that nothing else exists anymore.

The bar, the people, the distant pulse of the music, it all fades away, the only thing that matters is Valentin and his cock twitching inside you, stretching you just right, the firm grip on your throat owning you completely.

You don’t care about anything, there is no room for shame or doubt in your mind, it’s too overtaken by the indescribable pleasure of that simple feeling of giving up the control, of surrendering to that commanding voice and those mismatched stern eyes.

And then he fucks you, his hips thrust up into you, filling you deeper, harder, while his hand guide you, making you bounce on his cock, while his grip on your throat tightens—not too much, never too far—just enough to make your head spin in the best way, and soon, you're a mess, a drooling, moaning, wrecked mess.

—-----------------------------------------------------

When you open your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the curtains tells you it’s already well past midday.

Your head is heavy, your body sore in all the possible ways, and you have no idea how you got home, but here you are, back in your bed tucked beneath your light blanket.

You shift beneath the sheets, and that’s when you feel it, an arm draped around your waist and a firm chest pressed against your back.

Your breath catches, the memories of last night crash over you all at once, flooding your senses as you jolt upright, a soft, mortified moan slipping past your lips.

"Good morning, sweet baby doll," the voice is rich, smooth – so damn pleased with itself, you turn slowly, and there he is. Valentin, bare-chested, relaxed, watches you with that signature smirk that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

"Can I get you something for breakfast?" He stretches lazily, completely unbothered by your flustered state. "You must be starving."

#valentin #valentin fic #the white lotus #the white lotus fic #valentin x reader #valentin x you #the white lotus fanfic #x reader #the white lotus x reader #the white lotus smut #valentin smut

172 notes · View notes

prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Accidentally On Purpose

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !non-athletic fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: was it really an accident ....

Alright the one shot as promised! I hope you all enjoy it!

For the past two years, Paige and I had been quietly building a life together while keeping it low-key on social media. It wasn’t that we were hiding; we just preferred to let people wonder. The occasional soft launch—her hoodie on me in an Instagram story, my hand visible in her post-game meal pic—had fueled plenty of speculation, but we never confirmed anything.

But this past week changed things.

Paige had sprained her knee during the January 5th game. It wasn’t serious, thank God, but her coach had benched her and banned her from practices to ensure she healed fully. That left her with more free time than either of us were used to, and she spent most of it at my apartment, lazing on the couch with her leg propped up.

“Coach is going to regret this,” she joked one evening as we watched a movie. “I’m getting too used to being pampered by you.”

“Pampered?” I snorted, handing her a cup of tea. “You’ve been milking this injury for all it’s worth.”

“And you love it,” she said smugly, taking the mug and flashing me a grin.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Having her around more often was nice, even if it meant dealing with her teasing 24/7.

By the time January 15th rolled around, Paige was cleared to play in the UConn vs. St. John’s game. She was practically bouncing with excitement, even as I made her promise to take it easy.

“I’m not going to push it,” she assured me, pulling me into a quick hug before heading to campus. “But I’m not sitting out any longer than I have to.”

“Just don’t forget who made your recovery bearable,” I teased, poking her side.

“How could I forget? You’re my favorite nurse,” she said with a wink before disappearing out the door.

That evening, I watched from the stands as Paige played like she’d never been injured. She wasn’t at 100%, but her movements were sharp, her energy infectious. UConn won, of course, 71-45 to be exact and I cheered louder than anyone else as she jogged off the court with her teammates.

After the game, I was scrolling through my photo gallery, deciding what to post. It had been a while since I’d done a photo dump, and I had plenty of new material: blurry candids of Paige from the past week, a shot of my coffee from earlier, and a cute mirror selfie I’d taken that morning.

As I uploaded the photos to Instagram, I included one of Paige and me kissing—something I’d meant to keep private. I was too distracted tagging locations and adding captions to notice until it was too late.

When I refreshed the post, my heart dropped. There it was: a clear shot of Paige holding my face as she kissed me, her other hand resting on my waist. And the kicker? I’d tagged her.

“Crap,” I muttered, staring at my phone in horror.

The comments were already rolling in:

@uconnfan23: OMG WAIT IS THIS REAL??

@basketballbae: so y’all really been soft launching for TWO YEARS??

@team_pucker: someone call TMZ 😭

@kamoreaarnold: I see we got the @trufur run in here

Paige’s name popped up in my notifications seconds later.

@paigebueckers: Are you serious right now??

I groaned, typing out a quick reply.

@yourusername: It was an accident! Calm down 😩

Her response was immediate.

@paigebueckers: Accident my ass. You’ve been plotting this.

@yourusername: Oh, because I’m the one who’s been hinting for two years? Sure, Paige.

@paigebueckers: Don’t deflect! This is a hard launch! A HARD LAUNCH!!

The back-and-forth continued, drawing more attention to the post. Fans and friends chimed in, most of them thrilled by the revelation.

@azzi35: Finally, geez. We’ve all known.

@williamskayla_: Y’all arguing in the comments is the real entertainment here.

@janaelalfy8: @paigebueckers we all knew this would happen someday. You’re just mad you didn’t get to plan it.

By the time I put my phone down, the post had thousands of likes and hundreds of comments. I was half expecting Paige to storm into my apartment, but instead, she called.

“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice somewhere between exasperated and amused.

“Dead serious,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Look, I didn’t mean to post it, but...is it really that bad?”

She sighed dramatically. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just...sudden. We’ve been low-key for so long.”

“Too long,” I pointed out. “And the reaction’s been good so far.”

“I guess,” she said, the smile in her voice now evident. “But if anyone asks, I’m telling them you planned this.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing.

By the next morning, the post had gone viral, with news outlets and fan accounts picking it up. Paige leaned into it, sharing the post to her story with the caption:

"Well, the cat’s out of the bag. @yourusername, you’re lucky I love you."

I reshared her story with my own caption:

"Love you too, drama queen 💕."

From that moment on, there were no more soft launches—just the two of us, unapologetically in love and finally out in the open. And honestly? It felt perfect.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

#support the writers!#gabi writes #gabi answers #°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers fic #pb5 #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #uconn #uconn x reader #wbb #wbb x reader

230 notes · View notes

hvkno · 3 months ago

Text

ppl who complain about the gap in between st seasons make me SO MADD

(1) it takes ten months to film and ten months to do post production (and i'm sure pre-production happens from the end of a season to the beginning of filming)

(2) SEASON 3 DROPPED 2019. SEASON 4 2022. CAN YOU THINK OF A MAJOR EVENT THAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THESE TWO DATES????

(3) its insane they even managed to release season 4 in two years after they started filming (in feb 2020 nonetheless). they had to take a break until september 2020 when they resumed filming and with extreme precautions most likely past that, slowing filming down.

(4) THEN THE SAG-AFTRA STRIKE RIGHT AFTER S4 DROPS. that would have completely stopped production for months and months and at last season 5 STARTS filming in january 2024. it's the final season and there's a big cast so it took an extra couple months, but it finally wrapped in december.

(5) AND ABOUT FILMING! this is a PACKED cast that are BOOKED AND BUSY. if you think that this was finn's or winona's or millie's only project or THING happening, then you are WRONG. they are busy which makes filming harder.

(6) POST PRODUCTION is DIFFERENT FOR STRANGER THINGS. yeah, many of the shows from 2016 have wrapped by now. they did not break records in Netflix or include a science fiction plot that required lots of CGI, visual effects etc! plus do you THINK netflix is gonna let them slide with a half assed final product? ON THEIR FINAL SEASON TOO?

so yeah. expecting stranger things to pop out woth a new season every year is actually laughable. ESPECIALLY with the conditions the last few seasons have been under.

and this part is important: i think 2 hours is way too long for an episode. i wouldn't mind a season that's fifteen hours if it was split into reasonable episode times but movie length episodes is unreasonable. THAT BEING SAID, IM SICK OF PEOPLE THINKING THAT SHOWS ARE EASY TO PRODUCE.

#i have no film major #or any experience in that field #this is just my research #and what i think #byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler = targer audience #rant

135 notes · View notes

uluvjay · 6 months ago

Text

Bed Chem-J. Drysdale & M. McTavish

Jamie Drysdale x fem! reader x Mason McTavish

In which the Ducks are in town and you three revisit something you thought got left in Anaheim

Warnings;? Smut, threesome, oral (m receiving), kissing, cursing, protected sex!, p in v, porn with a plot pretty much!, I apologize for any errors!

This follows my nasty girl au so i recommend reading these two parts first!

Day five of my Kinktober special!

You truly thought you’d never find yourself in this position ever again especially not after the trade.

However the bottle of wine and delicious steak dinner quickly escalated and next thing you knew your boyfriend and Mason had you trapped against the kitchen counter.

Your skirt was pushed up around your waist with masons hand between your thighs while Jamie’s lips were locked with yours.

You moaned into Jamie’s mouth as Mason pushed in a second finger, his rough fingers slightly thicker than Jamie’s.

“Missed this didn’t you.” Jamie spoke in your ear.

“Fuck yes.” You moaned, there was no use in lying Jamie could tell anytime you were.

Jamie knew something had brewed between the three of you after those nights in Anaheim and when he caught you drooling at masons workout photos a few weeks ago he knew what he had to do.

While he’d told you he invited Mason over for a simple dinner in your new Philadelphia apartment the two men had actually talked about sharing you again.

Mason grunted against your skin from where his tenth sunk into the opposite side of your neck, his scruffy beard tickling the sensitive skin.

“Feels so good Mase” you whimpered, head tipped back as you enjoyed the sensation of the two men against you.

The weight of their strong bodies pinning you against the counter had your mind spinning with dirty possibilities.

They were so alike but so different in bed, they both aimed to please you and that’s all that mattered to them but fuck when differences came in, they were very different.

Mason liked to fuck, and fuck hard. He wants you screaming till your voice is hoarse and throat raw as his back is cut open from your nails and you’re both so tired out that you can’t even move after.

Jamie loved to make love, he drew orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were shaking and crying. He fucked you deep and slow, fucking you right to sleep after your body was to spent to keep going.

Feeling both of them at the same for the first time in a year had your body feeling thousands of things at once.

Masons deep voice pulled you out of your head his encouraging words and sped up movements making you realize how close you were to reaching your end.

“Come on honey, can fell how tight your cunt is clenching around my fingers.” He purred in your ear as his teeth teasingly nipped the lobe.

Jamie smirked at the way your body responded, your mount dropping in a silent moan, body shaking as your high continued to rapidly approach.

“Gonna cum for Mason baby?” He asked dark eyes locking with yours admiring the blown out look in your doe eyes.

“Mhm” you nodded the overwhelming pleasure not allowing you to get a proper word out.

“Come for us, come all over my fingers while your boyfriend watches like the little slut you are.” Mason smirked.

And come you did, your body shook as your back arched into the air eyes rolling to the back of your head as the pleasure became to much for a second.

Both men watched as the pleasure raked through your body, sharing a smirk as you went slightly unresponsive for a moment until Mason moved to pull his fingers from your dripping cunt.

Your eyes snapped open watching as the brunette brought them to his mouth and sucked, a low groan leaving his body at the taste.

“Missed the taste of that pretty cunt.” He smirked dipping down to connect your lips.

You moaned at the taste of yourself allowing his tongue to fill your mouth as he took lead, you wrapped your arms around him, hand tangling into the curls at the base of his neck.

Pulling away you turned to look at Jamie who stood next to the pair of you, eyes glittering with lust as his bulge pushed against the tight denim of his jeans.

You could feel masons poking your lower stomach, knowing both men were just as needy as you were you moved away from them.

On shaky legs you begin to move towards your and Jamie’s bedroom, slowly pulling of your top and throwing it behind you.

Next thing to follow the trail was your bra and soon your skirt, looking back you found them both staring with hungry eyes.

“Coming?” You smirked before disappearing down the hall and into the master bedroom.

By the time both men got their shit together you were laying in the middle of the lush bed, condoms ready on the bedside table.

They both groaned at the sight of your bare body, quickly stripping of their clothes they joined you on the bed.

Jamie made quick work of flipping your body so you were on your hands and knees with Jamie in front of you and mason behind.

And wow was the Deja vu strong.

“Masons gonna fuck you while I take your mouth, that okay baby?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” You begged looking up at him with nothing but hunger and lust.

He smirked at your expression before handing Mason a condom.

You could hear Masons small whimpers as he slid the latex over his thick cock and it didn’t take long before you felt the cool material rubbing at your entrance.

“Ready pretty girl?” He asked.

“Yes fuck me Mason, please.” You whined wiggling your hips against him in desperation.

The man chuckled at your antics before he pressed forward sliding his cock in inch by inch to allow you some time to adjust.

Jamie watched as your mouth dropped open at the mix of pleasure and pain, your eyes squeezing shut until Mason was all the way in.

You released a breath of air at the feeling, you were so fucking full. Where Mason was a little thicker than Jamie they were just about the same length so you were used to how deep the man was sitting inside of you.

Seeing that you were content Jamie guided his cock to your mouth smirking as you opened it with no hesitation.

He groaned as he slid inside of your warm and wet mouth, he went till his cock his the back of your throat and your small gags filled the room.

He sent a nod towards his friend and next thing you knew they were moving at the same time the pleasure causing you to cry out so loud you were sure the people next door could hear.

The pleasure was overwhelming it filled every inch of your body to have both of them sharing you again.

The way Masons hands came down against your ass as Jamie’s hands pulled on your roots had your body shivering with need.

“Such a good girl.” Mason grunted from behind you.

“Taking us so good.” Jamie joined in on his friend’s praise.

You pulled away from Jamie to catch your breath stroking him with your hand you looked behind you, catching sight of Masons sculpted body.

“You two feel so good, filling me up so good.” You babbled before Jamie was bringing your mouth back to his cock.

The sounds in the room were downright dirty, a mix of your gags on Jamie’s cock and Masons skin slapping against yours had your mind reeling.

You could feel the band in your lower stomach getting tighter and tighter the mix of the both of them with your earlier orgasm making it hard for you to hold the next one off.

You pulled off Jamie with a pop, “Getting close.” You cried out before dropping back down to take his cock once again.

Mason didn’t need you to tell him, he could feel the way your cunt clenched around him the way your moans got louder and louder around Jamie’s cock with every thrust.

He couldn’t lie he was almost there himself, it had been a year since he felt your tight cunt and he was struggling with himself not to come like some inexperienced teen.

Jamie was right on the edge as well, the vibrations of your moans had chills running down his spine, his grunts and groans no better then either of yours as your mouth worked wonders on his cock.

“Shit.” He moaned hands gripping your hair as he took full control and pushed his cock in and out of your mouth.

You held his eyes as he fucked your mouth watching as his chest began to heave and his thrusts got sloppy before eventually coming to small stutters as he came down your throat.

You didn’t hesitate to swallow it all, sticking your tongue out to show your boyfriend you swallowed it he shook his head at you.

“Such a nasty girl.” He panted before lying back against the headboard eyes now trained on how his friend continued to fuck you.

Jamie could tell you were close, your moans had turned into little pathetic cries and your thighs were beginning to shake slightly.

“Mase! Fuck I’m cumming.” You cried.

Jamie smirked at your words realizing he knew you just as well as you knew yourself.

“Go ahead pretty girl, milk my cock like a good slut.” Mason spoke.

His words sent you over the edge as your body began to quiver; freshly done nails digging into the cotton comforter as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

You pulled Mason over the edge with you, choppy moans filling the room as his hips began to stutter and he fucked the both of you through your Highs.

“Fuck, fuck fuck.” He groaned before spilling his load into the tight condom.

He took a second to catch his breath before pulling out slowly and collapsing on the bed next to your spent body while Jamie looked down at both of you.

The older of the two smiled as he watched you curl towards Mason for warmth and he took that as a sign to get you a bath started.

“I’ll be right back.” He spoke softly slipping off the bed and sliding his boxers back on as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Feeling Masons hand run over your hair you opened your eyes to find him smiling at you softly.

“You uh-you know I didn’t come here to just sleep with you right? I swear I really did miss you guys.” He spoke up.

Your heart ached at the worry etched on his face, “Hey, I know you would never do that Mason. You are to nice of a person for something like that, and thank you we missed you a lot too.” You smiled softly.

“It’s been so weird without you guys.” He hummed softly.

“Same here, it’s so weird not waking up to Trevor belting Katy Perry at seven in the morning or you screaming because you can’t find your socks.” You laughed.

“Hey! It’s not my fault that damn washer is a sock muncher” he groaned.

You guys shared a giggle at that before relaxing into a soft silence your eyes meeting once again and before you knew it both of you were leaning in.

You locked your lips in a soft kiss tongues dancing around each other as his strong hand rested on your hip pulling you closer to his sweaty body.

You two make out weakly until Jamie popped back in the room to let you know the bath was ready forcing you two apart.

Carrying you into the bathroom Mason sat you in the bath, asking Jamie where you kept the sheets so he could change them quickly.

Jamie joined you in the tub after his friend set off for new linens, his body relaxing behind yours he began to wash you.

“Thank you for this.” You spoke up.

��Don’t have to thank me baby, it’s something we both enjoy.” He shrugged, kissing the back of your neck softly.

You hummed at the feeling of him allowing his hands to continue running along your body as he washed you clean.

“Missed him a lot, it’s weird living without him and Z still” Jamie said after a few moments of relaxing silence.

“That’s what we were just talking about, it was nice seeing him.” You smiled.

Jamie agreed reaching for your shampoo to wash your hair continuing with your shower routine before he was up and drying himself off, helping you next.

You two exited the bathroom to find Mason laying on the clean bed with fresh clothes and wet curls hinting that he took a quick shower in the guest room.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower and I’ll be right out.” Jamie placed a kiss to your head before going back into the bathroom to wash himself properly.

“Feel better?” Mason questioned.

“Yes” you smiled grabbing some pajamas before getting into bed next to him snuggling close to his side to watch whatever he had on.

Jamie joined shortly after on your other side his large body sandwiching you between them as he too turned his eyes to what was playing on the tv.

You fell asleep like that, tucked between their strong bodies as they both held onto you like you’d slip away in their sleep.

There truly was noothing got better than that.

#mason mctavish fluff #mason mctavish smut #mason mctavish imagine #mason mctavish x reader #mason mctavish #jamie drysdale x you #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale smut #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fluff #nhl smut #jays24kinktober

215 notes · View notes

alittlegiraffe · 13 days ago

Text

Title: Panic

A few days had passed since dinner with your parents. Marshall was on the floor with the kids, half-watching a movie while Hailie and Stevie argued about the plot. It was a rare, normal afternoon—one where his mind wasn’t running a hundred miles an hour, where he wasn’t gripping you too tight just to feel you. He'd sent you on a perfectly normal grocery run. Something people do everyday.

And then his phone rang.

He almost didn’t answer, thinking it was some random call, but something in his gut told him to look.

Unknown Number.

He frowned, answering with a clipped, “Yeah?”

“Hi, is this Marshall Mathers?”

His stomach dropped. The voice was too calm, too professional.

“Yeah,” he said, already standing up, already knowing. “Who’s this?”

“This is St. John’s Hospital. Your wife was in a car accident.”

Everything inside him froze.

The room blurred, the sound of the kids talking fading into static.

“She—” His voice cracked, his throat closing. “She okay?”

“She’s stable, but she sustained some injuries and was brought in by ambulance. You should come in as soon as possible.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, already grabbing his keys, barely registering the way his hands shook. “Yeah, I’m—I’m coming.”

He barely remembered getting to the hospital.

Somehow, he had gotten the kids to his brother’s place, told them something vague enough not to scare them but firm enough to let them know he had to go.

Now, he was standing in the middle of a too-bright hospital hallway, demanding answers from a nurse who was trying her best to calm him down.

“She’s in recovery,” she said patiently. “She had a mild concussion and some bruised ribs, but she’s awake.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Before she could finish, he was moving, pushing past the door, his breath short, his chest tight.

And then—

There you were.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, looking exhausted, looking a little battered—but alive.

His legs nearly gave out.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhaled, closing the distance in seconds, his hands cupping your face, his lips pressing against your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. “What the fuck happened?”

You gave him a weak smile. “Car ran a red light. Hit the driver’s side.”

Marshall’s stomach twisted. He could see it in his mind—the impact, the way your body must have jolted, the way you must have been thrown—

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking. “Fuck,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, grounding him. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I promise.”

He pulled back, his eyes scanning every inch of you, his hands running over your arms, your waist, as if he had to make sure for himself.

“Never letting you go anywhere alone again,” he muttered.

You huffed a soft laugh. “That might be a little extreme.”

“I don’t care.” His voice was shaking. “Could’ve lost you.”

You cupped his face, tilting his head so he had to look at you. “But you didn’t.”

His chest rose and fell, his breath still uneven, his heart still hammering—

But you were right here.

And he wasn’t letting go.

---

Marshall refused to let go of you.

Even when the doctor came in to check your vitals, even when the nurse needed to adjust your IV, even when you tried to shift a little in bed because your ribs hurt—his hands were on you, gripping your arm, your thigh, your fingers, like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear.

And the truth was, you weren’t sure you could convince him otherwise.

The accident had shaken you, of course, but Marshall—Marshall was unraveling right in front of you.

His leg bounced anxiously as he sat on the edge of your hospital bed, his fingers twitching against your knee. His jaw was locked, his eyes darker than usual, like he was barely keeping himself together.

“Marshall,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

He let you, but his grip was tight—too tight.

“You’re crushing my fingers,” you teased gently.

He let go immediately, cursing under his breath, running his hands through his short hair. “Fuck, I—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to turn this off.”

You frowned, brushing your fingers along his wrist. “Turn what off?”

He shook his head. “This. This thing in my chest that won’t fucking go away. Like I can’t breathe right. Like if I close my eyes, I’m gonna see you in that car, all fucked up and—and—” He clenched his fists, his whole body shaking.

Your heart ached.

You had seen him angry before. You had seen him shut down, lash out, lose himself in his own demons.

But this—this wasn’t anger.

This was fear.

Raw. Unfiltered. Uncontrollable.

You sat up as best you could, despite the ache in your ribs, and cupped his face in both hands. His skin was burning, his jaw tight under your fingers.

“Marshall,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to yours.

“I’m here,” you said, slow and firm. “I’m alive. I’m talking to you. Feel that.”

His hands flew to your sides, gripping your waist like he was grounding himself in your touch.

You exhaled, pressing your forehead to his. “You didn’t lose me.”

His breath hitched. His hands shook against your ribs.

“I could’ve,” he rasped.

“But you didn’t.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

He let out a breath, ragged and unsteady, and pulled you into his arms.

You winced slightly at the pressure, but you didn’t stop him. You knew he needed this—to feel you real and solid in his arms, to reassure himself that you weren’t slipping through his fingers.

His lips brushed against your temple, lingering there for a long moment.

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly, threading your fingers into his hoodie. “Figured.”

And as he held you, as his grip finally loosened just enough for his shoulders to relax, you knew—

You weren’t going anywhere.

Neither was he.

---

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

Marshall hadn’t moved from his spot beside you, his hands still gripping your body like you’d slip through his fingers if he let go. His breathing had evened out, but his jaw was still tight, his leg still bouncing—a nervous tic he never lost, no matter how many years sober he was.

And that’s when it hit you.

The last time Marshall was in this hospital… Proof died.

Your stomach twisted.

You had been here, too. You had sat in the same waiting rooms, walked the same halls, felt the same sterile hospital air clinging to your skin while everything fell apart. Before your life fell apart. Your family almost fell apart.

And now, here you were again, hooked up to a damn machine, while Marshall sat beside you looking haunted.

You swallowed, your fingers brushing over his. “Marshall.”

He barely reacted, just blinked at you, his grip flexing slightly.

You took a shaky breath. “This is where Proof—”

His whole body locked.

Like a rubber band stretched too tight, about to snap.

You felt his pulse spike beneath your fingers, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

You knew he hadn’t made the connection—at least, not consciously. But now that it was there, now that it was in the open—

“Fuck,” he exhaled, suddenly standing up, running his hands over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Your heart ached at the panic in his voice, at the way he paced the room like he was caged in, like his own mind was trapping him.

You shifted, ignoring the sting in your ribs, and reached for him. “Baby, come here.”

He shook his head, his fists clenching. “Nah, I—I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he turned away, gripping the edge of the hospital counter like he needed something to hold onto. His panic finally making sense.

You could see it happening—the way his body was reliving it.

Sitting in a hospital, waiting for news. Helpless.

Losing the person he thought would always be there.

Terror clawed at your throat because God, what if the roles had been reversed? What if that car accident had been worse? What if he had been sitting in that waiting room, waiting for someone to tell him you weren’t coming home?

You couldn’t let him spiral.

Ignoring the pull in your ribs, you carefully slid out of the bed, making your way over to him.

“Marshall.” Your voice was soft but firm.

He didn’t turn around, his breathing still uneven, his knuckles white against the countertop.

You pressed your chest against his back, wrapping your arms around him. His whole body tensed—but he didn’t pull away.

You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I’m here,” you whispered.

His breath hitched.

“I didn’t leave.” You hugged him tighter, feeling his muscles tremble beneath your touch. “And I’m not leaving.”

For a long moment, he was silent.

Then, slowly—finally—he turned, his arms crushing you against his chest, his face burying into your hair.

His breath was shaky, his grip too tight, but you let him hold you.

Because this wasn’t just about tonight.

This was about everything—Proof, the fear, the grief, the way he had spent years burying it all until he thought it couldn’t touch him anymore.

Until it did.

And as you held onto each other, standing in the same place that had once shattered him, you knew—

This time, he wasn’t facing it alone.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader

94 notes · View notes