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dearest-nell · 6 months ago

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morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

summary: a snapshot into the morning routine of steve harrington, now that the two of you have moved in together includes: established steve x reader, domestic fluff, steve is a busybody. warnings: literally none except i am still incapable of proofreading properly

a/n: honestly if anyone has any requests i would love to hear them, or just want to chat about this show that has ruined my life, because i'm spiralling into obsession over here.

People who complain about mornings have obviously never spent one waking up beside Steve Harrington, this you’re sure of. Because if they had, then they would know there was nothing in the world so deliciously saccharine than that drowsy, softened look on his face as he blinks the sleep away from mingling eyelashes, his lips curving upwards into a dreamy sort of smile. This isn’t even the first time he has awoken this morning.

Steve Harrington is a morning person – an early riser, a dawn greeter, a restless child on christmas day. His body clock is set as the sun begins to kiss the horizon, his eyes blinking open into a dark, cool bedroom. New. This bedroom is new. He is still getting used to it, this apartment, a dingy one bedroom located just a few blocks from the rougher side of town. It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home. It’s home because it’s his, and it’s home because it’s yours. You rent it together, bills strung haphazardly from paychecks of jobs you’d both rather live without. Steve doesn’t mind that he still works at the video store, not when it lights up the lamp on his bedside, or cooks the pasta on your shitty gas top that flickers every so often. He needs to call the service guy, now that he thinks about it, but it’s too early to matter.

He can feel the heat of your body pressed in beside him, curled in on yourself, face buried into the pillow now folding creases into your skin, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You have never been a morning person, he learned rather early on. You’re delirious, and grumpy, and still so beautiful despite the glare in your eyes when he used to wake you, and now, he knows to let you sleep. His impatience to rouse you, to kiss you and touch you is an urge he’s learned to swallow, so he pauses for a moment simply to stare, to smile to himself at the way you mumble in your dreams.

He has the time, he thinks, considering it’s still dark out, and his shift at the store is not due for half a morning away, so he lets himself linger, tucked into the warmth of bedsheets as he works up the courage to leave it. He knows he needs to, that he’ll feel better if he does, that the routine always pays off even if it means parting from you. The air will be chilly outside, but he needs the cold to clear his head. His morning run is his time, after all. It gives him the solitude to consider, to plan, to unwind.

He slips from the bed, careful footsteps walking a still unfamiliar path through the bedroom, boxes stacked against a near wall still unpacked from the move. His sneakers are in the wardrobe, well placed for a quick pick up, though he hasn’t accounted for his discarded shirt rippled right in his path. He trips, stumbling slightly, cursing himself as the thud that resounds as heavy feet meet the floorboards. He turns with a cringe, hearing you stir, though you do not rise as you wriggle deeper into yellow linens, disappearing beneath the comforter.

He’s quick to dress, not wanting to risk another incident and the wrath of your disturbed sleep, slipping out into the living room to tie his shoes, still half asleep and blinking blearily. Despite its flaws, he likes this apartment more than he thought possible. There’s a passthrough between the kitchen and the living room that lets him talk to you as he cooks, you hanging over the bench to smile at him, pressing kisses into his shoulder when he dares to come too close. There’s a strange nook that sits in the wall by the door, one that now holds your keys and bumble bee umbrella, though neither of you are too sure why it was built in the first place. There’s a flat expanse outside the bathroom window that you want to build a flower box into, though Steve is yet to determine how, since neither of you are particularly good at D.I.Y. He loves this second hand couch Eddie found on the curb, loves the strange, abstract art piece Will designed for you both as a housewarming, loves the ceramic clown that Robin stole from an overpriced giftshop to hide in one of your moving boxes, now settled in the bookshelf beside an array of half read novels between you.

He’s building a life here with you, and Steve is trying his best to remind himself of it every chance he get. There will be Christmases spent in these walls, games night drinks spilled on this carpet, and so many I love you kisses pressed to smiling cheeks beside that front door – he hardly knows how to contain the excitement for it all, even as he ties his laces.

The morning is colder than he expected, but Steve has never been one to check the weather even now, even after he caught a cold from a raining run one morning, taking himself straight to work rather than home to you to shower. He figure’s he’ll wing it, deal with the consequences as they come, and enjoy the way you dote on him as he whines and groans in his flu like delirium days later. Cold, but not raining, he knows he’ll be fine this time.

He’s been planning out this new jogging route as he goes, still learning the maps and turns of each new lane. He’d never been to this part of town much before the move, but he’s starting to acclimate one run at a time. It’s not too far from Hawkins, after all. It still feels like a familiar place, but it’s closer to the community college to save you the travel time. Steve’s a visual learner, after all. It gives him the roadmap that he’ll need to plan out his week. He’s taking himself the long way just to jot down the layout; the farmers market, the hardware store, the cafe with the good coffee. He waves to the people he passes by, few and far between, trying to appear friendly. He doesn’t know yet the culture of this community, but he’s eager to make a good impression. He recognises the old man who runs the news agency, stops to chat as they talk about the community centre. Steve’s agreed to volunteer for the refurbishment, he’s hoping it’ll help you both settle in, and you’ve promised to bake up your best batch of pastries to feed the hungry husbands as they work. Steve’s not yet a husband, but he’s planning on changing that in due time.

The sun mingling with the clouds by the time he departs again, his pace quickening through midtown suburbia to take him home. The paperboy is tossing rolls at the doors, barely breaking on his bike as he passes house after house. Steve moves onto the road to avoid any collisions, shaking his head as the teen wheels off past a corner. He hasn’t even thought about his week yet, he realises, and his pace drops in consideration. There’s a stocktake coming up at work that will take more energy than he has to give, his parents are due over for dinner later in the week (he’s hoping they’ll cancel), and Robin has booked him tickets to some kind of gig that he’s certain he’ll hate. He mentally notes the checklist – things to buy, things to do, things to clean – now able to see his lot clearly without the buzz of a busy world around him. His days run smoother this way, alone, soles beating against the pavement. It starts him on the right foot.

He’s out of breath when he arrives back on your block, panting heavily without the grace of a water bottle. He knows he should have brought one, but there’s no point stewing on it now. His thighs ache as he climbs the staircase, three flights of stairs his least favourite part of coming home. He can’t imagine hauling groceries up this stairwell is going to be an enjoyable weekly endeavour, but for the price of rent, he’s willing to make the effort, even with a slightly busted knee.

He’s a little louder than he wants to be as he eases open the lock, slipping into a slightly brighter apartment than when he left. He doesn’t think you’re awake, but he takes pause to slow himself down, turning into the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Steve clicks on the faucet, hanging his head below the tap to let the cool water run directly into his mouth. He lacks grace as he guzzles down half a litre, droplets trickling down his cheeks and chin into unclean dishes from the night before. There’s urgency, he decides, in this drink. No type for a cup, no time to pause. He pulls away gasping, wiping a cupful of water across his sweat slicken face, unable to suck enough breath into his lungs. He leans back against the benchtop, eyes pressed skyward to focus on slowing himself down, letting his heart rate drop back to a blissful pace.

He knows he should shower, but more than anything, he’s aching to get back between the sheets with you. It’s funny how he still misses you when you’re not within reach, even for an hour, even when he knows you’re still wrapped up tight in the comforts of his bed. It feels wrong to love a person this much, like he shouldn’t be made to feel so much, so deeply, every passing minute of every passing day. But he does. He knows he’s not the first to feel such a love, but he thinks he might be the only one regardless, because no one else has you. He thinks it’s strange that everyone in the world isn’t aching to be by your side, that hearts all over the town aren’t skipping beats at the wideness of your smile, the curve of your shoulder, the tickle of your laugh. This love must be special, then, because how else can he be the only one so enamoured by you.

He forces himself into the shower, the water not yet warm even as he sinks his head beneath the stuttering stream. The pipes are old, though a cold shower bothers him far less than it bothers you. He’ll be out quicker this way. He is less thorough in his cleaning than he thinks he ought to be, scrubbing furiously at his body with the loofah you bought him, scraping sweat and red streaks into a now fading tan. He’s seeing the sun less these days in the dead of autumn, but he’ll make it up later. Right now, all he is focused on is climbing back into his bed, his skin stained with a citrus scent embedded into the new soap you had bought. It’s not his usual brand, but he thinks he likes the change anyways. It reminds him of summer picnics with you, fingers digging into orange peels, juices dribbling down his fingers until he tears out slices one by one. The scent lingers, filled with your orange flavoured kisses and sun streaked highlights burning into his mind, and yes, he thinks, the change isn’t so bad.

He shuts off the tap, yanking his towel from the rack to pat himself dry, hair shaking out like a puppy dog with rambunctious excitement to be on his way. He doesn’t bother to redress, dropping the towel to the floor without focus, padding back towards your bedroom. You’re exactly how he left you, though a little more illuminated in the morning light. You’ve wiggled out of the blanket again, one foot kicked out to the side to regulate your body temperature, one hand reaching out towards his side of the bed. You reach for him in your sleep sometimes, and he hates the idea of not being there for you when you do.

He clambers into bed his eagerness betraying his stealth, expert hands lifting your arm up for him to slide under, hanging it securely over his waist as he settles into the warm dip of the mattress. Your body responds instinctively, rolling into him with a groan, still not quite awake, though he can tell you’re not so far off. He runs fingers through your hair, trying to stave off your inevitable waking for as long as he can manage. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour, and he wants every second before that spent just like this.

He doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but sleep takes him anyways, his eyes blinking shut under the hypnotic pattern of your breathing beside him. He’ll wake up again groggier now, but there is nothing to be done to change it. He tugs you in closer, rougher in his sleep, his neediness permeating his unconscious mind until you’re pressed square against him. The movement spurs you awake, slowly and unintentionally, though it takes you a moment to understand why.

There he is, your man, your darling boy, mouth hanging open with quiet, rumbling snores, arms wrapped around you in a protective lock. He’s never looked more beautiful, even with your eyes out of focus, one closed and pressed into the fabric of your pillowcase. You can smell the soap, feel the softness of his now cleansed skin beneath your curious fingertips, and you know he’s already been out of bed. He tries his best not to fall back asleep, but your smile curves wider to be blessed to see it. There’s a jealousy in you, after all, that he gets to watch you sleep so often. Times like these are rare, when you awaken first, and you’re greedy in your enjoyment of them. You’d take a picture if you thought you could reach the camera, but the moment would spoil, you were sure. You commit it to memory instead, every dip and curve and freckle and hair burned into your head until it’s all you can see. You want his face to be a fading image that blinks to life behind every close of your eyes, an after image repeating itself well into the day when you’re far away from him.

He is so lovely, and you are so in love.

The alarm breaks the two of you out of your reverie, your body jolting at the surprise of it. Steve is slower to start this time, groaning a drunken sort of sound as you slam your hand down on the rattling clock. His arm tightens around you, dragging you until your body is half wedged under his own, your giggles drowning out into muffled chuckles as your face burrows into the crook of his neck.

“I fell back asleep.” He mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh.

“I know.” You coo back, adjusting the curve of your back to a more comfortable position, tangling legs between his own until you’re thoroughly wrapped.

“You sound awake.” He mumbles back, squeezing at your waist with unmasked affection. “Were you up?”

“Yeah.” It’s an airy sort of confession, made to match the tender strokes of fingers reaching to scrape lovingly at his scalp. “Just watchin’ you sleep.”

“Perv.” He teases, kissing at your hair, mouth hungry and missing your skin entirely. He lights up as you giggle, his head lifting with heavy blinks to gaze down at you, hair pressed upwards into a lopsided mess. You do your best to pat it down for him. “You like what you see?”

You crook your head to the side, focusing your gaze in a tender expression. “Something like that.” His brow arches curiously, leaving you to laugh again. “I love you, you moron.”

His smile widens, head dropping to nuzzle his nose roughly into your cheek, lips catching on your jaw every so often with exaggerated noises of enthusiasm. “Love you too, baby.”

There is silence for a minute, nothing but his lips dragging affection across the planes of your cheek, his hands wandering underneath the fold of your bedshirt to press fingertips into fading stretch marks across your hips. You’re worried he’ll fall asleep again, and you know you don’t have the heart today to wake him a second time.

“You want breakfast? I can make jam on toast?”

He hums a happy sound, though does nothing to release his grip on you. “Yeah, okay. Gonna have to escape me, though. Can’t make my arm move.”

He pretends to try and shuffle his grip, putting on a little show with a pout when his hold does not dislodge. You roll your eyes, brushing the pad of your thumb against his brow bone.

“Five more minutes, then.”

Steve was back asleep within three.

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swtsupernatural · 2 months ago

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S.W || ANGEL BY MY SIDE

Sam Winchester x Fem!Angel!Reader

Content Warning blood, mentions of death, sam fighting for bodily autonomy, religious themes & talk of heaven, reader being shorter than Sam

Summary Angst, hurt-/comfort for Sam, slow burn i think - Sam was supposed to die tonight. At least, that's what his guardian angel told him after she saved him from death.

W.C. 2.4k words

Playlist: ♫ Kiss of Life - Sade, Telephone - daste., Salvatore - Lana Del Rey

A.N. first sam fic ! this came to me sunday night, been thinking alot about spn angels lately. enjoy! - claire

It had been a long fucking day for Sam Winchester. Not only was the demon he found in Manhattan trying to summon more, but they were working with a large pack of them and an even larger pack of vampires that lurked in Vermont’s lush forests. The two creatures had teamed up, and as a result Sam was surrounded in a poorly lit dirt road in the forest, moonlight shining on his knife. He couldn’t see or hear Dean, and he knew Castiel was busy with extremely pressing ‘angel matters’ as he put it. He had vamps and demons circling him, and Dean had the stupid demon knife. Or, he did when Sam had seen him a few minutes ago. Now, he had no clue who had their hands on it. His brain was twisting as he desperately tried to wring out ideas of escape from his head like a sponge. He was trapped. Fuck. A demon sprung, holding a large, saw-edged knife slicing his forearm making him tense. A measly cut never stopped him, and he twisted the demon’s neck, shoving the body to the side as another few came behind him. Twisting and trying desperately to gank two at once, Sam missed the others on his right, one stabbing Sam deep in his lower abdomen.

Significantly outnumbered, Sam tried to keep his thoughts collected. But it was difficult with five vamps and six demons on his ass, and the blood slowly staining his shirt, the agonizing pain making him want to double over. The demons suddenly pounced on him simultaneously. He managed to injure one of them, but the rest kept their grip on his arms, legs, neck, and torso tight. One of the taller vamps sauntered over to him, her lips curling into a smile.

“You’re gonna taste so sweet, boy. I can already tell…” She pulled his hair back roughly, her painted fingers tight on his long hair. She exposed his neck, and Sam had never thrashed more than he had in that moment. It seemed like all he had done in his adult life was fight for his bodily autonomy. He felt numb — of course this would be how he died. The second he felt her lips on his skin, he felt and heard something he never had.

A loud whoosh, the hands and arms restricting him gone, and a swift change in the chipping air all in less than a second. He was in the motel. His motel he and Dean were staying at in some small town in Vermont.

But…there was still a single hand on his shoulder. However, it was gentle. Too gentle. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours; a woman. You couldn’t have been much older than him. But you weren't really a woman. He drew his gun from his belt, effectively pushing from you, making space between you two.

“Who the hell are you?” He was assuming you were an angel. He didn’t know of many other creatures or beings that could move him so effectively and so fast. He was also thinking how everything in this world came with a price. You weren't saving his life to do him a favor or to be nice. That wasn’t how this ever worked. Except; there you stood, your hands tentatively coming up in a gesture of surrender.

“Sam. I’m very glad you are okay.” You stated your name, a small smile on your lips. Still, he held his gun up directly at your face.

“So much for a thanks, I guess. I’m your guardian angel, Sam. There’s no need for hostility.” Sam faulted, just a bit, but you took a single step towards him and he was back in his rock-solid stance.

“I’m sure. What do you want?”

“Well, I’d like to heal that cut in your stomach. It’s quite deep.”

He scoffed, “Why? So I can owe you? So I can be in your debt?”

You were silent for a moment, your eyes widening a bit. “Castiel never told you? Sam, certain angels…we are assigned to humans to watch over them. We are permitted to help you, prevent you from death if it is not your time, and only if we are not spotted. We cannot be seen, or…well, in simple terms, we’ll be kicked out of Heaven.”

“You…you’re my guardian angel? Seriously?” He mulled over you, his eyes squinting in suspicion. “How come we’re talking, then, if I’m never supposed to see you?”

Rolling your eyes suddenly that same whoosh came, only a lot quieter. You had his gun in your hand, pulling the mag out, throwing the piece in one direction and the gun elsewhere in the motel where neither of you could reach it.

“You were going to die. You were supposed to die. That was your time, Sam. I defected to save you. I’d like a ‘thank you’ at the very least.”

Sam breathed quickly through his nose deciding what to do. Your eyes were so genuine. He’d only ever seen that look from one other angel, Cas.

“I…thank you.” You nodded, and he saw realization in your eyes. It was raw and undoubtedly heavy on your being. You nodded.

“I’m going to put my fingers on your temple and you will feel much better, understand?” You looked at him; from his shaggy hair to his dirty boots, and back up again. “It will be easier if you sit down. You’re much taller than I thought.”

Sam let out a small huff of laughter, sitting on the bed.

“Well, you don’t seem very tall for a guardian angel.” You squint your eyes at him, a look of unshaken power in them that startled Sam to his core. He knew what angels were capable of. You could have killed him and everyone in the motel in seconds. Yet, from someone else’s perspective, you were a hell of a lot shorter than him, and just looked like a regular young woman.

“My true form is larger than the size of this building, Sam. I know that you know what I am capable of. Even if I may not look like it.”

Sam nodded in an apologetic way, your cold fingers on his temple immediately putting him at ease. Cas had healed him a couple times before but it had felt nowhere as heavily as this. He could feel his wounds closing before he could register what was happening — even the widespread blood stain on his shirt dissipating. He let out a long sigh he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulder slumping forward. He truly felt better than he had in years.

“Thank you. And I’m very aware of what angels can do…though I’ve never met a guardian one.”

You nodded, your face quite close to his. He smiled gently. Cas was never great with personal space either. Yet, Sam always found it funny when the angel would appear a mere foot from his older brother. Now, the last thing on his mind was humor. He would never admit that your presence was intoxicatingly calming.

“We possess stronger healing powers and sturdier wings than typical angels. Not that it matters much now.” The sorrow in your eyes made guilt settle uncomfortably in Sam’s stomach.

“Why did you save me? I’m not exactly the poster boy for virtue or dignity.”

“I’m aware. But you must understand I’ve been watching you your whole life, Sam. I perfectly believe you deserve another chance on Earth.” Sam gazed into your eyes, trying to find what he could not understand. His father, Dean, Bobby…they had all known and loved him for so long. But they’d never expressed it like you were right now — and he'd never even met you. He had met defected angels before, fallen ones too. They would lose their wings. They would lose their grace. They were as old as the beginning of time, and would sacrifice it all for a single human.

“But why? You flew me here, but I’m guessing your wings aren't doing too good right now, Angel.”

You stared deeply at his features. You’d seen Sam, watch him grow up before your eyes from the day he was born. But your visions of him were never as clear as they were now. His eyes were a solemn swirl of blues and greens, the inner ring a twirling hazel. The lines on his face told you of his laughter, his light forehead lines telling you of his worries, the short hairs littering his jaw telling you he’d been up for nights focusing on the hunt that was supposed to have ended his life.

“Because I thought…” you looked at a stained part of the unappealing carpet on the floor, your eyes glazing over a bit, “I thought that some of the angels were abusing their power over humans, over hunters. I had been on earth a few times and stupidly got your disease of emotions.” Sam chuckled softly despite the situation, hoping you would feel a tad better. But he knew you didn’t. How could you?

“I felt sympathy for humans. There were unjust things happening everyday, people's lives ending at their wrong time. I thought you were worth saving because–well, maybe it's time angel’s be kind instead of unforgiving.” Sam listened to every word spilling from your lips. You had been very short and to the point with him earlier. You really had begun feeling human emotion, if even a little.

“And I thought that maybe you’d help me. Help me adjust, at least. I have seen the ways you and your brother act. I know it is selfish of me, but you are close with my closest friend and brother, Castiel.” You took a pause, eyes averting from Sam’s sincere face.

“I have seen you do it for humans and creatures and being alike, Sam. I thought maybe if I was kind to you, you could be kind to me, too.”

Sam stared at you in awe, his jaw slightly open. He honestly wasn’t sure what to say. Of course he would like to help you, but how? You were an angel for God’s sake. Maybe Cas was capable of giving you what you really needed to adjust, to be an angel without your wings, but he’d try. He’d fight like hell to try for you. You saved his life. It dawned on him that he was meant to be dead. He’d likely be in hell at this very moment if you hadn’t intervened. You truly were an angel sent from Heaven for him.

“Of course I’ll help you, Y/N. You saved my life. I’m not done fighting yet and I’ll try everything I can, as a human at least, to support you.” You smiled. Your eyes were watering and you confusingly blinked at a wet drop falling from your right eye. “What is…” Sam reached a large hand to your cheek, rubbing the tear away.

“Tears. You’re tearing up. Nearly crying, it happens when you…experience intense emotions, sometimes. Usually they are sad ones, but I’m guessing yours aren't.”

“No. I think I am happy. Maybe…anticipatory?” Your stomach was in knots, but you didn’t think you were sick. Castiel had explained it as…excitement. Sam smiled at your words.

“Why is everything I say to you funny, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, still smiling as he brought a hand to your shoulder, “Not everything, you’re just…amusing.” You nodded after a moment as if agreeing with him. You knew you weren't accustomed to human culture or customs, you felt out of place every time you were on Earth. Nevertheless; now it was your home.

“I find you very amusing. And you can be funny, but only when you are not being stubborn.”

“You really have seen me my whole life.”

“But I like that about you. You have such complex emotions.”

“Yea, I do…” Sam trailed off, the twisting in his stomach intensifying as he looked at your lips briefly. “Can I…” he leaned in closer, but not too close. He didn’t want to crowd your space, but you just looked so heavenly sitting next to him on his bed, your lovely hair framing your soft, glowing face. You tilted your head the way Cas did when he was confused about something human-like.

“Can you what, Sam?”

Fuck, your voice was so pretty. “Nevermind,” he leaned back slightly, getting up to call Dean to find out what happened to him before you grabbed his arm pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You realize you shouldn't be thanking me, right?”

“I know. But I also know humans can be very cruel and you’ve shown me a lot of kindness. I wasn't sure it was still possible in your world. Oh, and Dean is alright. I asked Castiel to help him as I did you.” Sam kissed your forehead, and it felt like it lit on fire. Your cheeks were warm, and you weren't sure if you were ill, or what was happening to your very human vessel.

“Sam, are you sick?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why d’you ask?”

“You just made my skin hot, and my stomach feels weird.” Sam froze, his lips coming into a smirk, “Did I?” He tested the waters, lacing his fingers over your arm, and you stared up at him, your cheeks pink and your mouth slightly open.

You pulled him down on the bed, holding his face with your hands. “Yes.” You stated matter-of-factly.

He smiled, sliding his hands over your cheek. “You gonna do anything about that?” Sam spoke in your ear lowly and you turned your head, his hair tickling your face and leaving goosebumps on your arms.

“I don’t know what to do.” He curled further into your face, leaning closer to your ear, his mouth on the edge.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, Angel.”

You nodded, but opted for leaning up and placing a kiss on his forehead too.

“I think I need to teach you about other human stuff before we uh…do that.” You nodded, still leaning on Sam, when a thought came to your head.

“Hey, Sam?” He gazed over your face, listening attentively to your sweet voice.

“I still have my grace and powers. But, since I’m not a real angel anymore…do you think I can try things like ice cream and taste the real flavor?” He threw his head back, laughing boyishly.

“Yea, yea, I can buy you ice cream, Angel.”

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 5 months ago

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what if

Darry was trying to sleep. It had been a long ass day and he needed to get up early in the morning. The windows were open, blowing a warm breeze over him. The house was calm. It should have been so easy to sleep.

Something kept him awake. Since becoming a guardian to his brothers, sometimes he got this feeling in his gut that something was about to happen. He felt it when Pony came home late that night and when Soda approached him to tell him he wanted to drop out. It was this sixth sense he had for his boys. That was what he felt that night.

So he stayed lying there, waiting for something to happen. He was about to give up with his bedroom door creaked open.

He knew who it was immediately. No one in the gang would have come into his bedroom without knocking, except for his brothers. And he would have heard Ponyboy hesitating in the hallway on the creaky floorboards before coming in. So it had to be Soda.

Darry rolled over and sat up just as Soda perched on the edge of the bed, curling his legs up. His little brother was wearing a truly hideous t-shirt he probably stole from Steve and his hair was all askew as though he’d been running his fingers through it. But the biggest tell was how he kept chewing on his bottom lip.

“What’s goin’ on?” Darry asked, his voice a little deeper than usual from disuse.

Soda shrugged, but moved into Darry’s space and tucked his legs under the blankets. A long conversation then. With Pony, he tended to need a lot of build up before admitting what was wrong. With Soda, he would just jump right into it, but it would take longer for Darry to get him calmed down and comforted.

It didn’t surprise him when Soda swallowed thickly and said, “Darry, I can’t do what you do.” His voice had a waiver of emotion to it.

“What are you talking about, Pepsi?” Darry asked, mind racing as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Soda was an emotional person, but this seemed different. This was heavier than his usual caliber. This reminded Darry too much of how Soda was after their parents died.

He threw himself into taking care of Pony, but when he was alone, there was a heavy aura around him. Darry felt that same thing now. There was a solemnity to Soda that Darry almost never saw, it worried him a lot. A lot more than Darry would ever admit.

Soda sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, he leaned a little heavier against Darry. “Everything you do for me and Pony and the boys. But if you’re not here, then-then it has to be me and I know I couldn’t do it and I’d just fall apart.”

As he talked, Soda’s voice got thicker and thicker with tears until Darry brought his little brother into a tight hug. Soda clung to him tight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Darry told him. Where could this idea have come from? It was ridiculous, the notion that Darry would ever leave his brothers or his gang.

“You don’t know that,” Soda said, his voice pitifully soft. “We didn’t think mom and dad would leave.”

So that’s what it was about. He’d talked to Pony about the same thing after one of his nightmares. After losing their parents so suddenly, anxiety of abrupt loss plagues the three boys. Darry couldn’t help but feel the same, he worried every time one of his brothers came home late.

Darry’s eyes fell closed and he tried to hold Soda even tighter. “I know, honey.”

“You could get hurt at work or a car accident or-”

Darry hushed him and ran a hand over Soda’s head. He just hugged his brother for a moment while thinking of what to say. He couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t going to happen, he couldn’t promise his brother that he would always be there.

“I don’t want you to worry about any of that,” Darry told him. “But, I get why you do and I hate that it’s something we need to worry about.”

Soda pulled back, “Will you tell me what I should do? Dar, I’m going to be lost if you’re not here.”

Darry could hear the tears getting thick in Soda’s voice so he cut in quickly to reassure him. “I’ll tell you what, I will put something together for you that if…if the worst happens, it should make it easier.”

When their parents died, Darry wished he had an instruction manual on what to do. He had to figure out where all of the bills were supposed to go, how to pay them, how to get custody of his brothers, and had to plan their funeral. The thought of Soda being in that position made Darry’s stomach turn.

“But,” Darry squeezed his hand, “but I ain’t letting you look at it. I don’t want you worrying any more than you already do, okay?”

Soda nodded. He hugged Darry again.

“And while we’re talkin’ about that kind of serious stuff…” Darry sighed. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while.” Soda lifted his head up, and looked at Darry in confusion. “I never apologized to you for how I dealt with mom and dad.” Soda started to shake his head, but Darry cut him off. “No, I threw myself into trying to keep everything together with the house and custody. You stepped up with helping Pony and I wasn’t there for either of you the way I should have been. I’m sorry.”

Soda threw himself back against Darry and all but tackled him into a hug. “We were all grieving and if you hadn’t done that, who knows where we would be.”

Darry kissed Soda’s head, “Don’t mean I’m not sorry. You did so much for Pony and I wish I’d done the same for you.”

Soda hugged Darry so tight, Darry worried he might crack one of his ribs. But he didn’t mind.

The two of them sat there for a long moment. Darry found himself missing when the two of them were younger and sharing a bedroom. Soda would jump onto his bed in the middle of the night and wake him up just to tell him about whatever weird dream he had. Half the time, Soda ended up asleep on the foot of Darry’s bed.

He wished so much that they didn’t have to grow up so fast, any of them.

“You should get back to Pony,” Darry said after a while. “He’s going to wake up and come stompin’ in here, looking for you.”

Soda chuckled, “I love you, Dar.”

“Love you too,” Darry replied. He gave his brother a light shove towards the door. He couldn’t resist adding, “It’s going to be okay, Pepsi. I promise.”

Soda smiled, “Thanks.”

And as he disappeared into the hallway, Darry laid back down with a sigh. That had been something he wanted to say for the longest time and Soda’s forgiveness…it meant the world to him.

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #darry curtis

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dancingtotuyo · 10 months ago

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Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is.

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.” Joel hangs up.

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain.

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy.

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight.

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time.

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup.

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around.

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes.

“And?”

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat.

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall.

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer.

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place.

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good.

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul.

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over.

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well.

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you.

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual.

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.”

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips.

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen.

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles.

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells.

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

“You hate pancakes.”

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock.

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake.

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you.

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together.

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do.

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes.

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips.

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant.

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit.

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again?

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation.

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says.

“About?” You press.

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight.

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now.

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply.

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod.

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say.

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again.

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart.

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy.

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons.

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements.

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.”

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands.

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours.

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with.

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?”

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that.

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you.

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands.

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision.

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer.

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones.

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all.

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding.

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit.

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night.

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

#the last of us #joel miller #tommy miller #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro boys #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #high infidelity (joel miller)

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qwimblenorrisstan · 3 months ago

Text

Bloody Cuddles | Cassian x Reader

Day 16: No one else to Turn to w/ Cassian

Summary: Cassian has no where else to go except to you when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, beaten and bloodied.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: blood, bruises, mentions of swords, stitches, partially naked man, cuddling

A/N: honestly idk what’s happening in this one, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It was past midnight when he showed up.

You’d already changed into a t-shirt and shorts, sleeping clothes in your opinion, dishes, and laundry done and put up, stomach full of what you’d had for dinner, house warm and cozy, fending off the chill of Autumn Court that tended to roll in during the night. Your magic usually helped keep you warm, anyway.

You’d been just about to crawl into bed when a heavy knock on your door sounded, your dog jolting to his feet, slim ears perked up as he let out a low growl.

“Quiet,”

You murmured, hand smoothing over his short, silky fur, trying to soothe him as you walked over to the door, opening it half an inch and peeking out, trying to slam it shut when you saw who it was.

His gloved hand, bloodied gloved hand, slid between the crack, not letting the door shut. He didn’t even grunt when it slammed down on his palm, siphon not flickering a bit as it was also squished between the wooden door and doorframe.

Your dog growled, clearly not happy with the Illyrian behind the door, or the way your scent soured.

Just as you were about to hiss out for him to leave, he spoke.

“Look, I don't want to be here, I just don’t have anywhere else to go. One night. That’s all I'm asking for.”

Something in his voice struck a chord in you. Maybe it was the gravelly tone carrying the weight of exhaustion and something else, something further, or maybe it was just the way he wasn’t teasing or prodding you like usual. Still, you would have fun with this.

“Why? Did your precious Inner Circle finally grow bored of you?”

You taunted, waiting for the usual snapback, expecting him to at least try to insult you or your family. Anything, really, other than the heavy sigh you heard from the other side of the door.

“I fucked up. Bad.”

His voice was rough with emotion, growing thicker with each word. He sounded vaguely like he was about to cry.

You glanced down at your dog. He’d stopped growling. You and the animal shared a long glance before he huffed and walked off to curl up in his bed. He’d made up his mind, you supposed.

You opened the door, and there he was.

He was still in his fighting leathers, looking torn up. Forming bruises coated his body, some turning purple and yellow, a few even green, while blood coated his knuckles and drooped from his nose, eyes bloodshot and flickering from exhaustion. Every breath sounded wheezy and more like he was about to heave.

His eyes looked vacant.

You scowled, but the little gleam of worry in your eye was unmistakable as you stepped back, letting him in. As soon as he was in, he walked over to the kitchen and collapsed into a chair, looking like he was about to fall asleep.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re getting blood all over my kitchen.”

You hissed, and he gave you a flat look.

“I don’t care.”

He replied, and you huffed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him over to the bathroom, except for the fact that he refused to move, simply sitting in the chair while you pulled your hardest. After a few moments of watching you, he finally took mercy on you, getting up and stumbling over to your small bathroom, collapsing onto the toilet.

You pulled out a little emergency first-aid kit from under the sink that hadn’t been used in at least a century, popping it open, before grabbing a towel from the cabinet and wetting it, raising a brow at Cassian while he sat motionless on the toilet seat.

“What?”

He asked, and you gave him a look that was questioning his intelligence.

“To clean your injuries, I’m going to need to see them.”

You spoke slowly as if talking to a small child, and he exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed, but he shifted and pulled his shirt off regardless, pants following, leaving him in just a pair of boxers.

You tried not to let your gaze wander as you pressed the damp section of the towel to a large slice across his abdomen, one that would probably require stitches, even with his Illyrian healing. It was a wound from a sword, clearly.

“Who’d you piss off to get this?”

You asked, keeping your tone purposefully detached, almost bored. He only grunted, probably in discomfort, as you padded the blood away.

“Rhys.”

He eventually admitted, and you let out a snort at that, placing the towel aside and picking up the needle and thread from the first-aid kit, threading the eye of the needle while replying.

“I’m guessing you did something to Feyre?”

He stiffened slightly as you let the needle puncture his skin, beginning the stitches, but didn’t reply. It seemed he was done talking about it. You would probably just pester him more in the morning when he was in a better mood and get it all out of him then, anyway.

A few quiet minutes later, and the stitching was done, the bloody towel being thrown into the bathtub as you closed the kit, putting it back under the sink where it stayed.

He went to grab his leathers, presumably to put them back on, when you shook your head, swatting the clothing out of his hands into the bathtub as well. It could be washed later. Not now, when it was too late into the night anyway.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

You said blandly, walking over to your bedroom, not bothering to give him any directions as you slid into your bed, pulling the cold blankets over you, palms warming with a spark of magic as the room’s temperature increased within mere moments.

You closed your eyes and were out like a light.

It must’ve been hours later when you woke up, the sun still not peeking out from your blinds, the night sky still twinkling.

You tried to turn, the spot where your head was laid a bit too warm for your taste, only to realize that you couldn’t move. Mainly because of a pair of warm arms wrapped around you. And the owner of those arms dozing off while wrapped around you, limbs entangled.

You huffed in annoyance, trying to push him off, only for him to grumble and let out a sleepy grunt.

“Get off-!”

You half whispered, half yelled, and he grunted again.

“G’ back to sleep.”

He mumbled, eyes screwing shut until his body relaxed again, and he was out like a light.

And so you were stuck with a big Illyrian oaf cuddling you in the middle of the night.

As you sighed, slowly settling and drifting back off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t so bad.

Tags:

@hawke1917

@angstober

@fourthwing4ever

#writers on tumblr #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar fluff #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #Cassian angst #angst to comfort #angstober 2024 #angstober

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pedge-page · 1 year ago

Text

Crash

Sequel to Cravings

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie is reeling from the night you two had sex and can no longer differentiate between his addictions.

Notes: Great y’all, now he's got feelings . Hope you're proud. Anyway, thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive feedback from Cravings: alas, here’s part 2! There will be a part 3 finale following after this (because it was getting too long and I like making you all suffer). Thank you all again for the love and reading so far!

Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), F and M masturbation, dry humping, drunk reader, slight dub con drunk sexual activities, references to sex, mentions of drug usage, language, Frankie is kinda mean in this one :( , poor communication King and Queen

18+ONLY

- - - -

Frankie feels like a stranger who's overstayed his welcome in his own home. When he knew you were deep asleep, he crawled out of bed and sat on the couch for what felt like a simultaneous eternity and quantum leap of time, wrestling in his mind over what just happened.

He knows you'll be waking up soon, and the thought of seeing you now makes him feel so anxious. In direct contract to how he's felt seeing you every morning since you moved in. How much of last night stuck with you? You were tipsy, but not as fucked up drunk as he was. Did he come on to you too strong? Misread your signs? Did he force it on you? Would you regret it?

And even if you wanted it, was it just all for him? Was this just another "helping Frankie get over his coke problem"?

He can't just go back to seeing you as a substitute for his "problems". His hands shook at his side, leg bouncing. You were slowly transitioning from being the solution to his problems to becoming the reason for his new problems. He's never been afraid about how to act around you before, and that even includes trying to touch and kiss you in front of some guy you were flirting with at the bar.

God, what a shitty friend he is. You should have had the chance to go home with that guy, not have to deal with your coke addicted friend so he hog your cunt all night for himself.

Then again, why would you want to go home with that fucker anyway? Like he would know your body as intimately as Frankie does. As if he could even come close to bringing to the edge black out pleasure and back over and over all night. Catfish doesn’t pride himself on much except two things: flying a chopper under any condition, and making you cream on his tongue.

He feels even more guilty as his cock hardens in his pants, the memories of your sweet moans and perfection flood his mind. How he'd wanted it for so long and was so sure he was dreaming. But he could never mistaken: the hot tenderness of your sweaty skin, hair sprawled over his pillow, your nails sifting through his curls and scratching along his shoulders, the way your legs shook around his head, the taste of your over flowing juices needing him more than before, the sounds like honey pouring from your lips, the insatiably tight, wet grip of your pussy swallowing around him like a perfect fit, and the way you wrapped yourself around him like you never wanted to let go.

He wants you. Again. And again, and again. So much that he doesn’t think he can trust himself around you anymore.

You wake to a cold bed. It takes you a moment to orient yourself, recognizing the room is not your own.

You sigh relief when you hear Frankie shuffling in the kitchen, the smell of burning toast filling the air. You quickly run to the bathroom to freshen up, wiping your messy eyes. And surprised to find the once mess between your legs from last night had already been cleaned, probably while you had slept.

You can't help but feel like a shitty friend, hogging his bed, having him clean up after you when he was the drunk one who needed caring to.

You bounce into the living space, announcing your presence with an exaggerated yawn.

You rub his broad shoulders over his shirt, feeling him tense at your sudden touch. Slowly, your hands snakes down the chiseled lines of his back, wrapping around his waist. You felt his strong forearms flex the spatula in his hand.

He turned to you, his eyes warm but clearly sleep deprived. His breath is short when looking at you, eyes dilated. He can't stop your hands drifting south and feeling the clear tent in his pants that has been there all morning. He closes his eyes and groans as you palm his erect cock.

"Why didn't you wake me?" You asked, turning off the stove as you stare up at him.

Frankie swallows the lump in his throat. He brushes your hands off his crotch and holds them in his. “I’m okay. Besides, you needed your rest." He leans down to kiss your cheek, lacking his usual affection despite the gesture before coldly turning back to his cooking.

You pull away and sit down at the table, just a moment before he's plating your breakfast.

Frankie cooked you breakfast?

He brushes your hair out of your eyes before leading himself down the hall and into his room without another word.

Sheets, pillow cases, clothes, all of it gets balled up and tossed in the wash. He glances at you down the ball, your feet dangling over the island stool as you catch up on your news feed.

You couldn’t be any more oblivious to how much his heart is shattering—just from doing absolutely nothing.

He's annoyed at how well you carry about your business from then on. So much so that he's trying so hard avoiding using you as much. Yes he WANTS to fuck you again, wants to ravish your cunt every waking minute of the day like before, and then fuck you until you're pleading him to stop, tell you how good you look taking him, and how you were clearly made for him. But how much of it did you want for yourself?

After the first night, he’s been doing everything in his power avoiding sex with you because it’s dangerous. Because he can't control what happens next. Can't keep it platonic, and pretend he’s ok with it just staying sex. He almost lost it and confessed everything the first time—and what would happen when you didn't want that from him? If you didn't feel the same?

You'd leave him.

So of course you make it that much harder for him to resist you everyday since.

Did you realize how sexy you looked wearing nothing but panties, bending over your bed with the fan on after a shower to cool off? you left your door open, casually waving to him, breasts smushed between your chest and the soft blanket on your bed. Did you know he swells with pride when can he still see the obvious markings of his fingerprints bruised on to your hips, your thighs, your stomach, after spending so much time holding your shaking body against his mouth? The way your nipples pierce through his t-shirts that you manage to dig out of his closet, and how they do nothing but aide the memory of you underneath him, begging for him to use you?

Every time he sees you, he gets hard. And he immediately tries to ignore you, walks away, goes to do anything other than giving in to the desire of pushing you down, spreading your legs and taking his frustration out on the one who's causing it all now.

He can tell you're starting to catch on. You notice his curt attitude, the way his eyes avoid you when you’re in the same space.

You two were sitting on the couch watching tv as always, but he was uninterested, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed almost in annoyance. You had interpreted it as a sign of him holding back his urges. Sliding down the couch, you glide your hand across his chest, starting to undo your buttoned night gown. when he opened his eyes and saw the first sliver of your breasts opening for him he stood abruptly, throwing you off. He only mumbles 'goodnight' and headed straight to his door.

It's been a few days since the last time he ate you out, last time he really cared to touch you. And you should be glad, really. He's getting so much better. Clearly craving you less. That was the whole fucking point of all this.

But FUCK if you aren't needy as of lates. You can feel the hot flush of embarrassment as you drag yourself to your room. Wet and bothered and for the first time in months, left unsatisfied to your own devices without Frankie's tender and a bit selfish care. You don't remember the last you needed to masturbate, let alone wanted to.

It shouldn't be embarrassing. And yet as you dip your fingers down your panties and through your slick folds, you feel wrong. Empty. Like something isn't there thats supposed to be. The idea that you're so used to him getting you off whether you asked for it or not that you're now incapable of doing it yourself is—troubling.

You huff in frustration and try your best to work yourself to a minimal slickness, remembering all the times Frankie has brought you over the edge again and again. But thinking about him only makes you slightly perturbed by the fact that he's right down the hall and could be doing this himself, if he only needed you as badly like he used to.

You don't notice your friend is right outside your closed door, ear pressed against the wood as he listens to your hushed sighs. His cock is hard in his hand, pumping it with long strokes to your beautiful yet strained moans. He wants to be buried between your legs. Wants his tongue to lap at your folds, fingers craned deep in that tight hot wet heat thats been calling his name all night. Make you flinch away when the stimulation becomes too much, because he knows you'll still take it like his good girl until he decides to stop. He knows all the right places to push, nothing secret between the two of you. In fact, in the amount of time thats passed with your fumbling attempts to get off and his pulsing dick in his hand, he could have made you cum twice now.

His body has been on overdrive trying not to take you again. Trying to be respectful for a change. Everything hurts, even his cock, which no matter how much he tugs on it, it's nowhere near close to giving him that sweet release. He's feral, nails digging in his thighs with the need to feel you against him again. Needs to just fuck, let it out, and then he can deal with his brain, his guilt, afterwards.

And when he hears you softly moan his name, he can't stop himself from barging down your door, wild eyed, dick slapping against his abdomen as he crawled over top of you and captured your lips.

Stop, stop stop, he's telling himself. But with the way you're wrappings your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss, delicate hands cupping his aching cock, all his needs he's been denying for days have overtaken his movements.

You're so bad for him. An unavoidable addiction.

Worse than candy, worse than coffee, worse than cocaine.

He flips you on your stomach, his hand engulfing the entirety of your lower back, pinning you there as his elbows spread your knees. He lies between your thighs, ass up in front of his face, and spreads your soaked folds, enamored with your clit twitching for him. Your little hiccup goes quiet when he presses his face into your mound, nose dragging along the line as his jaw works you open, fingers pulling your cheeks apart so he can suffocate himself properly.

His fingers dig into your waist, and he's rocking your body back and forth, dragging so deliciously against the sheets below you. His tongue is plunging in and out of your hole, and you realize he's fucking you on his tongue. You hum in relief, rocking with his movements, earning you stinging slaps on your ass cheeks. He kisses them better before biting your folds and gorging himself on your slit again, his appetite voracious after denying himself of your sweetness all week.

He ignores that bubble of guilt wedged deep in his stomach as he let's instinct bring him the relief he desperately needed, your squelching cunt and satisfied sighs tampering his cravings for you once again.

He watches you shake with your orgasm, encouraging him to keep taking. You babble: "Thats it, baby" "so hungry today aren’t you?" "Use it the way you like" and he closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the clear direction of how you saw this transaction. You were never this vocal before, but now when he's tossing and turning all night with his thoughts about wanting you, here you are telling him plainly. Almost as if you're reminding him the truth, discrediting his hopes for a different outcome.

He sits upright and slaps his cock between your ass cheeks, grinding down on you so you're still pressed flat on your bed. God, he wants to do it again. Spread your folds and split you in half with his fat cock. Make you weep and pass out, and then fuck you again. "Gorgeous fucking ass, mi hermosa. So pretty under me," He grunts as he slicks his member up with your arousal, just barely holding on the last bit of sanity he has by refusing to enter you. You whine in protest, but he has both hands on your lower spine, crushing your hips into the mattress as he uses your ass. "So good spoilin' me. Always there for me." He grits his teeth, rutting his cock against you, occasionally sliding back down to your folds to lather himself up. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He growls as he spills his cum over your lower back, breath catching in his throat.

The guilt creeps back in to his clear mind, and he's angry at himself again.

He can't stop himself.

"Frankie, why didnt—“

Before you could finish, he was storming out your door and slamming it behind him.

He used to be so loving. Used to worship your body, warm praises about how perfect you are for him. Sometimes he'd take his time, and other times he'd be fast, but still always with warm hands, attentive to your reactions, even when he was so fucked out of his mind needing you.

But now he's rougher. More sporadic than before, even as he decreases the number of times he's engaged with you. Silent now, too. fewer loving praises, less warmth behind his touch or his eyes, and in fact, spends more time having you in positions where he doesn't have to look at your eyes. He leaves you cold afterwards every time.

He's been acting like it a lot more lately: ignores you all week, being uncharacteristically polite when you corner him but managing to ditch whenever possible. And then he caves all at once, crashing in on you and takingtakingtaking, before going back to ignoring you. It should be a good thing: that he needed you less. That his cravings were subsiding more and more that he could actually go a while before needing a hit. It really should have been like this from the start: Cold. Transactional. Indifferent.

So why did you feel so awful now?

The only reason you haven't lost all hope is that very occasionally, that sappy, wet puppy dog of a mess shows his warm side again. You were showering when you heard him slip the curtain open behind you and step in, his arm immediately wrapping around your stomach, loving kisses adorning your shoulder, neck, and up to your ear. You sigh, relaxing in to his touches. He just held you there and kissed your body. He didn't even try to touch you, although you knew you were growing a different wetness between your legs. He didn't let you touch his obvious erection either. Just peppered you in kisses, dragging his lips over your stomach, combing through your hair, up to your elbow then down in the palm of your hand. There was no rush behind hid actions. No urgency. All gentle.

All Frankie.

YOUR Frankie.

But incidentally as he brought his eyes to yours, his chest seized with coldness again, and he's suddenly leaving you and the now cold shower without a word.

You didn't know how to make it better anymore.

He was so agitated again recently, and you could tell he didn't get any sleep again. You suggested he take the day off, the two of you could spend it "however he wanted", slyly offering yourself to him to take the edge off. But when he ignored you and went to watch the football game, two beer bottles dangling between his fingers, you rolled your eyes.

So fed up with his change in attitude, you spent an hour getting ready in your room, walking down the hall in heels, your tightest shortest shorts, and a low hanging crop. It had been a month since you and Frankie first fucked: combined with his recent behavior, stress with work, and lack of action, you needed a night out, needed to get wasted. Needed to stop being the baby sitter.

You needed sex.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Out."

You grabbed your keys and left.

You hadn’t even closed your car door before opening your phone and texting Frankie that you were going out with Santi to help alleviate any worries he might have of the company you're keeping. Pope’s just as close a friend as Frankie is: he shouldn't have any problems about the fact that you’re in good hands tonight and just need some time to drink and be out.

Away from Frankie Morales just for the night.

It’s like you’re perfectly doing everything wrong to him.

She's out with Santi. Fucking Pope. The same Santi who told Frankie years ago you're smoking hot, and he wouldn't hesitate to jump on you if you let him. His best friend, the one who knows him better than himself, and yet here he is making a move on his girl—

But you aren’t his.

In fairness, he has been a total ass. He keeps trying to curb his desires, punch away his uncontrollable feeling about you, only caving all at once on you like a bullet train. Then the emotional brick wall of regret builds immediately after release, desperate to shut out his overwhelming feelings and the rough actions he’s taken against you. It keeps repeating.

He vainly hopes he'll actually stop wanting someone who doesn't want him any more.

He curses himself for only having enough alcohol to get slightly tipsy. It's been a week since the two of you did anything sexual, a month since "the incident" so it's a good thing you're out.

It doesn't make him feel better.

To his annoyance, his phone buzzes next to him as Santi's contact pops up. He puts it on speaker, can hear loud giggles and music outside, barely registering his friend saying you're completely wasted and need to be taken home. He doesn't even send a reply, already throwing his jacket and cap on and walking out the front door.

"FISHY!"

You're leaning over Santi outside the bar when you spot Frankie walking towards you two. Your mascara smeared across your eyes like you had been wiping them all night. You're mumbling incoherently, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. Pope is barely holding you up right, sheepishly smiling to keep your morale up.

"Hey man. I’m sorry, She lost her keys and I walked here. Otherwise I would have..."

"It's fine. Gimme her," Frankie said curtly. How Santi would ever let you drink this badly, he'd have to berate him later.

"M' Pinocchio!" You gasped as Frankie slung one of your arms over his neck and hoisted you up on one of his shoulders.

Why? Full of lies? he wonders.

“I’m gonna be swallowed by a great big FISH." You hiccuped, cackling upside down with a nice view of your besties tight ass. Frankie readjusts your body like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stands up, holding your thighs securely. If Santi wasn't here, he'd smack your ass to get you to shut up.

Frankie nods once at Santi and goes to turn around.

"Hey Fish? Take—take care of her. Please."

No shit.

Frankie is pushing open the apartment door as you're mumbling "fishy fishy fishy—hic!— squishy fishy."

He drops you down carefully on your bed. "Get undressed."

You giggle even more, seductively biting your lips as you pull yourself up to his body, hands roaming his abs and down to his hips. "You first."

He stared down at you, your lust ridden eyes meeting his, as you're pulling your shirt off so you're only in a push up bra. He tried avoid staring at your supple tits, the faint bite marks and bruises from his past ministrations almost completely faded by now. A fresh canvas practically begging to be marked up again...

He shakes his head. "We're not doing this. You're getting in your pj's and going to bed," he said, scolding you like a brat.

"Ppfftttttt." You ignore him, lifting his shirt and kissing his belly button, tracing down his happy trail and pausing at his belt. "At least someone here misses me."

He hasn't even noticed how hard he was in his jeans until you were rubbing your cheek against his clothed bulge, doe eyes staring up at him. He hears the soft pop of his pant's button undone, zipper slowly being dragged down by your teeth.

"When was the last time I blew you, Fishy? Let me relax you. I know you've needed this..."

His jaw clenched as he avoided your eyes.

“Know you want me,” you purred.

Those fucking words again. If you KNEW how much more he actually wanted from you...

"He's positively aching, Fish. Shouldn't ignore a big man in need."

He doesn't stop you when you pull his cock out of his pants, having foregone the underwear in a rush to get you. He closes his eyes when your pretty nails wrap around his thick length, lips ghosting over his tip as you press an innocent kiss to his slit.

You hadn't blown him in a long while, and not often enough as you would have liked. you don't normally take charge, but he's been so distant lately that you can't help but use the alcohol in your system as a newfound confidence to forcibly get him to unwind. Your cunt throbs with need, forgetting just how indescribably big he is until felt him swelling in your mouth. It's sinister how well his dick reacts to your tongue, like you had been practicing as often on him as he had intimately gotten to know your pussy.

Your lips suction his tip into your mouth, causing him groan. His stomach flexes above your forehead. He's resisting again. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you lightly bob your head, swallowing an inch more and pulling out with a pop, teasing him slowly. You needed to get him worked up so he could let go, relax for once.

Maybe not be so cold to you for a while...

He feels your hands gently grasp his own that were down by his side, guiding them up to the back of your hair. You squeeze them in permission before returning your hands to wrap around the length of his cock that didn't fit down your throat.

You experimentally swallow around his shaft, eliciting a soft "fuck" from his breath. He collects your hair in a makeshift pony tail in his hand so that he had a full view of your face, submissively staring up at him as you gulp more of his cock into your inviting mouth.

You feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, the veins in his v-line in front of you throbbing. Other than holding your hair up, he continues to let you set the pace. His eyes are fixed on you, head slightly titled to the side, entranced by your spell, his tongue just hovering between his teeth.

You push your face a little further, nose brushing against his public hairs, the first jolt of your esophagus resisting the intrusion. y|You hold yourself there, holding your breath for a moment before sucking him again. He's breathing deeply with long, staggered huffs.

You tilt your head back up, eyelashes fluttering as he watches his shaft rest on your outstretched tongue, slowly tracing the veins on the underside of him.

He fists your hair a little tighter, struggling not to grab your face and fuck your throat raw until you choked.

You swallow around him once before letting his dick fall from your mouth with a slick plop.

You stand up, eyes challenging his dominance despite the height difference as you drag him to sit on the bed, and while his eyes are emotionless, body stiff, he doesn't try to stop you. He rests against the headboard as you crawl over his lap. You waste no time to kiss him.

He’s not accepting your tongue, just letting you work over him. What the fuck is his problem? it's never taken him this long to give in. You can tell he WANTS to kiss you back, his jaw clenching so hard he could shatter his teeth. It's never stopped him before.

Truthfully, what you didn't know was that he was tired of you today; from trusting Santi over him for fuck knows what reasons, then having you come home drunk out of your mind, trying to tempt him with more emotionless sex. It's putting him off of your antics mentally. He wanted you, but not like this. He couldn't handle the aftermath of giving in to you again, but not having you.

Sexually, his mind was losing the war over his body's needs.

If it wasn't coke, it was you. And if it wasn't you...

It can only be you.

And Jesus, just when he thought he had a grip on being able to block you out for good tonight, you somehow managed to be an irresistable siren:

"'M so wet for you," you slurred seductively against his lips.

He can't hide the growl rumbling lowly in his chest. His lips part to let out a breath he had been holding and you take the chance to engulf his mouth with the hot kiss you'd been dying to get all week. His lips quickly mold to yours as you whimper pathetically, his hands sliding down to grip your ass in his warm, rough hands. You prop yourself higher on him, cupping his face in your hands, forehead nudging his Standard Oil cap off. You can feel his hot breath panting quickly against your cheek, his resolve crumbling.

He's right there. He's so close to relaxing. Just a little push...

You pull away, his lips almost chasing after yours. "C'mon big boy, wasn't it soooo good?" You playfully bite his ear. "You've got suck a nice cock here," you whisper, fisting his dick once again with the remnants of your spit, pumping his shaft easily. "Shame if it wasn't pounding me tonight...C'mon. Let's do it again."

He finally brings his eyes directly to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, crowded with evident lust. But it was what he could see beyond your eyes that told him exactly what he feared all along:

Nothing.

He doesn't stop the words from tumbling out of his month. "Why? so you can just use me for sex?" he said matter-of-factly, his face relaxing into a mix of coldness and spite.

You stop giggling and pull away, eyes widening with the most seriousness, and hurt, he'd ever seen on you. "And how is that any different than how you've treated me for the past year?"

His jaw is slack with panick, immediately wishing he could take back what he just said. No I—shit, I didn't mean —I didn't mean it like that—“

You get off of him with a hostile sense of urgency, ignoring his hands trying to caress your elbows, to keep you on him. You dig in your back pocket and then you're throwing something hard at his chest. "No, you know what? Fuck you, Frankie." You storm off to your bedroom and lock it.

He covers his face with both hands and leans back against the sofa. Looking down at his lap after a minute, he sees the pair of keys you've had to his apartment for the past year.

What he'd give to be high right now and to forget everything.

You spend the entire night packing. He's right at your door first in the morning when you open it, his stomach churning with pain at the image of your eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, hangover, and tears.

You brush past him before he can even apologize, settling your belongings on the kitchen counter. As you toss your scattered items in to your tote, he watches you, fingers twirling in on themselves with anxiety.

Now, now, do it now! he's screaming in his mind.

“I—“

You interrupt him, and it's only now that he sees you're not shaking in anger—you're trembling in tears: "I'm s-sorry that I snapped at you last night. I wasn’t— in the right head. I c-came on to you. You had your reasons for doing what we've done, and last night I was just genuinely u-using you for no other reason other than self interest and I'm s-so sorry." You swallow and take a deep breath before continuing: "I gave up a lot coming here, trying to help you, letting you use me to get better. But I can't do it anymore. I wanted to help you, but then when we had sex, I didn't know if things would change, I didn’t want things to change, and when I woke up, you weren't there, and then you treated me so coldly afterwards. I don't know what I did wrong.” Your voice cracks, sniffling away the running of your nose. “And it felt awful. I just wanted to go back to the way things were. But you s-seem like you hate me now, and I—“ you pause, rubbing your eyes on your sleeve, suddenly changing tone in a polite manner, like you were address a principle and ignoring your previous breakdown. "I'm very happy you're clearly doing a lot better and don't need me anymore. Sorry, I don’t—I don't mean to cry like this.”

Frankie is frozen.

You're crying. You're crying in front of him, which wasn't a first; you've cried to him about stupid boys before. But what IS a first is that you're crying for the first time over the stupid boy right in front of you. You're crying, Because. Of. Him.

Just tell her tell her tellhertellhertellherNOW

But as he opens his month, his words get caught in his throat, like swallowing a lump of coal and puking a ball of fire all at once. His chest aches unlike anything he'd experience before. All he can say is "I... understand."

Nononononoyoudumbfuckwhatareyoudoing!

You nod and sniffle, clearing your throat. "I'd like to just go back to being friends. Before all of this. I'll still support you, I swear. I want you to still feel like you come to me for anything else. But I need some time. To get myself in check." You calmly collect your things and make for to the door.

"Wait!" he goes to grab your arm but his hand freezes up, like touching you would give you painful blisters. You pause and look over to him as he stands a bit closer. “I—I think you should keep this." He puts your key in your hand. "In case. Something happens."

Your lip quivers with empathy, eyes softening for him. "Please. I don't... I don't want to think about..." I don't want to think about seeing you lying face down OD'd on the carpet.

"Just. Hold on to it. Just in case. I'm asking as your friend. We're still that at least. Right?" The words feel like hot iron in his mouth, a heaviness in his heart desperately trying to convince himself more than you.

He wants to hug you. but if he did, he wouldn't let you leave. The warmth of his hand draws away from you after depositing the key in your palm.

You nod, rub his shoulder affectionately yet with clear distance, and leave.

He stands there like a statue in the hall, unable to comprehend just how much quieter and colder the apartment is now than it has been in months.

- - - -

Tagging people who either requested a part two or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

Part 3: Insatiable

Series masterlist

Taglist: @paleidiot @pedropascalsbbg @tonakings @nerdieforpedro @thewritermj @ahintofkiwistrawberry @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @sammy-4103 @survivingandenduring @millercontracting @emilyjustemily

#pedro pascal smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #triple frontier smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie catfish morlaes smut #catfish morales smut #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction

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bloatedandalone04 · 2 years ago

Text

➪the one where you and ethan sleep together for the first time. (requested)

Warnings: 18+, smut, inexperienced reader, inexperienced ethan, established relationship, fluff, making out, all that fun stuff

Word Count: 4.1k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

The fact that you finally had a day to yourself was hard to believe, but what was even crazier was the fact that your boyfriend had a day off, too.

Chad would be in and out of the apartment all day as he had lectures, so Ethan invited you over to spend the day together. It had been a while since the two of you had any alone time, so you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to see him.

That’s where you are now.

Chad had been out for over two hours now and only recently sent Ethan a text that told him he’d be hanging out with Mindy and Tara for the rest of the day. That meant Ethan had the apartment all to himself…..with you.

Fast forward to half an hour later, when a quick kiss turned into a full blown makeout right there on the couch. Seeing as you were in the communal space of the apartment, Ethan suggested moving it to his room, and you were surprised at how fast you agreed.

Ethan got off you and held his hand out, grinning at you when you took it, and led you to his room, where he shyly mumbled, “Sorry about the mess,” before you were back to making out, but this time on his bed.

Your heart was racing just a bit as this was as far as you’ve ever gotten with anyone. The amount of times you had found yourself under Ethan, his lips pressed to yours, you’d think you were a pro at it by now. But that was as far as your experience went.

Yes, you’re a virgin, but so is Ethan.

And you couldn’t think of a better person to lose your virginity to.

The topic had come up on more than one occasion and the two of you had decided that there was no need to wait for a special occasion or certain time to do it. The fact that it would be together was special enough. If things got too heated during a make out, then that was when you would do it.

And it seemed as though that time was now.

Your hands were clinging onto his shirt while his explored the skin of your stomach. Ethan had always had a bad case of wandering hands, and right now was no exception. His hands slipped past your shirt without you even realising it, and now the tips of his finger were leaving goosebumps along your abdomen.

Things were heating up quickly and you knew that if you didn’t stop soon, who knows what would happen next. The idea of him taking you right here and now was definitely on your mind, though.

You were more than ready to lose the one thing that had been with you since birth, and the thought of losing it with Ethan turned you on to the point of no return. You just wished you knew what he was thinking, and if he was thinking the same thing you were.

When Ethan’s lips left yours and began to trail down your neck, your hands moved upwards and gripped the sides of his face. You pull his head away from your shoulder so you could look him in the eye when you asked, “What are you thinking about right now?”

It was an odd question, sure, and you could only hope that he understood what you were really asking. Ethan moved so he was leaning on his elbows, his arm coming up to rest next to your head as he tucked your hair behind your ear. “I’m thinking,” he trailed off, his dark eyes filling with lust as he gazed at your kiss swollen lips. “About what I could’ve possibly done to deserve the most beautiful girl to be looking at me the way you are now.”

Your face heats up and you bite down on your lip as you grin, your eyes flickering between his mouth and the brown irises of his. “I want you,” you say quietly, your hand moving to smooth down his mess of curls.

Ethan only moved his face closer to yours until his lips were brushing against yours as he murmured, “Yeah?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against his. “Yes,” you say and press a kiss to his mouth, your hand moving to grip his jaw. “Do you want me?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” The teasing tone had you rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready,” you mumble, turning your head away in embarrassment. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Baby,” he tilted your head so he could look into your eyes. “I’ve never wanted something as badly as I want you. I’m more than ready to do this with you.”

His words bring a blush to your cheeks and you tug on his shirt to stop yourself from kissing him.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” he mumbled, giving you a boyish grin. “Don’t you?”

You nod quickly, giving him a chaste kiss. “I think we have,” you answer and Ethan grins before his lips are back on yours. His hands move to the hem of your shirt and he lifts the fabric up, making you press your chest to his as he rids you of the piece of clothing.

Before you could even think about feeling self conscious about him seeing you like this for the first time, Ethan pulls away and kneels above you to tug off his own shirt. Your breath gets caught in your throat at his surprisingly toned chest, and you can’t help but reach out and run the tips of your fingers along the semi-defined lines.

Feeling his eyes on you, your hand moves down to tug on the waistline of his jeans, a small smirk on your lips. “So, this is what you’ve been hiding from me,” you say, watching as his face becomes flustered. “I gotta say, those long sleeved shirts don’t do you any justice, baby.”

Ethan moves back down and hovers over you once again, his face inches from yours. “When did you become such a flirt?” He asks, his index finger playing with the strap of your bra. “Five months in and you’re only now showing me this side of you?”

You shrug. “What can I say? You make me want to do things I shouldn’t,”

Ethan holds back a growl at your words and he closes the gap again, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. His fingers continued to play with the straps of your bra until his hands slid up your back, where he clumsily unclasped it and pulled the fabric from your body.

At the sight of your chest being fully exposed to him for the first time, Ethan had to bite back a moan. His mind went back to the summer time, when the two of you were just starting out as a couple, and you were invited to come with him, Chad, Tara and Mindy to the beach. You wore a bikini and he thought you looked hot then, but if he knew what that small, red top was hiding back then, he was sure he would’ve ravished you right there on the sand.

After letting him stare at you for a few seconds, you begin to feel overwhelmed and move your hands to cover yourself. Ethan’s fingers wrap around your wrists, lifting your hands off your chest and pinning them against the mattress beside your head.

He dips down to place a kiss to your lips before he moves onto your neck, and for a brief second you wonder if his heart was beating as fast as yours is.

As quick as any thoughts enter your mind, they leave it as Ethan’s lips wrap around one of your peaks. It was messy, but that was to be expected as this was his first time doing anything like this.

His teeth tug and his fingers twist until you’re squirming under him, your hands tangling in his hair. His lips move further down your body until they reach the lining of your jeans. He unzips them and tugs them down as he places wet kisses on the skin of your hips.

Your underwear was discarded as well and you were left completely bare in front of him within seconds. Before you could start to feel uncomfortable, Ethan moved his hands to his own jeans, where he easily unbuttons them and tugs the fabric down his legs.

He hovers back over you and holds himself up with one arm. His free hand trails down your body until his middle finger is pressing against the bundle of nerves that rested above your core. Your hips jolted forward at the sudden pressure on your lower lips and your brows furrow as you bite down on your lip.

It was a pressure you had felt many times before, you were a woman and had needs, after all, but the feeling of someone else doing it made it feel a lot more intense.

Your hands grips his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin and unknowingly making him hold back a deep groan at the feeling. It was news to him that he seemed to enjoy the sting of your nails slightly piercing him, and the thought had him a bit worried at what other things he would discover about himself as the two of you further explore each other’s bodies. He never thought of himself being one of those people who got turned on by pain, but that was to be expected as he also didn’t really know what his kinks and turn ons were to begin with.

But that was something that could be further explored later in your relationship. Right now, Ethan focused on placing feather light touches to your clit. Though he was inexperienced, he knew the basics of how to please you and used that knowledge as best as he could.

He was refraining from grinding his hips into the mattress to relieve him of the discomfort of his length straining against the fabric of his boxers. This whole moment felt long overdue, and Ethan refused to have it all end in a matter of minutes, so he does his best to ignore the throbbing down below.

Ethan also knew that it would be a bit more than painful on your part, so he was trying to get you as ready as possible, to ensure the pain is minimal. From what he could tell, pain was nowhere near what you were feeling right now as you held him tighter and hid your face against his neck. Quiet moans escaped you and you felt a blush spread across your face at the unfamiliar feeling of being this close to him.

This feeling of intimacy was completely new to you and to him as well. The way his finger was hesitant and moved with uncertainty, and the way he seemed to be mesmerised by your sounds and the fact that he was the cause of them, it was obvious.

Ethan kept his eyes locked on you as he slipped his finger in between your folds, still a bit unsure of what he was doing. He knew you liked it, that much was clear when he felt your lips press against his neck in hopes to not be too loud. It made him feel excited, proud, even.

He was the first person to touch you like this, and that thought alone had him forcing his heart to slow down before he finished without even starting. He couldn’t think of a better person to be his first. Actually, he couldn’t think of anything at all except you and how you look and how you sound.

You whined against his skin before sucking a small mark that would be hidden by his shirt so he wouldn’t have to hear Chad go on about how he finally lost his virginity. At least not yet.

The stimulation of his finger had your legs shaking slightly and you knew that you wouldn’t last long. Especially not with the way he was currently looking at you. It was as if you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. You could almost see love in his eyes, despite the fact that he had yet to say those words to you. One day soon, hopefully, as you knew your feelings for him ran deeper than anything you had ever felt before.

You fell fast, and unbeknownst to you, Ethan fell harder.

The pressure intensified and your brows furrow while your hands grip his shoulders impossibly tighter. Ethan groans at the feeling and the sound causes the small knot in your stomach to snap. Your head leaves its safe spot against his neck and falls back against the pillow, making your moans spill from your lips with nothing to muffle them.

Ethan continued to apply pressure to your clit as you let out heavy breaths, your legs shaking out of your control. “Fuck,” you mutter, you hands falling from his shoulders and landing on the mattress.

You let out a few more whimpers and curses, making Ethan smirk to himself as he finally gave your poor clit a beak. While you tried to catch your breath, you pressed your palms flat against his chest while Ethan began placing kisses along your collarbone.

He sucked a mark onto your skin and ran his tongue over it afterwards, this being nothing new to him as he had left countless of marks on you during the five months he’s been your boyfriend.

It didn’t take very long at all for you to feel your want for him grow and your hips lift up, silently begging for the friction to return.

Ethan’s lips return to yours and you kiss him back, pressing up against him and pouring your need into the way your lips brushed against his. His hands grip the sides of your face as his hips press against yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your mouth.

His words set butterflies loose all over your body and you felt a chill run down your spine at the same time you felt a hot jolt shoot to your core. You pull away from his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his head so it was pressed against your shoulder. “I want you,” you whisper as you embrace him. Ethan’s grip on you tightens at your words and he gently begins grinding his hips against yours. “I want you so bad.”

Ethan presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You have me, baby,” he mumbled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled back before he said his next words, observing the way your eyes were squeezed shut and how your parted lips begged for his. He was sure there hadn’t been a time where you looked more beautiful, more breathtaking. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten with you. He was completely infatuated with you and couldn’t help himself in telling you exactly how he felt.

One of his hands reached up to brush away a few fallen strands of hair from your face before his thumb gently tugged on your lower lip. He gazed at your mouth, surprised at how calm he was when he was about to confess something he had known for a while now, something he had never told any of his past girlfriends. “I love you,”

Your eyes open quickly and meet his. You search for any indication that he wasn’t being truthful or maybe getting caught up in the moment and saying things he didn’t actually mean. Seeing nothing but love in his eyes, your expression softens and you break out into a grin. “Really?” You ask and gently press your fingers into his shoulders when he nodded. “I love you, too.”

Ethan lets out a relieved sigh and connects your lips once again, this time more passionate than ever. The kiss was full of love and want and need and it was by far the most overwhelming kiss you have ever shared with him. A surge of heat floods your senses and you slide your hands down his body, pausing at the tight hem of his black boxers.

Before you could free him, Ethan’s hands grab yours as he pulls away from your mouth. “Are you sure about this?” He asks again, letting you know that you were able to back out at any second.

You shake your head, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “More than sure,” you mumble, sliding your hands back up his chest. “I want you.”

Thank fuck Ethan wanted to say as he was sure he would’ve cried if you backed out when he was this close to feeling you for the first time. He would’ve been fine with you doing so, of course, but he also would’ve had to excuse himself for a bit so he could relieve the painful ache he’s been feeling since the makeout you endured back on the couch.

Instead of telling you just how painfully hard you made him, he did the next best thing and showed you by reaching down to pull himself free from the tight confinement of his boxers.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you finally allowed yourself to take it all in. In about ten seconds, you would no longer be a virgin. You were doing this with someone you loved, someone who loved you.

Your head was spinning when he lined himself up with you, holding back a nervous sigh as the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you in any way. Even if that pain would turn to pleasure in as little as a minute or two, he was still worried about your first time not being enjoyable.

What he didn’t realise, however, was that you knew your first time would be enjoyable no matter what as you were doing it with him. You had never felt this way before and never wanted to take this step with your past boyfriends, so that alone should be enough to assure him that you would be fine.

One deep breath later and he was entering you, unsure of if he was supposed to go slow or go in all at once. He was fully inside of you, his mind going blank for a few seconds as the feeling of you took him over.

Neither of you mentioned protection, but at this point you were both too far gone to even think about that right now. Granted, your first time should have probably included a condom, but the feeling of being filled by him in his entirety was enough to have you not caring about the consequences.

He stayed still and used his thumb to gently stroke your cheekbone as you sucked in a breath, your eyes glued to where you were connected. It was overwhelming right from the start, and Ethan had to tuck his face against the side of your neck to stop him from bucking his hips. “Fuck,”

Your walls flutter at the curse word and you reach one hand down to grip his waist, your nose brushing against his shoulder in the process. The pain caught you off guard at first, but you were quickly swept away in the moment as everything hit you at once, the feeling of love, his words, the stretch. It had you squeezing your hand in encouragement for him to take you and claim you as his.

Ethan shuddered as he pulled out just a bit, testing the feel of things, before he was buried back inside of you. Your mouth opened and quiet breaths escaped you, making his ears burn with want to hear you make those sounds again. At this point he was sure he needed to hear you, he needed to know that you were feeling everything he was.

The feeling of your tight walls hugging him firmly had him groaning out, his eyes squeezing shut and his hand moving to tightly grip yours. Keeping his other one pressed against the mattress beside your head, he began to sloppily thrust into you. Your back arched, your chest pressing up against his as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. Pulling him tightly against you, you lift your legs to wrap around his waist and wince at the small jolt of pain you received from the new angle. The pinch was nothing compared to the feeling of him brushing against every hidden part of you and you held his hand tighter.

Your cries of pleasure spurred him on and made his thrusts quicker. He set a steady pace now, his hips meeting yours and pressing you completely into the mattress. He was quickly getting the hang of it, much to his surprise, and he used the hold he had on your hand to refrain from ending it all too soon.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, fucking into you at a bruising pace. His lips found yours in a messy kiss. Your tongues battled for a second or two, with him ultimately winning due to the fact that your mind was racing. His words didn’t help that fact, either. “You’re so fucking pretty. Feel so good, fuck, baby.”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. “I love you,” was all you were able to say.

Ethan moaned loudly at your words, sliding your joined hands further up the bed. “Say that again,” he mumbled, delivering a sharp thrust and making your body move with his. “Tell me you love me again.”

Your legs tighten around him and you bring your free hand up to caress his jaw. “I love you so much,” you murmur, unable to be any louder in fear that you would accidentally scream. “You’re so good to me, make me feel so good.”

Ethan felt his heartbeat quicken at your words, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as he reached down to grab your waist with his free hand. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he grunted, sliding his hand down further and pressing his thumb against your sensitive clit. “I wanna make you come again.”

You were left speechless at that, your brows furrowing as your lips parted. Unable to form any words, you allow moans to freely leave your mouth and turn your head as Ethan begins placing open mouth kisses against your neck. Unlike your careful placements on his skin, he didn’t hold himself back on marking up your neck like it was the last thing he would ever do.

He wanted to make it known to everyone that you were his and that he was the one who you allowed to be your first. And if he had a say in it, he would also be your last.

“My pretty girl,” he mumbled against your skin, his unrelenting pace of both his thrusts and finger making your vision begin to blur. “So good. I love you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and held onto him with a death grip as you felt that knot from before snap once again without warning. This time it hit you much harder than the first, and you were unable to stop the loud cries that left your mouth as he continued to fuck into your core. “Fuck, Ethan, fuck-fuck,”

He felt your warmth flood around him and cursed under his breath when your walls hugged him deeper. He removed his thumb from your clit as he began losing control over the pacing of his hips and looked down at your fucked out expression.

The look you gave him and the way your walls begged for him had him leaning down and hiding his face against your neck. He sloppily fucked into you as he reached his high, his stomach muscles tensing and flexing beyond his control. His boyish groans and whimpers were lost to your skin, and his sounds damn near almost made you come for a third time.

His hips stilled and he stayed buried in you as he lifted his head. You met him halfway and connected your lips in what could be subscribed as the most innocent kiss you’ve shared today. When you pulled away, he gave you a small grin as he asked, “How are you doing?”

You brush your nose against his when you answered, “Perfect. You’re perfect,”

Ethan’s face heats up and he kisses you again before you could see the pink hue paint his cheeks.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #scream 6 ethan #ethan scream 6 #ethan landry smut #scream 6 #scream 6 x reader #scream 6 imagines

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angelofsmalldeaath · 8 months ago

Text

first light — a.h.b.

cw: mentions of bad mental health

“there you are,” i lean against the doorframe, watching him manoeuvre in the darkness. it’s barely past four, barely even light out, and yet there he is, fumbling around the kitchen.

“shit, did i wake you?” he whispers even though he doesn’t need to, and goes back to what he was doing.

when i squint my eyes a little i realise he’s gathering supplies for coffee.

“it’s four…”

he nods, his back to me.

“in the morning…”

another nod. i push myself off the doorframe and walk up to him.

his hair is sleep-mussed, his t-shirt more wrinkled than usual, like he's been tossing and turning. i wrap my arms around him and kiss his back.

“why won’t you look at me?”

he shrugs, i feel the muscles of his back move against my cheek. “‘s dark, love, won’t be able to see you anyway.”

i poke him in the ribs, finally eliciting a response. “we have electricity, you know?”

he sighs, deflates more like it, and finally turns, still in my arms, except now my chin rests on his chest as opposed to his back. i look up, trying to make out his features in the twilight.

“there,” he pauses, makes it a point to stare right into my eyes, “i’m looking at you now.”

i can make out the vague shape of his face. even as my eyes adjust, and i see the one small curl dropping on his forehead, it’s hard to see the rest of him, hard to see the precise green of his eyes or the russet of his beard.

“can i turn on the lights, please?”

“no, dont!” he wraps his hand around my wrist, gentle but firm. “this feels better.”

i’m about to say something when the kettle comes to a boil. he turns again and i try not to let him go from my arms but he moves anyway. ultimately, i drop them, letting them hang awkwardly at my sides.

“coffee?”

“do you not plan on going back to bed?”

“not really, no.”

like always he puts two teaspoons of coffee in the french press, pours the hot water on top. i watch him, still turned away from me, silent, thinking. not entirely there.

“did you ever go to bed?”

“of course i did, darling,” he laughs airily, “i was right next to you all night.”

“that’s not how i mean it and you know it.” the sternness in my voice surprises us both. still, he doesn’t turn. his shoulders sag, his head bows low, and in the dim light, i see a slight shudder pass through him.

“i couldn’t…”

“bad dreams?”

“bad dreams?!” he laughs bitterly, “what am i, five?”

worry gnaws at my insides, and i hesitate, wondering how much to push. it’s he who first breaks the silence. “just…thoughts. not bad but not…not very nice ones.”

he clears his throat and goes through all the practiced motions—presses the french press down gently, takes out two mugs, his a plain black, mine littered with hand-painted daisies from one of our date nights. somehow in the darkness he manages not to spill a single drop. instead he lingers, takes a second to himself before he turns and offers my mug to me.

“thanks,” i wrap my hand around it and savour the warmth for just the fraction of a second. “can we sit?”

“i really don’t want to move.”

“right…” i walk up to him, standing side by side until our arms touch, and sit, right there on the kitchen floor with my back against the dishwasher. i have to crane my neck a lot to finally look at him wordlessly, he sits too, moves closer to me until our thighs touch and our arms press against each other.

he still seems so far away.

gently i intertwine my fingers with his, tracing the pads of his fingers and the light dusting of hair on his knuckles. “should we talk or would you rather sit in silence?”

“a bit heavy to have this chat at the crack of dawn, don’t you think?”

“i don’t mind it if you don’t,” i take a sip of my coffee and cringe at the lack of sugar. right. it’s black.

my reaction doesn’t go unnoticed though. for the first time that day, he laughs. no that’s not it, he snorts, like he’s teasing me. “i forgot to put in your million sugars.”

“it’s two!” i protest, “and a splash of milk, it’s nothing outrageous!” but the smile on his face lingers just another moment and a smidge of weight lifts off my chest.

“things must be…abysmal,” i nudge his knee with mine, “if you forgot how i take my coffee.”

for a while he’s silent, watching as the sky lightens—from dark blue to purple to a smidge of pink and orange. it’s not fully light out yet, but i suspect it won’t be long now.

“a little,” he admits quietly, like it’s a secret he’s only just revealing. “i’ve been trying to hide it from you. a bit shitty of me, really, i’d be upset if you hid something like this from me. if you were struggling,” he swallows, “mentally. and i didn’t know about it. wasn’t there to help you…”

i bring his hand to my mouth, kiss his palm. “it is…upsetting,” i admit, “but i’d like to know now. or–or whenever you’re ready, whenever you want to talk.”

he sighs deeply, rests his head on top of mine. “maybe when it’s not five in the morning.”

i smile when i hear the laugh in his voice, stare at our intertwined hands and how well they fit together.

“how d’you know it’s five?”

“the sun’s up,” he points towards the window with his mug, and i see it there—the sky, no longer purple with a hint of pink. within a few seconds it seems to have erupted with colours; yellow and orange and red and pink and gold.

a small ray of sunshine even wanders into our kitchen.

i look at him, finally visible to me in the first light of the morning. then i kiss his temple and he smiles. it’s a small, tentative thing, but it’s there and it’s real and it stays.

“there you are,” i whisper, failing to contain a smile of my own.

“there i am,” he whispers, finally turns to look at me. for a moment his gaze lingers on my lips and i take that as my cue to press my lips against his—mine chapped and dry, his tasting like coffee.

“i think it will be a…decent day,” he declares and sets his empty mug aside. “can we go to bed now?”

“you’d like that?”

“yeah…” he gently touches my cheek with his knuckle and i lean into his touch, closing my eyes briefly. when i open them, he’s staring at me, letting his eyes roam all over my face. “i think i’d love that.”

#no i checked the time of sunrise in ireland (5:09 am) for this one it's that serious 💀#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier fluff #andrew hozier byrne x reader #first light #Spotify

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quinnysnursery · 9 months ago

Note

hi!! could you do caregiver!chris and little!fem reader where the two are playing around and chris is chasing her around the house until she accidentally bumps into something/falls down, causing her to cry and chris goes into immediate caregiver mode? thank you sm, so excited about this account!! :)

[🥤] bumps 'n bruises | chris sturniolo one-shot

paring : caregiver!chris sturniolo x gn!little!reader

divider credit : @kyejiz

a/n : working on a masterlist this weekend! (sorry for any typos, i'm just a girl !)

“I’m gonna get you!” Chris’ voice echoed through the hallway, along with the sounds of your fuzzy sock-covered feet against the hardwood floor and the soft giggles you were letting out along the way.

The two of you had been playing this game of “Tickle Monster Chase” for around an hour now. What originally started as a way for you to get your energy out before your nap, turned into a full-on game.

Chris wasn’t the best when it came to keeping a routine, it was his biggest weak point as a caregiver. There had been plenty of times you skipped a nap due to both of you having too much fun playing and today was no exception.

As you rounded the corner to take shelter in Chris’ room, you got the brilliant idea that you would shut the door before hiding under the bed away from the “Tickle Monster”.

Genius, right?

You thought so.

Another giggle emitted from you as you quickly turned the doorknob to your caregiver's room, sliding in and quickly trying to shut the door.

However, what you didn’t expect was for the door to move faster than you thought it would. As if in slow-motion you watched the wooden door swing close on your delicate hand.

The fear was more intense than the pain, at first. What if you broke something? What if you had to get the whole thing chopped off? What if dada didn’t want to play with you anymore?

Only after your eyes began to water at these anxious thoughts did your brain decide to register the pain.

And oh god it hurt.

“D-Dada!” You cried out.

Chris, who had stopped a few strides behind you to give you a fair chance, was now by your side in seconds.

“What happened?” He asked, his tone was serious. He quickly realized how you whimpered at this, not recognizing that he wasn’t mad at you and was instead focused on your injury.

“Baby, I need you to tell me what happened.” Chris tried again, letting the caregiver voice™️ seep through his vocal cords. You sniffled, the floodgates of your eyes beginning to open as tears began streaming down your cheeks.

“M’- M’ wanted to hide!” You attempted explaining, letting out a sharp whine as Chris ran a gentle finger over your already-bruising hand.

Chris nodded, trying to piece together what had happened based on the limited information. “And the door smashed your hand?” He asked, gently pushing your hair behind your ears.

You nodded before looking up at him with tear-ridden eyes. “M’ sorry!” You choked out

“Hey…shhh, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” Chris comforted, gently leading his little one to the bed. “Can you move your hand for me, doll?” He asked, his mind already racing about the possibility of a fractured bone.

You trusted him with your littlespace. You trusted him to look after and nurture you while in headspace and he failed you.

Chris was quickly snapped out of his thoughts as you leaned into him, your tear-stained cheeks dampening his shirt (not that he’d ever mind). “Please, angel? For dada?” He asked, placing a gentle kiss atop your head.

After wrapping his arm around your torso and gently rubbing your upper arm, you began to stretch out your curled-up hand. Naturally, it hurt. However, to both your and Chris’ shock, it wasn’t unbearable. Henceforth, it wasn’t broken. In a few days, you’d have a gnarly bruise, but at least it wasn’t broken.

Your caregiver let out a sigh of relief, squeezing you gently. “Let’s get you some ice, okay?” He offered. You sniffled and let out a meek “..’kay dada..” before following the brunette downstairs to the kitchen.

After wrapping a kitchen towel around a few pieces of ice from the fridge, Chris sat you on a countertop. “It might hurt for just a second, but the ice is gonna feel nice.” Your caregiver assured you, gently pressing the compress to your hand.

You couldn’t help but giggle, despite the pain. “Dada rhymed…” You mumbled, leaning your head against Chris’ chest. Chris smiled, “I did, didn’t I?” He played along, relieved to find your sense of humor hadn’t also been smashed.

A few moments of silence passed, the two of you processing the events of earlier.

“I’m really sorry,” Chris mumbled, still ashamed he’d let you get hurt during a game he suggested. You looked up at him, tilting your head in confusion. “You got hurt on my watch, that’s not cool.” He said remorsefully, already planning the full-length conversation he’d be having with you when you came out of littlespace.

“You didn’t mean to…” You said gently, looking up at your caregiver. “It was jus’ an ac’ident dada.” You smiled wrinkling up your nose as you did. Chris smiled too, letting the compress rest on the counter as he engulfed you in a tight hug.

Everything would be okay, even the bumps ‘n bruises.

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years ago

Text

TOO FAR

A/N: some clingy soon-to-be-dad!harry content, i really vibed with this idea

WORD COUNT: 1k

SUMMARY: Harry has been extremely clingy since you've found out you were pregnant and this morning is no exception either.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You’re used to waking up to your boyfriend wrapped around you in bed in the morning, Harry is definitely a clingy sleeper and a big fan of spooning, but ever since you’ve found out that you’re pregnant, he’s taken it to the next level for sure.

It’s a sunny morning in Munich, warmth is flowing into the hotel room through the sheer curtains as you wake from your slumber and slowly process your surroundings. You’re lying on your side, a heavily tattooed arm is stretched out under your head while his other arm is draped across your waist, his big hand flattened out on your stomach, gently moving up and down underneath your night shirt.

Your bump is barely showing at this point, you’re only nearing the end of the fourth month, most of the time you look like you’re just extremely bloated, it’s been an ongoing joke between you, Harry, Sarah an Mitch, the only people on tour who know that you’re pregnant. You’ve been living in oversized hoodies and baggy clothes the past two months, trying to hide your tummy for as long as possible, but it’s getting hard since you’re travelling with Harry across Europe so your every step is being watched most of the time. The only place where you don’t have to be careful is in the safety of your hotel room.

Harry’s arm under your head curls around your shoulders as he pulls you tighter against his front when he realizes you’re up and you gladly melt into his embrace as he kisses the side of your head.

“Good morning, Love,” he greets you with that groggy, sexy voice you love so much. It’s probably one of the reasons you got knocked up, it’s hard to resist morning sex when he sounds like that and his looks just add more to it even. A few words and a wandering look at his messy, morning hair and the next thing you know is that his cock is inside you.

Not that you ever complained.

“Hi,” you smile, twisting your neck so you can look at him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

Your morning sickness finally stopped after the third month, but Harry has been still watching out for you in case you’re triggered again. Luckily, you haven’t started a morning with running to the bathroom in a while.

You feel both of his hands wander to your stomach, spreading his hands out over it as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. His legs are tangled with yours under the sheets and you feel like he is wrapped around you entirely, there’s no inch of your body he is not touching.

“Wanna stay like this all day,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your ear.

“You have a show to give, can’t cancel on that,” you chuckle softly as you reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair.

“Don’t want to let go of you,” he whines like a kid.

“You’ll have to.”

“No. Come on stage with me.”

“How would you move around with me there? I can’t move along with you, I don’t have the energy,” you laugh and start wiggling around in his arms until you’re facing him, his arms remain locked around you.

“I’ll just stand for the whole show. With you in my arms.”

You just smile, finding his clinginess cute. A tiny part of you was afraid he wouldn’t take the news well, you didn’t plan this pregnancy even though you’ve been together for almost four years now. But it’s been kind of the opposite, he was obsessed with you before, but now that you’re carrying his baby, he has taken it up a few notches for sure. He’s always touching you, holding your hand or hugging you, he does everything for you and makes sure all your needs are met as fast as possible. He tells you he loves you probably a million times a day and wants to spend all his time with you.

Again, you’re not complaining.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the back as always,” you softly hum, brushing your nose against his before kissing him.

“That’s too far,” he mumbles against your lips, his arms tightening around you.

“It’s as close as I can get while you’re on stage.”

“Too.” Kiss. “Fucking.” Kiss. “Far.” Kiss.

“That’s too bad,” you giggle, but he is still kissing you, anywhere he can reach, on your cheeks, nose and chin. “You don’t really have a choice.”

“Mmm, just wanna be close to you. Both of you.”

“I’ll be right there when you run off the stage. We both will be. She comes to everywhere with me and I will be there,” you add with a chuckle, nodding down at your tummy.

“She? You still think it’s a girl?” he grins at you, that familiar twinkle in his eyes flashing again. You saw it when you told him you’re pregnant, when you had your first ultrasound and the first time he realized your bump was finally showing. You wish you could take a picture of it, but no photo can give back reality.

“Yeah,” you nod with a tiny smile. You’re gonna be in Scotland when the time comes for you to find out the gender, you already have an appointment reserved so by the time he steps on the stage for his second show in Edinburgh he’ll know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl.

He is staring at you like he is looking at the meaning of his life, like everything he ever wanted was right in front of him. Taking a deep breath he leans closer and kisses you softly.

“I love you,” you whispers against your lips.

“I love you too,” you smile into the kiss.

“Are you sure you can’t come on stage with me?”

You laugh, your head rolling back into the pillow.

“Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. But when you’re done, I’m all yours.”

“Okay, then just give me a little more time,” he sighs, burying his face in your neck, but just moments later you have to break the peace.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“I really need to pee though.”

“Okay.”

A few moments of silence.

“You want to come with me to the bathroom too, don’t you?”