#Given a long enough time he might even wonder if he was LOST | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sometimesanalice · 8 days

Text

Between Friends

Summary: Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 11K

Warning: smut (including loss of virginity), brief mention of underage drinking, and college!bradley in a backwards hat

(Author's note: Happy Birthday Jordan! I wrote this just for you! Look at me keeping secrets from you! Enjoy!)

𝐍𝐎𝐖

Rooster couldn’t control his bouncing leg.

That night at the Hard Deck had started out like any other: good music, good drinks, good people. Over the course of the evening, he’d found himself seated between you and Bob in a lopsided circle with the rest of the Daggers around a few tall tables that had been pushed together just shooting the shit.

It was all fun and games until swapping stories about embarrassing middle school moments turned into cringing over first kiss stories turned into Seresin grinning like a shark asking about how everyone’s first time went down.

Rooster felt his pulse kick up with every collective laugh and groan as his friends went one by one sharing how they’d lost their virginities. Because with each passing story, it meant that you were one person closer to going. And for the first time in his life- even after over two decades of friendship- he didn’t know what your answer was going to be.

So he is just as shocked as his teammates are when you tentatively reveal, “So, um, my first time was with Rooster.” He doesn’t miss the way all his friends’ heads snap towards him.

All eyes are on the two of you, and you’re pointedly looking anywhere but him.

Rooster had been anxiously waiting to hear the story of your first official time, the one that was with someone who wasn’t him. He didn’t realize that you still considered him your first. He’d figured that part of your history had long been overwritten by whoever had been lucky enough to catch your eye and make your heart race in a romantic way.

The two of you had never talked about it in the after.

Not once, not ever.

He didn’t care that people knew, he just wasn’t expecting it.

Jake starts the group out of its stunned silence by slapping a heavy hand on top of the table, nearly sending some bottles to the floor, “I knew it! I knew y’all couldn’t have been friends all this time and not have tried it out at least once.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, chill,” Javy mutters. He’s always been the better of the two about reading the room.

Trying to spare you from being put on the spot even more than you already were now, Rooster mumbles through the way he’d lost his to a girl from his AP Econ class after a playoff baseball game.

He stares at the way you’re nervously picking at the label of the Blue Moon he’d grabbed for you when he went to get a refill of his own. He can practically hear the way your brain is buzzing. He wonders if you wish you could take back the words from where they are sitting on the table with the collection of bottles and peanut shells for everyone to see.

Bob being the team player that he is starts talking about how he’d lost his one summer in college to another camp counselor, going into more detail than he’s ever given before, probably trying to redirect the attention to himself to give the two of you a moment to regroup.

Rooster makes a mental note to tell Penny to put all of Bob’s cream sodas from now on on his own tab.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here. Or where to look. Or where to put his hands. He wants to talk to you, but there’s no good way for him to go about it without drawing even more attention to the two of you.

You were supposed to be going on a first date tonight, but he’d talked you into canceling to hang out with him instead. He likes having all of your attention on him. And maybe he’s been a little selfish with you, because he doesn’t like to share you with anyone else. You’ve always been his best friend.

Rooster likes that he gets to talk to you whenever he wants now, and that it doesn’t feel like a never-ending game of catch up anymore. In the year since the Uranium mission, he’d felt like all the fragmented pieces of his life had finally come together. He’d reconnected with Mav, he was living in the same city as his best friend, and he had a place he could finally call home.

He didn’t just want the highlights with you, he wanted everything in between too. There’s no more distance due to time zones and scheduling times to call because now you only live 20 minutes away from him. And the next time he comes home from a deployment, he knows he’ll get to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him.

He feels like he’s learned so much more about the grown-up version of you over the last year than he has in the last ten.

Jake jumps in barely a breath after Bob finishes telling his story. “Well, we all know it’s not the first who matters, but who was the best.” Rooster doesn’t trust the gleam in his eyes or the sharp smile on his face. “Since Bradshaw cut you off before, how’s about you go first this time, darlin’. You can tell us about who knocked your socks off. Maybe this time he’ll let you finish, if you know what I mean.”

It’s thinly veiled snooping disguised as chivalry, and it doesn’t fool anyone. Nat’s eyes dart to him briefly, trying to get a read on him.

He’d been 21 at the time. And while he knows more now that he did then, he also knows his name isn’t going to be coming out of your mouth for a second time tonight.

Rooster takes a sip of his beer, needing something to do.

He knows you’ve been with other people. You’d lived with your ex for over a couple years, for fuck's sake. But it was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not talk about your sex lives with each other.

His leg starts bouncing again and he realizes he really doesn’t want to hear this. Not because of his ego, but because he doesn’t know what to do about the knot that’s formed in his stomach.

Your mouth opens and closes a couple times before you speak, “That title would also go to Rooster.” The admission is soft, but sure.

Where his heart had been pounding before, now it feels like it had stopped completely.

It’s been 13 years since that Spring Break. 13 years and he’s still your best?

Barely five minutes ago, he hadn’t known where to look. But now? Now he couldn’t stop staring at you.

He just didn’t understand why you still wouldn’t look at him back.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

When you’d floated the idea by Bradley about visiting him at UVA for Spring Break during your weekly phone call, you’d been braced for the disappointment of him already having plans. It was his Senior year, it wouldn’t surprise you if he wanted to go out with a bang and make the most of it. Especially since he would belong to the Navy soon enough.

But he’d taken you by surprise when he started enthusiastically listing off all the places he wanted to show you, planning out your trip like a well-seasoned travel agent before you’d even booked a plane ticket.

You’d started looking up airfare before you’d even hung up the phone. And thirty minutes later you had a confirmation email flagged in your inbox after elatedly charging that aisle seat to the credit card you only used for emergencies.

It had been close to a year since you’d last seen him. He usually spent his Winter Break with your family, but this year he’d stayed on campus for the holidays and it was the longest the two of you had ever been apart since you’d first met him when you were 8.

And maybe that’s why it took you so long to spot him in the Arrivals area of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.

You’ve always prided yourself in being able to pick Bradley out of a crowd anywhere, but in your cursory glance you hadn’t recognized the tall, broad guy with the UVA shirt pulled taut across his chest and wearing a baseball hat backward on his head. It wasn’t until your third searching pass that you’d caught the lips that were quirked up in amusement and those familiar brown eyes trained on you as he leaned ever-so-casually against the faux wood paneling on the wall waiting for you to notice him.

He’d filled out in the months since you’d last seen him. He was more toned than you remembered him being with definition in places where there hadn’t been before. His face had more distinct angles and less baby fat cushioned curves. Still a bit boyish, but he was well on his way to looking like a man.

Bradley raised his hand like he was going to wave, but then he’d mimicked casting a fishing line in your direction and reeling it in. And it was so endearingly stupid- so him- that you couldn’t help but take the bait and made your way towards him with the biggest grin on your face.

You’d ignored the jittery flutter in your stomach as you’d weaved between people and luggage. You’ve never been nervous around your best friend before. There was something that had on your mind a lot as the days to your visit inched closer, but you’d shoved that out of your mind, because you were finally standing in front of him in person for the first time in months.

“Hey, kid,” he’d greeted you, taking your bag, “Charlottesville must have known you were coming, because she’s going to be sunny for you all week.” As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he tugged you right into his chest for a hug. You could feel the unspoken I missed you in the way he squeezed you just that bit tighter before releasing you.

Then he was dropping an arm over your shoulders and steering you towards the exit and driving you into town in the beat-up car he’d bought after selling his prized Montero, the car that Mav had given him for his birthday.

You’re only there for a week and Bradley doesn’t waste a single moment of it.

After dropping your things off in his dorm room, he takes you straight to campus where he gives you the Official Bradley Bradshaw Certified UVA Tour. He buys you lunch from one of the food trucks in the Amphitheater “for sustenance” before taking you to see the highlights. You start with the Rotunda and then the academic village, making a special pitstop at the Whispering Wall for you to tell it a secret. And then he takes you on a more historical tour, like showing you the exact route he used to streak The Lawn and pointing out the place he’d puked after his 21st birthday.

It’s clear he’d put so much thought into your visit because it seems like there is never a down moment. By the end of the third day you’re more surprised that you don't wake up every morning with a printed itinerary on your pillow.

He sneaks you into the Slaughter Rec Center to rock climb, claiming he had a person on the inside with the right connections. But really from what you could tell, the pretty girl at the check-in counter clearly had a crush on him. He takes you to the batting cages he likes to go to before Dead Week, and spends the time there equal parts making fun of your power swing and trying to fix it.

You get your revenge the next day standing outside of the imposing columns and massive doors to the Fralin Art Museum. Skeptically eyeing the sculpture in the front of the building that kind of looked like a giant wisdom tooth, you mentioned, “I didn’t realize you’d become such a patron of the cultural arts.”

“Hey now, I like artsy shit,” he’d said, only mildly affronted.

You snorted at that. “Is there an exhibit on beer pong and blunt rolling you wanted to see?” Through the window you’d spotted some large landscape oil paintings in ornate gilded frames and carved marble busts of what you assumed were probably of some of the Founding Fathers.

“You just missed that one, it was last month,” Bradley lobbed back, opening the door for you.

“What a pity,” you’d said with a dramatic sigh, “Guess we’ll have to settle for some tasteful nudes instead.”

“If we’re lucky,” he’d muttered under his breath, as you passed under his arm.

And then you’d felt the corners of your mouth kick up.

Turning around you’d pressed your finger to his chest, whispering so the person behind the ticket desk didn’t hear you, “Twenty bucks says you don’t make it thirty minutes in there.”

He narrowed his eyes, taking in your sly grin, “You’re on, kid.”

It’s the easiest $20 you’ve ever made.

The two of you call it a truce only after he tips your kayak into the still chilly Rivanna River.

Later that night, he takes you to a party on “Mad Bowl” that one of his frat friends was hosting. The backyard was all strung up with red and green Christmas lights like they had been too lazy to take them down after the holidays and decided it added to the outdoor ambiance instead of packing them away.

He was still just as protective over you as he was back in high school. Spending the whole night keeping an eye on you and handing you drinks that he’d uncapped himself using the opener that he had on his keychain, the one that still had the little fighter jet charm you’d given him ages ago dangling from it.

The days pass all too quickly as he shows you all of his favorite spots.

You knew UVA wasn’t where he’d originally wanted to be- where he thought he’d be- but you were happy that he seemed happy here.

But in between the late-night microwave ramen and movie watching and crossing off all the things on Bradley’s Spring Break To-Do List, there’d been something you’d been wanting to talk to him about. But you were having so much fun with him, you’d missed your best friend over those long months apart, and you didn’t want to ruin the time you had left with him here.

It lingered at the back of your mind like a phantom hair that you can feel, but can’t ever seem to brush off no matter how many times you attempt to. You felt like you were waiting for the right time that you weren’t sure would ever come. And if you were being honest, you weren’t entirely sure you would even be brave enough to ask if the time came.

The two of you had woken up way before the sun this morning.

If anyone other than Bradley had asked you to wake up before 5 AM to go hike to watch the sunrise, you would have laughed at them. But because it was Bradley, you’d set the alarm without comment. Even though he did have to gently pry you out of his roommate’s bed- with the fresh sheets he told you he bought especially for your visit- and lace up your shoes for you.

The views at Humpback Rock had been worth the hour hike up to the outcrop of craggy rocks. The sunrise painted them a stunning shade of soft orange as the rays illuminated evergreen covered hills and valleys that extended in front of you to the skyline. You and Bradley watched it in silence, shoulders pressed against each other as you took it all in.

You’re cozied up on your bed for the week, flipping through a book you’d brought with you, but hadn’t touched at all until now when Bradley comes back from the showers. His hair is still damp and the ends are starting to curl a bit.

He drops a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the nightstand next to you.

You hadn’t been sure what rooming with him would be like, the two of you together 24/7 since his roommate had left to go home for the break. But it felt like you were two kids at sleepaway camp getting away with mischief rather than two broke college students only pretending to get away with mischief.

He sits down at the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, “So.”

“So?” you repeat, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a sip.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been up with you?”

You wince, and it’s not because the coffee tastes like tar.

“What do you mean?” you try to ask casually.

Bradley gives you a look that says you don’t fool me, kid. “You’ve been squirrely. I didn’t want to press it, but I can tell there’s something on your mind.” He takes a sip of his own milky battery acid. “Are classes going better since you switched majors?”

You nod, looking anywhere else other than at him.

“How are things with your Dad?”

You offer him a shrug.

He sighs your name in exasperation. You can tell he is trying to tamper his frustration at your lack of cooperation.

“Is it a guy?” Bradley tries again.

You swear you feel your heart stop, because you knew what you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know how he was going to take it.

You fiddle with a string on his roommate’s comforter. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” you admit, tentatively, “But I’m nervous.”

Bradley’s eyebrows pull together as he sets his coffee aside, “C’mon, it’s just me. You can talk to me about anything.”

“It’s more of a question.” One you’re still deflecting from asking.

“Ok, well you know you can ask me anything.” His tiny dorm room feels even smaller as the two of you try to read the other’s face.

Taking a deep breath, you ask the question that’s been rattling around in your brain for weeks.

“Bradley, I was wondering if you’d be my first?”

Less than ten words. That’s all it takes to tilt Bradley’s world off its axis.

He’s loved getting to show you around UVA this week. It wasn’t where he thought he’d end up, but he hadn’t lost sight of where he was going. He was going to be a Naval Aviator one way or another. He just also got to have a normal college experience too, one he’d been excited to share with you.

Bradley had originally been invited to go stay with one of his friends at his family’s beach house, but when you called and asked about coming to visit Charlottesville, it was an easy choice for him. He’d pick you every time.

It had been even better getting to cross off some of the things on the bucket list he’d made for his Senior Year with you in tow, like the hike he’d taken you on this morning.

He loves the views from up there and thought it would be something you’d like too, but he’d never done the hike early enough to catch the sunrise before. It was actually something he was planning on going the morning of graduation as a symbolic way to end his time at UVA, but getting to do it with you was special in its own way.

And while he’d caught you lost in thought more than a few times over the last few days as he showed you around, he never in a million years would have ever expected you to ask him that.

Bradley knows all the words you just used, but they don’t make sense to him in that order.

His brain is working in overdrive trying to figure out if there is any possible way he could have misinterpreted you.

“Your first…”

You take another deep breath and tip your chin up in resolve before looking him dead in the eye, there’s so much vulnerability reflected in them, “I haven’t had sex before, Bradley. And I’m really hoping that my first time can be with you.”

Bradley wants to tell you to put your Styrofoam cup down because he’s worried the tight grip you have on it might crush it, but he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

He didn’t realize when his leg started bouncing until he sees you glance down at it.

Shooting to his feet and off his bed, he goes to lean against his recently decluttered desk. There’s too much restless energy coursing through him to just sit like he isn’t completely reeling.

“Shouldn’t you want to do this with someone special? Like with rose petals and all that shit?” He scrubs a hand over his face. Rose petals and all that shit? God, he sounds like such a fucking dumbass, but he’s struggling to keep up.

And if he’s being entirely honest, he’s pretty surprised to learn you’re still a virgin. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but he knows you’ve had at least one serious boyfriend since you’ve gone to college. He figured that you got asked out all the time. He saw the way that some of the guys in his buddy’s frat were looking at the pretty girl with the dimples and big smile.

The girl who just asked him to be her first.

He hates the way your shoulders have slumped forward, like you’re trying not to cave in on yourself, “So, you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” His answer takes him by surprise.

The only other sound in the room other than his pounding heart is the whir of the air circulating in his dorm.

“Would it help to make a pro con list?” you offer, less than helpfully with a little shrug.

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley mutters under his breath, looking up at the speckled ceiling trying to decode the flecks like tea leaves. “She’s cracking jokes like she didn’t ask me to make her come.”

“Technically, I didn’t say anything about that. I just asked you to be my first.”

“I’m not taking your virginity and not giving you an orgasm,” he states, and your eyes get wide. He runs his hands through his hair. “Sex makes things complicated, kid. We’ve got a good friendship.”

You sit up straighter on his roommate’s bed and bring your knees to your chest. It exposes the backs of your thighs and he has to shake the mental images of skin on skin out of his head.

There’s a look on your face that tells him you feel ridiculous even asking him, “Do you think you’re going to fall in love with me or something?”

“No,” Bradley says, honestly.

He knows you’re just trying to make a point.

The two of you have been friends for over a decade. He knows he cares about you- he always has- but he couldn’t imagine what anything other than just friendship would look like with you.

You nod in agreement, like you had been anticipating the answer before you’d even asked him the question.

“And do you think I’m going to fall in love with you?” you ask, your head tilting to the side.

He doesn’t even blink, “You can do better than me.”

And he means it.

Even if there was something more between the two of you, you’ve always been too good for him. And knowing him, he’d find a way to fuck it up. You’re the last person in the world he’d ever want to hurt. He’d let you down before, he doesn’t want to do it ever again.

You shoot him a disappointed look, like you don’t like hearing him say that about himself. And he’s oddly touched that you’re defending him against himself.

“You’d literally be doing me a favor.”

Bradley is still surprised that he hasn’t ended this conversation yet. The two of you were supposed to go to the movies, but that definitely wasn’t happening now.

“I’m not saying no,” he says, “But I need you to help me understand. Why me? Why now?”

“Bradley, I want it to be with you because there’s no one else I’ll ever feel as comfortable with as I do with you,” you explain.

He watches as you unfold yourself and climb off the bed, coming to stand in front of him. You gingerly reach out and put your hand on his forearm, like you don’t want to startle him. Not that he’d be able to move anyways since it feels like the soles of his feet are cemented to the floor.

“I keep waiting for it to not feel like such a big thing, but every time it seems like it’s going to happen, I freeze. And I know you’d take care of me, and I’m not talking about orgasms.” You stumble over the word a bit, not fully meeting his eyes as you say it. “It’s scary enough as a girl and I’m worried I’m going to be too in my head with anyone else. But I also don’t want to look back and have any regrets, and I know I wouldn’t have any with you.”

The mention of regrets makes his stomach twinge. His heart feels like it’s hammering in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say.

You are looking at him with such open sincerity. He has never been good with talking about his feelings, he’s always been the type to bottle things up, while you have always worn your heart on your sleeve. It was just another way that you were braver than him.

“I know it’s a lot,” you say, letting go of him to take a step back, like you want to give him breathing room, “So if it’s too big of an ask. Or if it’s not something you’re comfortable with-”

Bradley shakes his head cutting you off, “It’s not that at all, kid. I just haven’t done this before.” Your eyebrow scrunches together in confusion. “I mean, I have,” he corrects, “But it’s not the same. All the girls I’ve been with had already had experience. And if we were going to do this, I would want to make sure it’s as nice for you as it can be.”

“So you’d be my first and I’d be yours? Well, kind of.” You give him a little smile, it’s a shy but hopeful thing. There’s only a hint of your dimples, but it’s enough. And he feels that practical part of him that had been holding back soften at the sight of it.

He doesn’t think he’s ever said no to you, excluding the times you tried to get him to give you his beer at the house parties he took you to in high school, and that was more out of self-preservation from a healthy fear of your mom than anything else.

When you wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift? He took you to the abandoned parking lot, it didn’t matter that you didn’t have your learner’s permit yet. When you wanted to learn how to throw a punch? He was making sure you knew not to tuck your thumb under your fingers, so that you didn’t break your own thumb instead of someone’s nose.

He’s always had your back and you’ve had his. That’s how it was between the two of you.

You’ve already said it, but he needs to hear it again, “You really want to do it?”

“I really want it to be you, Bradley. I really want to do this with you. I trust you the most.”

He’s always been willing to help you with anything you’ve ever asked of him, why should this be any different? What’s a couple orgasms between friends?

“Ok,” Bradley nods. If it’s to reassure you or himself, he couldn’t say. “I’ll do it. We can do it.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, like you were fully prepared for him to let you down gently, “Really?”

You didn’t ask for his why he was agreeing, but he was going to give it to you anyway.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this, but I lost mine to Samantha Prescod after the game against Centennial that got us a spot at State that year,” he waits until he sees the recognition cross your face before continuing, “But I had also just learned about my mom’s diagnosis and I was trying to find anything I could do to not think about it.” He rubs at a spot underneath his collarbone, it never got any easier talking about his mom. “I think she assumed that I’d done it before, because we didn’t really talk about it. She was there and into it, so it just sort of happened. Actually, I’m pretty sure she only slept with me because she wanted to make her ex-boyfriend jealous, because they got back together like three days later.”

It’s probably for the best that Samantha Prescod lives on the other side of the country now because you look livid. Your eyes spark with anger and disbelief on his behalf.

“It was years ago, it’s fine, kid” he shrugs, trying to brush off your concern. “But if I had a do-over, I don’t know if I’d make the same choice again. And that’s not something I’d ever want for you.” You deserve the rose petals, but he’ll do his best for you. “So we can do it, but I have one condition.”

The relief on your face and the way the tension in your shoulder releases only solidifies his decision.

“Tell me,” you say, taking a half-step towards him, “I want you to be comfortable too.”

Bradley pushes off his desk and meets you the rest of the way, “If you even think you’re feeling uncomfortable- about any of it- I need you to tell me. And we’ll stop and figure out where to go from there. If it’s a change of position, if it’s a full stop and order pizza instead, we’ll do that.” He pauses and reaches out to tip your chin up. “I’ll do whatever you need, got it?”

You throw your arms around him, and his wrap around you just as easily. Your hair smells like the travel sized shampoo he’d picked up for you, figuring you wouldn’t want to use his 2-in-1. You murmur your thank you into his shirt followed by a fuck Samantha Prescod that makes him squeeze you just a bit tighter to him in affection.

When you step back and look at him, your lips twitch upwards, “What’s with the look, Bradshaw? Don’t tell me you’re going to lie back and think of England?”

That makes him chuckle, your joke lightening the mood in only the way that you can do. He rolls his eyes in equal parts exasperation and fondness.

“God, I haven’t been this nervous since I lost my own virginity. I was so stressed I was going to blow my load in two pumps and lose my street cred.”

You snort and send him a smirk, “Well, you must have done just fine. I overheard some glowing reviews in the girl’s bathroom on more than one occasion.”

“I maybe lasted ten trusts, but I had the good sense to eat her out after,” he admits, and then tacks on for good measure, “I’ve gotten better since then.”

“What a stud,” you tease.

This is easier, this feels like the two of you. This should be fun, it shouldn’t feel serious. He can make it good for you.

You look up at him shyly from under your lashes, “So how do we do this?”

He feels like he only just wrapped his head around the idea of it, but now he was facing the very real possibility of seeing you very naked very soon.

“You want to do it now?” Bradley blinks.

“I mean, if you’re up for it.” You scrunch your nose when you realize you’ve made a terrible double entendre. “No pun intended, I promise.”

He wipes his hands on his pants.

“You sure?” he asks again.

“I’m sure, Bradley. As long as you are too.”

He nods, “Then I guess we just…”

He’s not sure where he was going to go with that. But he’s spared from being roasted by you for making some sure to be lame birthday suit joke because you’re untying the bow on the soft lounge shorts you’d thrown on after your shower from the hike, and all the words get trapped in his throat.

You don’t look at Bradley as you slide your shorts down your legs. And you definitely don’t look at him when you pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in only a soft green mesh bra and your cotton underwear. They’re mismatched, but sex with Bradley wasn’t originally on the Spring Break To-Do List agenda for today.

In fact, you hadn’t even been sure you were going to go through with asking him until he brought up the point that he knew you had something on your mind because you apparently had no poker face.

While it felt like you had a swarm of butterflies whirling in your stomach, you also knew wholeheartedly that this was the right choice for you. Everything he had said had solidified that for you.

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to thank him for this, but you had a lifetime of friendship with Bradley to figure it out.

His room cast in the soft afternoon light, the blinds only partly closed. There are little streaks of gold that line the plaid comforter on his bed. He’d been right, Charlottesville had stayed sunny just for you.

As you climb into it and situate yourself against his pillows, you can help but notice just how much his bed smells like him. It’s not the spicy scent you associated with the High School version of him. The woodsy and warm scent embedded in the threads of his sheets suits this grown up version of him.

You feel equal parts overdressed and underdressed in your bra and underwear. You know the latter are going to come off eventually, so you make a split-second decision to just take them off yourself under his covers. The idea of Bradley helping you to pull them off later seems like it would be too intimate based on the way the thought of it makes your cheeks heat up.

It’s practical, you’re being practical, you think to yourself.

You chance a peek at him and are surprised to see that he hasn’t budged an inch. It’s almost like he is waiting for you to get completely settled before he dares to move a muscle. His eyes are trained on the pile of your clothes on the floor, he looks lost in thought.

“Bradley?”

The sound of your voice seems to kickstart him into action.

He shucks off his shirt in that kind of reckless way that seems to be ingrained in boys and then unbuttons his pants. You’re torn between feeling like you should give him privacy and wanting to watch. What you were expecting is the way he takes the time to pick his clothes up before folding them over the back of the chair at his desk.

Your mouth goes dry as you take in the sight of his body, the diffused light perfectly outlines the shape of him. His broad shoulders are rounded with the muscles he’s gained from whatever exercises the NROTC has been putting him through. Your eyes dip down to his defined chest and over the ridges of his abs. You’ve seen him in swim trunks plenty of times, but seeing the way the muscles of his thick thighs fill out the black boxer briefs he was wearing was entirely new to you.

Bradley approaches you and then pauses as he bends down to collect your pile of clothes on the floor, his hand hesitating only for a second when he reaches for your underwear. He drapes all of your things on top of his on the chair and makes his way back to you.

The gesture makes you melt a little like a soft serve ice cream cone on a summer afternoon.

You lift the corner of the cover for Bradley and he climbs in next to you. You move closer to the wall, trying to make more room for the bulk of him in his small bed, and he shifts in even closer into you until your bodies pressed tight against one another. The curves and angles of the two of you slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.

It feels like the two of you are teetering there on the edge of something. You both know exactly where it’s going, but are unsure of how to make it from Point A to Point B. Both waiting on the other person to make the first move.

He rests his warm hand on your stomach, the muscles there jumping on their own under his touch in anticipation. Your faces are close since you’re sharing his pillow. His brown eyes are searching yours, probably looking for any sign of hesitation that you don’t feel.

“Tell me how you’re feeling.” It’s not a question, but a request.

“Overwhelmed,” you admit, “But in a good way.” He runs his palm lightly up your stomach and back down, soothingly.

“Good, that’s good,” Bradley says, clearing his throat, “You’re supposed to feel a little ‘overwhelmed, but in a good way.’” You feel your lips pull up at his gentle teasing.

He smiles softly at you. His face has always been so familiar to you. The pink from his scars have finally faded, but you wonder when his eyes start crinkling around the corners.

You let go of the comforter to run a finger down the top of his nose, “I don’t know how this has stayed so straight.” He’d been in more than a couple fights in his teen years, including one that had sent him through a sliding glass door.

“Probably the combination of a little luck and the fact that none of those guys could throw a punch,” Bradley smirks. He shifts on his side, propping himself up on an elbow looking down at you, still running his hand along your stomach. “What have you done so far?”

His fingertips circle your bellybutton and your stomach swoops like it’s on the swing carousel ride at the fair.

“Some over the clothes stuff…” you stammer. You’re having trouble focusing because all your attention is on his big hand and how it feels against your oversensitive skin. “And I have a vibrator, but ah…”

You’re so keenly aware of his hand. With every lazy circle he makes, he has you wondering if this is going to be the one where he finally moves his hand lower. That part of you in flutters in expectation because you know it’s coming.

You let out a shaky huff when his fingers trails back up your stomach.

“What is it?” Bradley’s hand stops moving. “What are you thinking?”

“Honestly?” you say, trying not to squirm, “I’m getting really horny and you keep teasing me.”

He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh at your overshare, and there’s amusement in his eyes.

“You know, some people call it foreplay,” he drawls. You’d roll your eyes but his fingertips are by your bellybutton again and you want him to keep going. “You ready for more?” You nod a few times because if he doesn’t touch you soon you might just crawl out of your skin. “Ok, gonna stop ‘teasing’ you now.”

This time his hand doesn’t stop at your bellybutton, it keeps moving down, down.

You stutter over a breath when Bradley’s fingers touch your clit. You feel yourself melt a little further into his mattress. He’s making easy circles, letting you get used to someone’s fingers other than your own on the most sensitive part of you. Your hands are clutching tightly to his comforter, unsure of what else to do with them.

“Spread your legs a little wider for me,” he murmurs. You feel your face heat up. He’d just given you a direction, but it sounds almost indecent coming out of his mouth.

You shift, moving your legs apart further for him, until he secures your left between his own, opening you up even more. You know you’re wet and now he does too. Bradley’s fingers slide easily over you as he increases the pressure on your clit. You can feel the intensity of his gaze on you watching for your reaction as he figures out what you like the most.

It doesn’t take him long to learn your body. You don’t know whether to be impressed with him or embarrassed with yourself at how quickly he’s worked you up.

Your breathing feels so loud in your ears in the quiet room, every breath and sigh is amplified. There’s a certain thrill in not knowing how he’s going to touch you next, your own fingers pale in comparison now.

His warm breath coasts down the side of your neck causing you to shiver at the sensation. It makes goosebumps break out along your arms and your nipples pull taut.

He notices. Of course he notices.

“Are you cold?” His voice is low in your ear.

“No, I-” Oh god, you’re right there. “B-bradley, I’m-” You’ve made yourself orgasm plenty of times, but you’ve never shared that part of yourself with anyone else before. No one knows what you sound like or what you look like when you come. But now, Bradley was going to have the piece of you too. A whine escapes you without your permission.

“It’s ok, kid, I’ve got you.”

You’re seeking and searching, but it’s Bradley’s fingers that have the answer.

And you come with your stomach twitching and hips jerking as he murmurs praise in your ear.

His fingers slow down, featherlight on your clit, but your heart is still racing when he rasps, “There’s one, you up for another?”

Bradley loves that moment during sex when he hears that first gasp or moan. He loves learning what sounds of satisfaction he can pull from his partner. He loves knowing he earned it. But he never in his life could have ever anticipated hearing those sounds from you.

In his bed. Because of him.

He didn’t expect the lick of heat that curled up his spine at the shape of your legs and the curve of your ass as you were stepping out of your shorts. He’d never seen anything so strangely endearing as it was watching you shimmy your underwear off under the shield of his covers.

Every hitch in your breath made his blood run hotter in his veins. He was trying to control his cock, but he’d started getting hard the second you’d pulled your shirt off. Your bra was some kind of sheer thing that left nothing to the imagination, and while he wasn’t trying to check you out- because that’s not how it was between the two of you- he couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down.

You’re slippery, wet, and warm. And he knows he can make you come again.

“Do you want me to use my fingers now?”

You crack an eye open at him, it’s the first time you’ve opened your eyes since he first touched you. Your eyes are bright in that way that only comes with an orgasm. “I thought you already were.”

“Such a smartass,” he grins.

Bradley changes the unhurried circles he’d been making on your clit to the upstroke that made your hips jerk up into his hand the first time he’d tried it. The little noises you’re making have him fighting the urge to grind himself against you for some relief of his own. He’s still got your knee tucked between his own; where there had been a hint of polite space between your bodies, the way you’re writhing now has him pressed up against your hip.

You gasp, breathily, “Oh, you’re hard.” The disbelief is evident in your voice, but it’s the look in your eyes that he doesn’t know what to make of, something like surprise.

He’s been trying to be a gentleman, this is about you and not him. There might not be anything romantic happening between the two of you, but this was hot and he was more than a little turned on. And he knows you are too because he can feel how wet you are under his fingers.

“’Course I am,” Bradley says, nudging his nose against your temple, “I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed half naked.” He didn’t want you to feel like you were in this on your own, so he lightly rocks against you. He wants you to feel him, he wants you to know he is into this too. “Are you ready more?”

“I’m ready, I want more,” you confirm, wrapping your hand around his bicep.

Your breath hitches as he teases you with just the tip of his finger.

He’s been told before he has big hands and thick fingers, he’s always taken it as a compliment in the past, but now he’s scanning your face for any trace of discomfort as he sinks one into you.

Your eyebrows twitch then smooth out and your mouth drops open as he starts pumping his finger into you in a smooth rhythm.

“That feels nice,” you sigh, airily.

He knows you like it when your hips tip up just a fraction. His comforter is bunched around your waist and your nipples are peaked against the see-through fabric of your bra. He gets his thumb on your clit and you whimper as you tentatively roll your hips against his fingers.

Bradley hums his approval, “Atta girl. There you go, find what feels good for you.” His voice sounds low even to his own ears, a throaty rumble. He feels you clench around his fingers and it sets his pulse racing. It’s a piece of information he tucks away for himself.

He’s gentle on your clit, but now that he knows you’re into it he’s setting a more purposeful pace with his fingers.

You’ve got your bottom lip pinned between your teeth, like you’re trying to swallow down your sounds. He didn’t realize how much he liked hearing these new sounds from you until you started trying to muffle them. On the next slide of his finger into you, he knows exactly what he’s looking for.

You suck in a sharp breath of surprise when he finds it.

“Is that the right spot, kid?” He sounds so smug. You curse and your hand clutches at his shoulder. “You want to try a second finger?” he murmurs into your ear.

“Yes,” you rock into his hand, “Yes, please.”

“Whatever you want, Miss Manners.” His chest feels like he’s taken a shot of Fireball. “You’re so polite when you’re trying to get your way.”

“I’m always polite,” you challenged weakly, pressing your head further into his pillow.

“Mhm,” he indulges, fondly, “You’re the sweetest girl I know.”

And then he fills you with two fingers.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you gasp, offering more of yourself to him.

Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder as he lets your whimpers and whines guide his hands.

The two of you have your eyes fixed on the way the tendons of the visible part of his forearm are flexing before it disappears under the covers as he works you.

Bradley curls his fingers into that spongy part of you and your hand flies to his wrist, gripping him tight. It makes him pause, worried that he might have pushed you too far too fast.

“No, no. D-don’t stop,” you plead, desperately, “I’m so close. Keep going, please.” You squeeze his wrist encouragingly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he soothes. He focuses his efforts on that spot again now that he knows you weren’t wanting him to slow down, but rather trying to hold him in place. His fingers inside of you and his thumb on your clit working in tandem to get you there again.

“I just- yes. Like that. Oh fuck. Keep doing that. Oh my god. Please, Bradley.”

He’s heard you say his name a lot of different ways, but never like this.

Your back arches and you twist yourself towards him, burying your face against him and keening into the hollow of his throat as you come around his fingers.

You jerk and writhe into his hand, your knee slips free of his and your thighs clamp together around him. Bradley rolls off the arm he’d been leaning on and brings it to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer and holding you to him as he steadily works you through it until you’re loose-limbed in his arms.

He waits until your rapid pants have evened out before he slips his fingers from you. The displeased sound that you make makes the corners of his mouth twitch. He should have known you’d be bossy. He rubs gentle circles into the divots at the base of your neck as you come down.

Bradley can feel your lips graze the side of his neck when you finally speak, “So, um, let me know if you need a letter of recommendation or anything. I’d be happy to pass one along to your next partner.” You languidly prop yourself up on his chest and he notes with pride that you look a little flushed. “But, seriously, I get it now.”

He huffs a laugh as he toys with the end of your hair, “I’m glad it lived up to the hype. Well, at least that part of it.”

You press your lips together like you’re deciding something, tracing idle shapes on his stomach, and he can’t decide if he thinks you’re doing it without realizing it or if you’re the one doing the teasing this time. Your eyes flick down to his visibly hard cock and he feels his face heat up, “Can I?”

“Do you want to?” Bradley wants this experience to be everything you need and want it to be, but something about the tables turning here and the idea of you being the one to touch him like that makes his heart pound.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you softly tell him, resting your chin on your shoulder. The tender way you’re looking at him makes his teeth ache.

“Ok, but only for a little bit,” he agrees. Bradley knows he’s walking a tightrope with this, he’s aching and more than ready to be touched, but he doesn’t want to come all over your hand.

He plants his feet into his mattress and lifts his hips enough to pull off his boxer briefs, sighing in relief as his cock bobs free.

“That can’t be average,” you mutter under your breath.

He doesn’t know if you meant to have said it out loud but he smirks all the same, “I’ve never been average a day in my life, kid, Grade A student here.”

A groan slips out of him as your tentative fingers grasp his cock. There’s a lack of finesse in the way you touch him, your hand isn’t nearly as well-practiced as his own. He wraps his hand over yours, guiding your strokes as he shows you just what he likes.

“You can grip it a little firmer,” he coaches. You nod studiously, like you’re going to be tested on it later. Together the two of you work him from root to tip.

Bradley had never given much thought to his size until now. He knew he was big, but seeing that your thumb couldn’t reach the tips of your fingers when your hand was curved around him was an ego boost he didn’t know he needed.

You get more confident with every glide up and down the length of him. Your tricky thumb sweeps over the tip, collecting what precum had gathered there, and it makes your hand slide easier over him. When he accidentally thrusts into your hand, you grin and there are those dimples again.

“Ok, ok,” he blows out a shaky breath, stilling your hand with his. “We gotta stop or I’m going to come. And I’m not about to be a one pump chump.”

“It sounded like you’re more of a ten pump chump, if I remember correctly,” you tease, looking all too pleased with yourself. “Don’t worry, Bradshaw, your street cred is safe with me.”

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, “You’re such a goddamn menace. I knew I shouldn’t have told you that part.” He surprises the both of you when he wraps an arm around you and rolls to pin you under him.

And it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room because your thighs are cradling his hips and his cock is resting heavy on your stomach.

Neither one of you dare to move. He’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right now, he feels out of his depth as he watches you watching him.

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, “Are you on-”

You nod before he even finishes the question.

“Do you have-”

He nods before you finish yours.

“What did you promise me?” he prompts, squeezing the dip of your waist.

You hold up your pinky to him, “I’ll tell you.” He wraps his own crooked one around yours and gives it a shake.

Bradley doesn’t know what comes over him, but he drops a kiss to your shoulder as he reaches over you into the drawer of his nightstand to fish out what he needs. He’s thankful when you don’t comment on it because he wouldn’t even know how to explain it.

He leans back on his knees and rolls the condom on with practiced ease, then flicks open the cap to the bottle of lube he’s also grabbed and drizzles it over his cock.

“Am I not…” you trail off. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound this shy with him before.

“You’re plenty wet,” he assures you, pumping himself- once, twice- just enough to coat himself, “But this’ll be good too. I think you’ll like it.”

Bradley settles back over you, one arm braced by your head and the other on your hip, as your hands come up to rest lightly on either side of his ribcage. He rocks against you to demonstrate; the head of his cock nudges your clit with each silky pass. You exhale heavily at the sensation as he eases you into the motion of it, as he shows you what it’s like with another person.

You’re holding him close, and in just a moment the two of you will be the closest two people can be.

He makes only enough room to reach down between your bodies, only looks away from your face long enough to line himself up with you. There is such trust in your eyes as you gaze up at him, it’s not something Bradley takes for granted.

You nod, your fingers stroking his sides.

God, does he want this to be good for you.

He takes a breath.

And then he’s shifting forward and pressing in.

Bradley thrusts into you with all the careful gentleness you’d expect from him.

His thumb skimming along your forehead as he pushes in, in, in.

When he found that spot inside of you with his fingers, you thought you were going to fly away from the intensity of it, but then he’d pulled you into the safety of his arms and you felt like you could fall apart because he’d be keeping the pieces of you together.

He’s been so good to you. He is so good to you. He’s the best person you know.

The more of him he gives you, the less you feel like you can catch your breath.

You feel hot, hot all over. And much fuller than you’ve ever been.

Some sound must make its way out of you because Bradley offers you a low soothing noise before you feel his lightly chapped lips against your temple.

There’s something about this that reminds you of the time he tried to teach you how to skateboard. Always waited until you told him you were ready, until you found your balance. He’d held your hand as you cautiously rolled along the sidewalk, you were less worried about falling with him by your side. Only this time, his hand is on your waist and the only movements are his hips against yours as he rocks into you.

Little by little. Inch by inch.

You clutch at his biceps at the slight stinging sensation and you feel him hesitate.

“It’s just a lot,” you whisper. His fingers flex on your waist.

“You’re doing so good, just a bit more,” Bradley murmurs, encouragingly.

There’s pressure, there’s a give, and then there’s relief when his hips finally, finally meet yours.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

Your eyes had flickered shut somewhere along the way. You open them to see that Bradley’s face and chest are flushed pink, the muscle of his jaw flexing. The furrow between his eyebrows is so deep that you release your grip on him to smooth out the lines with an unsteady fingertip.

He reads the question in your eyes.

“You’re just really tight,” he grits out, voice strained.

You assumed that was a good thing, but he’s holding himself so tense above you that now you’re not sure. “Do I-,” you fumble over the words, “Does this feel good for you?”

He huffs an incredulous laugh, and brushes back some hair from off your face, “You feel really fucking good, sweet-”

Your whimper cuts him off when he pulls out a fraction and then pushes back in.

His brown eyes take you in as he does it again, more this time. Pulling out just a bit- just enough- and then filling you again. The discomfort fading more with each thrust as he guides his hips to yours until yours are tilting up to meet his seeking more.

It’s a conversation between your bodies, the give and the take of it all as Bradley introduces you to this new unspoken language. You feel yourself flutter around his cock, stretched wider than you’ve ever been.

You feel that heat spreading underneath your skin again as he surely and steadily pumps into you. It feels like your nerves are on fire. You didn’t expect to even come once and you’re well on your way to a third.

He reaches down and hooks your leg over his hip. His hand slides up along the outside of your thigh and under your ass, tilting your hips up towards his even more. He’s so much deeper like this. Your hands slide into his hair, tugging at his curls.

“Bradley, I-I think… I feel-”

“You’re gonna come,” he rasps, nodding at you. Encouraging, coaxing.

He grinds his pelvis against your clit with every deliciously slow roll into you.

Your mouth drops open at the feel of it, it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined. You don’t think your faces have ever been closer than they are now. Bradley is breathing your air, and you’re breathing his. Bradley’s pupils are blown wide, his heavy-lidded eyes are locked on yours. You didn’t know there could be so many shades of brown. His curls are a mess and it’s all because of you. He licks his lips and your breath catches in your throat when his eyes dart down to your parted mouth.

His next thrust into you hits that spot inside of you just so right that it has you gasping.

It’s so good, it’s too good, it’s overwhelming.

You wrap your arms around his neck clinging to him, your face buried against him. Bradley drops his head to your shoulder, you feel his lips brush against your clavicle. Your head moves away on instinct, making more room for him if he wants to do it again.

You get lost in the feeling of his cock hitting you in all the places you’ve heard about and read about, but have never felt for yourself until now. He’s still got your ass gripped in his hand, whereas your hands can’t stay in one spot. They’re tangled in his hair, running over his shoulders and down his abs, gliding over his back aided by the sheen of sweat he’s worked up.

You’re not trying to hold yourself back, but it feels like you’re standing on the tallest diving board at the pool, your toes curled around the edge, but still too nervous about the drop to jump.

“C’mon, kid. You’re right there,” he breathes hard, “I need you to come for me. Just one more.”

He gets his fingers back on your clit and it’s the end of you. Your back is arching so much you think you might snap. Your toes curl so tights they may never unfurl. The force your orgasm overtakes you, demanding everything you have up to offer and then some.

You hear Bradley’s moan as you pulse around his cock, trembling under him as the waves of pleasure wash over you. His hips stutter against yours, finally losing that steady rhythm he’d set, you pull him tighter to you and it’s not long until he comes too.

It’s all white noise. All you can feel is your heartbeat pounding, until little pieces of the world come back into focus.

The hum of the fan.

The beam of warm afternoon light through the blinds.

The smell of the now cold coffee on his nightstand.

In the after, you’re all too aware of every place your body is touching Bradley’s.

He’d somehow managed to roll on his back and had taken you with him. He was literally just inside of you, but yet it feels like your leg draped over his thigh is somehow more intimate. A prickly self-conscious feeling settles over you. Unsure of what the rules were for friends who just had sex, you attempt to peel yourself off of him, but the heavy arm over your waist keeps you in place.

“Come back here, kid,” Bradley mumbles, his eyes still closed, “I need to cuddle after I come, so I’m gonna need you to indulge me here for a moment.” He strokes a soothing hand down your back. And while he says it’s for him, you know he’s still trying to take care of you.

He hums when you lay back down. You set a hand on his chest. He reaches for it with his free one and threads your fingers together. It makes you melt further into him.

You feel a little different. But mostly, you feel like a weight you didn’t know you’d been carrying had been lifted off of you.

Your first time was everything you hoped it would be. You were safe and cared for, and you already knew, you’d never have any regrets about it. And it was all because of him.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you say, softly.

“Anything for you, kid.”

Your early morning catches up with you as you lay there, warm and secure. Your eyelids get heavier with each pass of Bradley’s hand along your spine. And you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.

You’re still you. And Bradley is still Bradley.

It was just… something between friends.

A few hours later the two of you are still in his bed.

Only now you’re clothed and swapping the cartons of Chinese food that he’d ordered while you’d napped against his chest, and fighting over the fortune cookies watching some reruns of old sitcoms. You couldn’t hear their laugh tracks over your own.

The last couple of days you had at UVA fly by just as quickly.

You don’t know how, but the two of you managed to cross of all the things on his Spring Break To-Do List. And before you knew it you were back at the airport.

Bradley had insisted on walking you in, wanting to see you off.

Neither one of you has ever been good with goodbyes. So you don’t give him one, instead you reach for your bag and tell him, “Ok, see you in June.”

Bradley doesn’t let go, clearly confused, “What the hell are you talking about?”

You grin because it feels like a checkmate.

“You didn’t think you’d be getting that diploma all by yourself, did you?”

He looks thunderstruck.

You and your mom already had the plane tickets and hotel room booked. Your stepdad wouldn’t be able to come, but he was planning on sending your mom with one of the cakes from his family’s bakery. You’d been tasked with finding out what flavor, carrot cake or peanut butter- Bradley’s two favorites- but you could iron out the details with him later.

You’d had a busy week, plus it was more fun this way.

Bradley tugs you into his arms, yours wrap around him just as easily as they always have.

“June?” he asks into the crown of your head.

“June,” you promise.

And when he lets you go- for real this time- it’s with a smile that takes up his whole face.

He doesn’t say goodbye either, “Be good, kid. See you in June.”

𝐍𝐎𝐖

You avoid Rooster for the rest of the night.

And Jake too, for that matter. Bless Javy for finding ways to distract him because you could tell than man was chomping at the bit for more details. But you’d already given him more than enough.

You could have lied, you probably should have lied. It might have been easier than feeling like you’d hung up part of yourself on the drying line for everyone to see. But in that moment, the thought of lying and saying anyone else’s name other than Rooster’s had made your stomach turn.

Because it was the truth, he was your first, but he was also your best.

When you come out of the bathroom, there’s no missing Rooster. He’s leaning against the wall by the entrance. It takes him a moment to notice you since he looks lost in thought, but when he does you feel pinned to the wall by the intense look in his eyes.

He stands to his full height as you approach, you know he wants to talk about it.

You shake your head at him, “We don’t need to do this.”

“No, kid, we really do.” He takes you by the arm and leads you to a quieter spot away from everyone else.

“It was just a game,” you start before he can, “And now I know more about everyone’s sex life than I ever wanted to.” He crosses his arms over his chest at your attempt at deflection. “Look, I’m really sorry if that was something you wanted to keep a secret or just between us. I should have asked you first if that was ok to share.”

“I don’t care about that.” Rooster waves you off and takes a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. “All this time and I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

“Are we really doing this? Here and now?”

You peer around him to look and see if anyone is watching the two of you, it feels like a showdown. But all the Daggers are occupied, probably on purpose. You’ve never seen Mickey with such a serious look of concentration on his face.

“Here and now,” he confirms.

You feel flustered, “Rooster, it’s been 12 years and we haven’t talked about it once-”

“Bradley,” he cuts you off. He takes another step towards you, so you’re toe to toe with him. “I’ve always been Bradley to you.”

The tension that had crept up in your shoulders releases a bit.

“Bradley,” you say, softly. “Listen, I’ve had a lot of good sex since then. Great sex even.” He presses his lips together and nods. “And with other men, if I felt like they weren’t putting in their best effort I’d kick them out because the bar was set very high early on.”

You see him fight back a smirk.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, with pride.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, you know he hears it because his eyes take on a richer shade of brown. You both feel the shift, tension churning between the two of you.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “But I was telling the truth when I said you were my best. Probably because of the way you made sure I knew that you cared. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different with you.”

You feel his finger graze the back of your hand.

The sounds of the Hard Deck fade into the background as you stare at each other. Entire conversations are being had as you look into his eyes and he looks into yours. Words and sentences spoken with glances.

Just friends don’t look at each other like this.

“It’s never been like this,” you whisper, “We’ve never been like this before.” You gesture at how close he is to you.

How he’s almost got you backed up against a wall.

How he’s looking at you like you’re his.

“I know.”

He says your name and your heart somersaults in your chest.

“I want to see your tattoo. I keep finding myself looking for it when we’re all at the beach. And then I get annoyed, knowing that people have seen it and I haven’t.”

“My tattoo? Bradley, what-”

“I want to see your tattoo,” he repeats like it’s a fact. “And I want to punch Seresin in his smug face every time he flirts with you.”

You roll your eyes, “Jake doesn’t flirt with me, not really. He just likes riling you up.”

“What if I said I wanted to try this as more than friends.” Bradley settles a large hand on your hip. “What if I said that since you’ve moved here I’ve had a hard time keeping my head on straight.”

“Bradley.” His name falls out of your mouth so easily now that it can.

“I want to take you home with me. I want to kiss you. I want to make you come. I need to know if you sound the same in my bed. And then I want to take you out for breakfast and buy whatever fancy coffee you want and as many pancakes as you can eat.”

You’ve been told that you wear your heart on your sleeve, but he has always worn his on his face. There’s no mistaking the open want on his face.

“Bradley, it’ll be different this time.” For so many reasons.

Because it’s not a favor being asked. It’s not some new experience being tried with the person you trust the most, with everything. You’d be on equal footing. It wouldn’t be a friend helping a friend, the two of you would be crossing that line between friends and more because you want each other in that way.

“I want it to be different, sweet girl,” he says, cupping your face in his familiar hand, “I’m ready for it to be different, if you are.”

He looks from your eyes down to your parted lips.

“We didn’t do that last time,” you whisper. Feeling brave, you reach out and run your fingers along the buttons of his shirt.

“No, we didn’t,” he agrees. His eyes are trained on his thumb as he skims it under your lip. “And that’s a damn shame.”

Bradley’s face is all you can see. Warm eyes, a still-straight nose, and a soft smile that is for you and you alone.

He dips down and your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping up on its own in anticipation.

His lips brush your cheek. It’s not enough.

You tug on his collar, but he chuckles and kisses your cheek again, lingering longer this time.

“I’m not kissing you for the first time around the corner from a bathroom,” he rasps.

You open your eyes and see the amusement in his. He always did like teasing you.

“Oh, where do you plan on doing it then?”

“Outside your front door, like a gentleman,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You can’t help but grin because Bradley Bradshaw can’t wait the extra 10 minutes it would take to drive to his place instead of yours. He wants that kiss just as badly as you do. You watch as a matching smile to yours blooms across his face.

It feels normal to slide your fingers between his much larger ones. It feels right as you lead the way out of the Hard Deck with him only a step behind you.

As it turns out, he only makes it as far as the Bronco before he’s spinning you back towards him and pressing you against it. His hands are on your hips and yours are wrapped around his neck as he kisses you for the very first time.

Bradley kisses you like a man who knows what he wants. And what he wants is you.

It’s not tentative in the way that first kisses usually are.

He kisses you like he knows you.

Because he does.

Later, when he closes the door to the Bronco for you, it feels like the end of one thing. But as he slips his fingers into yours when he backs out of the parking space it feels like the beginning of something new.

That night tangled in Bradley’s sheets- he’d kissed you at every light which made those extra 10 minutes it took to get to his home worth it- he makes your back arch and your toes curl as he makes you come with his fingers and mouth and tongue and cock. His lips dropping kiss after kiss on every part of you that he can reach. Because he can, because you want him and he wants you.

The way he touches you tells you that he remembers it all.

He was you first, but what you wouldn’t learn until later, is that he would also be your last.

And he’d be the only man to ever have your entire heart.

Happy Birthday Jordan! An AU just for you! 💖 I adore you and I hope this year is the best one yet!

A big thank you to @callsignspark and @ofstoriesandstardust for their help and beta reading and their woogirling! I appreciate you two so much!

Author's Note: this was a "what-if" AU set in the 'Like I Can' universe! If you want to read about what really happens you can read it here!

You can read more of my stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw smut #top gun imagine #topgun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

820 notes · View notes

rosepascal · 3 months

Text

Blossom (Hanahaki AU) || Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Hanahaki- is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

warnings: Hanahaki disease, angst, happy ending, hurt/comfort, not so one sided love, blood, mentions of death/dying, Joel is bad at feelings.

a/n: I've been meaning to write a hanahaki fic for so long and its finally here! I hope you enjoy, I might write more with the other pedro boys with different endings >:)

You can't do this anymore. Everything's become too painful. Walking, talking, breathing. You've been shot, stabbed, punched, but somehow this was the worst pain you've ever felt. Maybe because it's coupled with heartbreak and a sense of unending loneliness.

Not to be morbid but you often thought how you were going to die. Sickness maybe. Lots of people in the QZ got sick. Maybe you'd push it too far with a FEDRA soldier one day. Or maybe a clicker would get you.

After all the times you've come close you're surprised it hasn't happened yet. Or raiders. You and Joel have come across them before and they aren't friendly. Even on your trek to Jackson you faced death multiple times and still made it out alive.

So who would have thought it was from an incurable bullshit disease that you've reached your end. It's funny if you really think about it. Survive a world ending apocalypse to get taken out by unrequited love.

You've hid it well honestly. No one has really suspected anything except for Maria. She's a smart woman and clocked something was wrong immediately. You denied it over and over but when she caught you bleeding from the mouth with flower petals around your feet, well you couldn't lie your way out of that one.

You swore her to secrecy and though reluctant she agreed. She's been helping you with pain medication. Keeping it under the table so no one else found out.

Sadly, it seems your time has run out. The bathroom door is locked and though you feel a sense of guilt for dying so suddenly like this, there's not much you can do now. You can barely lift your arms so getting up to go find help is out of the question. Not that anyone could help you anyways. The ground is bloody and littered with petals that have been growing inside of you for so long.

Hanahaki was rare but deadly. The only cure at this point was for your feelings to be returned. The surgery is out of the question with the state of Jacksons medical facilities. You'd given up hope long ago of Joel ever loving you the way you love him. Even as you sit against the cold lonely walls, dying, you manage to smile at the thought of the man. He was the cause of all your pain but he's worth every second.

You know that love and relationships aren't as easy as they used to be. With Joel he won't even think about the idea of feeling that way about someone. He doesn't have time. It's pointless. It's weakness. That's what he's always believed and though you've seen the cracks of that logic with Ellie. It's different. With her Joel sees a daughter. He doesn't have room for romance anymore. You desperately wish you were enough to change his mind. Not just because you're dying, but because you know he's worthy of love. He's fiercely protective, loyal, and perhaps that is his way of loving. Or maybe it's just his nature.

Even knowing all that about him, you still fell in love with him. Mostly you fell in love with his eyes. Those sad brown eyes that carry so much burden. So much sadness and rage. The eyes truly reveal all to you and deep inside he's just a broken man who's lost so much. His touches can be gentle and though he can't always express his feelings, he tries with you. Tries is the key word but hey, that's still something.

You wonder what will happen when you're gone. If Joel will be sad or if he'll move on and accept it. Will he care? You shake those thoughts from your head. Now isn't the time for that. It's becoming harder and harder to breathe. The energy in your body is draining slowly and you just don't have it in you to keep fighting.

Closing your eyes you imagine a world where Joel did love you. Where maybe the world wasn't horrible and the two of you could just, live. Maybe you'd move in to his house in Jackson with Ellie. He would make coffee in the morning and you'd make him a lunch. You could enjoy life together. Go see a movie, go on patrol. Go on dates where he gives you his jacket to keep you warm and where he kisses you whenever you ask. As you fade into darkness it becomes so real. A soft smile on your face as the pain floats away.

BANG

Your sweet daydreams are interrupted by a terribly annoying sound.

"Open this damn door now!" His voice is warbled as you aren't completely conscious anymore but you think it's Joel. Maybe you're hallucinating more than you thought.

"Fuck!" You hear him shout and suddenly the door swings open.

Joel is breathing raggedly as he breaks down the bathroom door. His eyes wide with panic as he takes in the horror scene in front of him. He drops to his knees and cups your face in his hands. Your eyes flutter closed and Joel panics more.

"Hey! Keep 'em open okay." He shakes your head until you open them. Letting out a groan of pain.

"You're fuckin' stupid you know that." He's angry, upset, terrified. How could you do this to him? To Ellie? How could you hide this from them? Your life on the fucking line and you refuse to tell him. He has to hear it from a rushed and apologetic confession from Maria.

"J..Joel?" You croak out. The pain gets worse as you try and sit up.

"Don't move." He commands as he scrambles for something, anything to help. He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? Blood drips from your mouth and he wipes it away.

"Tell me how to fix this." He tilts your head up and your eyes barely focus.

You frown as you see those brown eyes so distressed. There's nothing he can do. He knows that, he has to know that. You hate seeing him so upset. With all your strength you raise your hand and rest it on his. Shaking your head softly and trying your best to comfort him. Joel is completely and utterly helpless. It's a horrible feeling. Your eyes close and he starts to panic.

"Hey! Come on! There has to be somethin'" Joel lightly slaps your face but your eyes stay closed. He can feel your pulse slowing and he wants to puke.

"Don't leave me, please you can't do this to me!" He shouts. It's not fair. He's lost so much he can't lose you too. Not after everything you've been through together.

"Please..." Joel begs quietly as your hand starts to go limp.

You're still breathing but barely. He squeezes his eyes shut as rests his forehead against yours. Too fucking late. Too slow. If he had gotten here quicker, noticed something sooner, then maybe he could have done something. Rage builds inside of him as he silently begs for you to wake up.

"Please, I'm sorry baby. You can't leave me. I..." He thinks and thinks. Of what you mean to him, putting aside his fears, his doubt. You're his most trusted ally, a confidant, a partner, a friend. You're so much more.

"I love you." It's barely above a whisper as he admits it to himself for the first time and to you.

His rough hands tilt your head up as he kisses you. Every missed I love you, all the lost time, everything the two of you could have had, it's packed into his passionate kiss. He's sorry, he loves you. As he pulls back he waits, was he too late? Suddenly your eyes open and he tenses up. Slowly the pain fades and it feels like you can breathe again.

"Do that again, please." You ask.

Joel nearly cries as you smile at him. Without hesitation he smashes his lips onto yours. He's not gentle anymore as he mentally needs to know that you're truly okay. He feels your hands weave into his hair, pulling on him to be closer. He hears the small noises you make and your heart beating in your chest. You're alive.

"Took you long enough." He gently caresses your face and kisses your forehead. Too relieved that you're still here to care about anything else. He loves you.

He loves you.

And he won't ever let you forget it.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst

616 notes · View notes

futureman · 10 months

Text

his favorite girl, part i

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to learn. he really likes that.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, guitar teacher!joel, no outbreak, big age gap (reader’s 22, joel’s 56), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, slight dubcon, touching, smut for later chapters, some fluff, mostly angst

word count: 3.3k

a/n: my first chaptered fic! dedicated to joel's fingers! i've been playing guitar a lot more lately so...yeah 🥲 thinking this'll probably be 3 or 4 chapters? as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated! hope y'all enjoyy

Don’t stare at his fingers. Don’t stare at his fingers. He’s doing you a huge favor by teaching you to play guitar in the first place. The least you can do is pay attention and stop staring at his fingers.

But it’s a lost cause, and you know it, because you’d have no hope of learning without staring at his fingers.

Even so, you’re convinced he’ll somehow know that’s not the real reason you’re watching them so intently. The way they hop gracefully from fret to fret, strings biting into his well-earned calluses, producing the most beautiful chords that ring out perfectly with every strum.

It’s a wonder any of that is even possible for him. You don’t mean to knock his talent—he obviously honed his craft through decades of fine-tuning and dedicated practice—but his fingers are just so thick.

With your clumsy, beginner’s touch, you’re constantly fumbling with the strings, unable to press down hard enough or keep your other fingers out of the way for them to vibrate the way they need to. They just sort of…fizzle.

But there’s a finesse to how he plays. It also helps that his guitar is a lot bigger than yours. It's a totally innocuous thought, but it still warms your cheeks a little. A big guitar for a big man. Broad and tall, with those thick, thick fingers—

“Hey, you still with me?”

You’re not sure when he stopped playing, but you really hope it was right before he said something. Otherwise, he definitely knows exactly what you were thinking about, and that would be humiliating.

Not a great start to your first guitar lesson, but how were you supposed to know your teacher was going to look like that? When your music theory professor recommended him, he conveniently left that part out, which, whatever, makes sense. But it still would’ve been helpful to know ahead of time.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Has a ton of experience and takes on very few students, so you should consider yourself lucky. That’s all of the information you were given before you stepped into his house this afternoon, and were greeted by possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. He was supposed to be your ticket to an A on your senior thesis. But you’re totally flubbing it.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just got a little distracted,” you laugh awkwardly, wishing you had said anything else but that. You couldn't be any more obvious if you tried. “Won’t happen again, promise.”

He’s kind enough to pretend you’re not a filthy liar and taps the neck of his guitar to redirect your focus. “S’alright. We’ll just take it from the top. You remember the fingerin' for the first chord?”

You gape at him dumbly for a second. He’s kidding, right? You might as well leave now if he’s going to keep saying fingering with that devastating Southern drawl of his.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” you sputter, lying for the second time in a row. You're struggling to recall anything from your lesson but, god, you can only remember his fingers, not their placement. With no confidence whatsoever, you press your fingertips down firmly on the three strings you think he showed you. “Here, right?”

He quirks a brow. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me?”

Ah, so he’s that kind of teacher. The 'learn the hard way', 'fail on your own until you succeed' type. Well, he’s about to learn that you’re not that kind of student.

“…Telling?” Your voice lilts with even less confidence. He chuckles, nodding at your finger placement.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he says expectantly, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but you’re about to find out. You strum slowly, and the sound reverberates around the room.

Wrong.

His smile widens just a fraction as you grimace, quickly wrapping your hand around the neck of the guitar to stop the horrible noises still playing from it. You look over at him, wincing, but he doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, he seems patient.

“Not quite,” he shakes his head, moving his instrument out of his lap so he can shift closer to where you’re sitting further down the couch. The cushion dips with his weight, and you tip into him slightly, but he remains completely unfazed. “Lemme show you again—and pay attention this time, alright?”

You start to nod apologetically, but then he throws an arm behind you on the back of the couch, and all hope of retaining whatever he’s about to teach you goes out the window. Instead of showing you on his own guitar, he gestures for you to hold yours up, gently arranging your fingers on the frets.

His fingertips whisper against yours like he’s hesitant to touch you, softly tugging them into place before pressing down, showing you the right amount of pressure to apply.

They feel just as warm and rough as you’d imagined, dwarfing yours by a long shot, and the realization makes your fingers accidentally twitch out of place. Your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and lock with his, deep and brown, and very amused.

“Doin’ alright there?” he teases, and now you know he’s on to you. You try to play it off, blaming it on your inexperience.

“Just haven't gotten used to using those muscles yet," you mumble, moving your hand away from his to flex your fingers. "Not sure I've ever had to stretch them like that before."

"'m sure ya have. Probably just didn't realize it at the time. That kinda muscle soreness comes from prolonged repetition—repeatin' an action over 'n over," he explains in that syrupy-sweet accent, completely unaware of how his words are affecting you. "Bet ya use those fingers for a lot'a different things every day, just nothin' long or strenuous enough to leave you achin'."

You bite your lip to keep from reacting. He has to know what he's doing right now. How he sounds. This conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory, but the weird thing about it is that he genuinely doesn't seem to realize that everything he's saying has a double meaning. To you, at least. You knew all this fingering talk was going to get you into trouble.

"Uhh, yeah," you agree, side-stepping that line of thought to bring yourself back to the lesson, but it's getting harder to stay focused. "I guess I just thought playing would mostly be memorization, but there's a lot of physicality to it, too, huh?"

"Yeah, s'pose that's true," he muses, looking down at the calluses on his own hand. This time you refuse to take the bait, your breathing already too shallow, heart nearly pounding out of your chest with how close he's sitting. But he’s still completely calm and collected. "Your hand hurtin' a lot right now?"

You shrug, inspecting your reddening fingertips. "Kinda, yeah."

"It's like that in the beginnin’," he says kindly. "But the more ya play, the tougher the skin gets, and ya won't feel it as much."

He surprises you by taking your hand again, massaging the tender skin between his thumb and index fingers. God, that feels so much better already. The heat of his fingertips seeps into yours, soothing the painful indents left by the unforgiving strings, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief.

You feel his entire body tense palpably next to you. It might be your imagination or just wishful thinking, but you swear you can feel his warmth radiating into your side, somehow even closer than before. Your brain’s starting to fizzle more than the sound of your shitty guitar playing, and the room feels a little hotter. Hazier, like a daydream.

"That feel good?" he murmurs, lips practically brushing the shell of your ear.

Definitely closer.

“Y-yeah, feels nice…really nice,” you stutter, voice lowering almost to a whisper as if you were sharing a secret. “The, um—the rest of my hand is a little sore, too. Is that normal?”

You can feel him grinning at your obvious attempt to get him to keep touching you, and he gives in easily. Surprisingly so, and it's becoming clearer that he's as into whatever's happening right now as you are. You’re not sure what happened to the unfazed man from before, but you’ll happily welcome this change in demeanor.

“Yeah, s’normal,” he trails down to your palm, engulfing your hand with his own. “Don’t worry, I'll take care of ya.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his thigh presses into yours, and the arm behind you lowers around your shoulders, his hand skimming the side of your neck. Shit, what is going on? You’re pretty sure guitar lessons don’t usually go like this, but you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Not when he feels this good.

Everywhere his skin touches yours feels electric, sending jolts up your spine, and making you forget where you are and what you were doing in the first place. He ducks down to press his lips to your bare shoulder, and your mind goes completely blank.

All that's left is...sensation. Something dragging roughly across your skin, then soft—a little chapped—and wet. Sharp. You're abruptly aware of him sucking a hard bruise at the crook of your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue, and you're unable to stop the whimper that escapes your lips. It's soft and inappropriate. A single, hushed syllable.

"Joel."

He lets out a pained groan that rumbles from deep within his chest, and the hand around yours tenses. That boundless patience he had earlier feels like it's about to run out, and the thought makes your blood run hot.

God, how is he real? How is this real? You just met this man—this much, much older man—less than an hour ago, and, yet, this is probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. He continues to mouth up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw.

"What else hurts? Tell me, 'n I'll make it better," he mutters humidly, urgently against your skin.

You want to tell him where it hurts the most. That unbearable ache between your legs, the burning in your belly that you didn't even realize he was stoking. But you're so wound up, all you can manage is a frustrated sob.

"Use your words, beautiful. C'mon, lemme hear 'em," he says as if you're his instrument, meant to produce dulcet tones and resonate at his hand.

"It—fuck...it—here," you drag the hand clutching yours down, next to where the body of your guitar rests on your thigh. Where you've already soaked through the thin fabric of your pants. "Joel...need you to make it better."

The gentle vibrato of your voice, the way it shakes tumultuously around his name, and even more so when he cups your heat. His lips return to your throat to feel it, to taste it as you moan for him. And those fingers. You knew they’d feel good, and they’re so close to where you need them. Just a little bit more—but there’s still too many layers between you and his rough touch.

“M-more…need more, just—,” you whine, and he mirrors the sound back at you raggedly.

“‘Course, beautiful. Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I?

You're too far gone to even notice yourself desperately grinding into the palm of his hand, or the fingers at your cheek turning your face toward his.

Or your guitar quickly slipping out of your lap, more and more with each swivel of your hips. It hits the carpet with a hollow clang and, suddenly, the spell is broken. Then, it all comes crashing back.

He’s saying your name, but he sounds...different. Less breathy, less needy, and more like your patient, collected guitar teacher. Joel Miller. 56 years old, remember? Way too old for you, for your body to be reacting to him like this, and the man whose help you still desperately need to help complete your thesis.

Your eyes snap open and you realize with abject horror that you’ve been daydreaming this entire time. You can’t even imagine how long he’s been trying to get your attention while you’ve just been sitting here, fantasizing about his hands on you.

Not even ten minutes ago, you promised you wouldn’t get distracted, but you did. Again. And so much worse this time.

By his furrowed brow and the way he won’t even look at you, you must have accidentally said something out loud, too. Something totally inappropriate that you really shouldn’t have. But then, his hand twitches and your blood turns to ice.

That—fuck, that's not where it was before you zoned out. It was still on yours, arranging your fingers on the frets for the chord he was teaching you. He…he was asking about your hand, if it hurt, and then—

As if you’ve been burned, you quickly release his hand from where you’re clutching it between your legs—not just in your daydream, but in horrifying actuality. You’re screwed.

Not only is he probably going to kick you out of his house and refuse to be your teacher anymore, but he’ll likely tell your professor. And he’d have every right to. There’s no way you’ll be able to get anyone else to teach you after this.

The reason you’re here, everything you’ve worked so hard for, flashes before your eyes, catching fire and turning to ash. Your love for music, your degree—in the span of a single guitar lesson, you destroyed all of it.

And what would he think? Your father, your inspiration for choosing this path. He’d be so disappointed in you, though maybe not as much as you are right now.

All of this for what? The attractive, middle-aged guitar teacher you’ve known for less than an hour? He doesn’t even want you and, even if he did, that’s not what you came here for. Stupid, stupid.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t bear to look at him, to say anything at all. Instead, you lean down to retrieve your guitar from where it still lies face down on the floor, and slowly stand up.

“I, uh…,” you croak out, fighting the urge to cry and look like even more of an idiot. You shake your head, unable to finish your sentence, and start to walk away, but then something miraculous happens.

Joel’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from leaving. You turn back to him, eyebrows raised in shock, dropping your gaze to where his skin is touching yours. He doesn't let go.

“Look—,” he starts, and you wince. It’s never a good sign when someone starts a sentence like that. If all he’s trying to do is let you down easy, he shouldn’t have stopped you. He’s just shaming you even further. “—‘m not too sure what just happened here, but if you just—if ya sit back down, we can talk about it or…just keep goin’ with the lesson…”

You didn’t see that one coming.

“You want me to stay?” you ask dubiously. “Why?”

You search his eyes for the answers to all of the things you’re not understanding, but come up with nothing. He’s sitting on the couch watching you, still holding your hand like nothing’s wrong. Acting like none of this is a big deal, as if you didn’t basically just shove his hand down your pants without his consent.

“Still got a lot to teach ya. We didn’t even get through the first line of music,” he chuckles, his voice filled with such kindness. So much more than you deserve.

“Yeah, and that’s my fault. I—,” you pause, still trying to gather your thoughts, “—I crossed a line…made you uncomfortable. You really don’t have to do this.”

He sighs, rubbing his thumb soothingly into your wrist, and the gesture makes you shiver. Somehow it’s calming, even as the gears continue to turn in your head. You still can’t seem to grasp any of this or shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with this picture.

“Well, isn’t this supposed to be a favor for some big, important grade? Don’t ya need this to pass your class?”

He’s not wrong. Without his help, you’re basically fucked for the rest of the semester.

“Yeah, I...actually really do,” you answer hesitantly.

Hope blooms in your chest. Maybe your thesis isn’t totally lost. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even be able to focus on your lessons.

“I think we can keep this professional. Don’t you?” he implores, brows raised.

He’s right again. That’s the only way this is going to work, but it’s still a reminder that he’s not interested in you in the slightest. You’re not sure why that feels so bad.

“Totally,” you breathe out, but your expression must betray your words because he rushes to reassure you.

“It’s not that I—look, I mean…you’re a beautiful girl ‘n all, but…,” he trails off, and…what?

Beautiful. He can’t have just said that out of the blue. Beautiful, of all the words he could’ve used to describe you right then. This man is driving you crazy—and he won’t stop.

“Can’t help feelin’ like maybe I gave ya the wrong impression. I took advantage of ya,” he looks away, pained, like this was all his fault. You have no idea how he came to that conclusion, but he’s got it all wrong.

“What—no. No, if anything, I took advantage of you. You were just trying to be a good teacher,” you shake your head furiously. “Look, I did this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t pull away, now, did I?”

His eyes meet yours again, darker than before, and you know for a fact you’re not making it up this time. The setting sun is casting shadows around his living room, across his 80s-style leather couch and carpet, illuminating every one of his handsome features.

And, yet, his eyes are black, endless voids that threaten to consume you. Whatever power he has over you feels dangerous. You knew you couldn’t have imagined it all.

But it's gone as quickly as it came. He clears his throat, dropping your wrist as if he finally came to his senses. Your patient, unaffected guitar teacher is back.

“I, uh, think maybe that about wraps it up for today,” he says with finality, standing up. “It's already eight, anyhow. You should head on home.”

Gently plucking the guitar from your hands, he zips it up in its case and gives it back to you. You nod, feeling grateful, but cautious...and also extremely curious. His hand finds the small of your back, leading you to the front door, and you try your best not to react as his fingers urge you forward.

You know you’ll be thinking about them later tonight, even though you really shouldn’t. About them finishing what you started earlier, taking care of you like you still want him to. Part of you hopes he’ll be thinking about yours, too.

His hand drops and he turns to you with a small smile, leaning on his arm against the doorframe.

"But, uh, same time tomorrow? And maybe put in a little practice time before then—stretch out those fingers so you're ready to play."

“Sure,” you reply breathily. “Same time tomorrow.”

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon 🥰

(p.s. how are we feeling about finger sucking...okay bye)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

1K notes · View notes

kkami-writes · 6 months

Text

waiting for us — chapter forty one. sunset wc. 677 + 2 ss a/n: so while writing this i listened to waiting for us (both versions) and was like lowkey on the verge of sobbing. anyway enjoy :D

Later that night almost feels like a repeat of this morning, Jeongin driving you to the same little outlook that Chan had taken you to. This time though you actually follow him to the clearing. The sun has almost left the horizon, the same familiar orange glow slowly fading into black. Jeongin lays out a fuzzy blanket and motions for you to sit down. As you do, he quickly runs back to the car, rummaging in the back seat. He comes back with a small picnic basket, filled with a small bento dinner (courtesy of one Minho). Once the two of you had finished the food, the sun has already set, leaving the two of you basking in the light of the moon, stars shining bright in the sky. You’re on your back against the blanket, your heads lightly pressed against each other and hands linked together. Jeongin attempts to point out any constellations he knows but to be honest both of you are pretty clueless about astronomy. But it doesn’t matter, you feel so content and cozy just staring up at the vast sky, thinking about how big the universe is - wondering if there was anything more out there.

You end up completely curled up onto Jeongin, head resting against his chest. You can feel his heart beat echoing in your ear and you find it cute that’s it’s slightly fast just from having you so close. It feels like barely any time has passed but the two of you end up spending a few hours out there. Even though you still have a few hours left before your curfew, you’d rather not risk it for now. When you sit up, you stretch your arms out from having laid down for so long, bones popping lightly. Jeongin moves to clean up but you pull him back down to sit. He blinks at you confusingly, head tilting cutely.

“Jeongin,” He nods his head, encouraging you to continue. “Thank you,”

“Huh? For what?”

“For finding me. For not giving up on me even when I tried to push you away. You could have given up on me, seeing that I wasn’t worth it. But you stayed. You fought for me. I really can’t thank you enough,”

His smile turns bright, a fondness swimming in his dark eyes. Jeongin brings a hand to cup at your jaw, brushing back some of your hair. Your eyes flutter shut for a second, relishing in his small touch.

“Silly girl. We would never give up on you, even if you had decided you had wanted to be platonic. You have and will always be so important to us. Now that you’re with us, we could never let you go. You are ours. Forever. Until the end of time,” Jeongin swipes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away the single tear that falls from your face.

“Jeongin. I love you,” His eyes widen and get watery, looking like he might cry himself.

“God. Y/N. I love you so fucking much,” His words are almost a whisper, like a secret just between the two of you. Jeongin pulls your face closer to his so he can press his lips softly against yours. It’s sweet, soft kisses shared between the two of you, lips slotted perfectly together. His tongue is tentative when it swipes across your lower tier, testing the waters with how far you’re willing to go.

But when you part your lips for his tongue, it feels like he’s lost all control. Jeongin’s hand comes to cup the back of your head, leaning you back down against the blanket, his other hand holding himself up to hover over you. He’s practically devouring you, tongue licking into your mouth and prodding your own wet muscle.

Jeongin finds that he absolutely loves the way your lips look after he pulls away, slightly swollen and slick. You’re staring up at him with literal sparkles in your eyes and Jeongin thinks that you were quite literally everything and more than they could have ever hoped for.

previous | masterlist | next waiting for us taglist (50/50) send an ask or sign up here!: @abbiestearsricochet @boo-ven9eance @adorawritesalot @melleus @inlovewithallmusic @alnex05 @borahae-reads @zonked-times @yoonrimin @slay-and-gay @loverlixie @katsukis1wife @0325tiny @adestayskz @minhwa @littleaprilcherryblossom @soobery @lillithathecat @everglowdaisies @boi-bi-ahaha @popcatx0 @stayinhellevator @jaiuneamesolitaiire @enchantedgrunge @corrodedthorn @143lix @ashitshowforalot @xrvrqs @lynlyndoll @txtandroll @kawennote09 @liknws @ritzy-dream-boy @vampcharxter @surefornext @puppy-minnie @freckleboilix @turtledove824 @fylithia @toshijimafarms @hyunestrella @blackrowses @chlodavids @reallysparklychaos @irantoyouwithoutthinking @sunnibearr @chili-crab0811 @stickycrusadecollective @lucidliving1205 @princelingperfect

464 notes · View notes

sommerregenjuniluft · 1 month

Text

@jegulus-microfic march 25 - eyeliner - 2341 words

<33 of losing babies and chance meetings in hawaii

Regulus rubs at his eyes, smudging the remains of eyeliner from the previous evening probably only more.

It’s been a wild night out given that Regulus found himself the only one out of his friend group appearing down for breakfast at the hotel’s buffet. He went for a classic hangover comfort food, coffee with beans and toast and while he longed for the sausages and eggs and fruit and frozen joghurt Regulus isn’t fool enough to think he would have been able to keep all of that down.

Sleep is already tugging at the corners of his mind again when he presses the elevator button to bring him back up to his hotel room to doze away another few more hours. There’s a nice breeze coming in from the double doors leading out to the pool and Regulus leans against the cooling marble of the wall, eyes closed, soaking it all in.

It’s been Pandora’s idea, to get the five of them out for a few days over easter, away from home. From work and family—not that the latter was much of Regulus’ concern—and Regulus must admit that this one is definitely one of her better experiments.

The elevator doors ding and Regulus blinks open his eyes and steps forward only to come to an immediate halt because—

Because there’s a baby in the lift.

Just– all by itself.

Sitting in its buggy. Completely at ease.

Alone.

No like…parent or guardian inside.

What appears to be a small boy with the wildest sort of curly, black hair Regulus has ever seen sits in his seat, one spiderman sock barely hanging onto his toes, chewing away on a toy in his lap and gazing with big, intensely green eyes up at Regulus.

“Uh, hi there, baby,” Regulus says. He sets a foot onto the threshold to keep the doors open and bends down, “Where’s your family, buddy?”

The kid suddenly throws his little body back into the padding of his buggy with a blinding grin and a screech of what Regulus assumes to be ecstatic elation, “Pafoo!”

“Bless you, mate,” Regulus replies politely.

The little boy reaches his hands out to Regulus, “Out!”

And, well, the little bugger might be onto something here because as of right now Regulus must look like a right nutter talking to the inside of an elevator and if the little one’s parents are going to try and find him they’ll probably start at the elevator areas on each floor.

So Regulus gets the small kid out of the elevator and wheels him over to where a set of dark leather sofas and armchairs are gathered opposite the elevator doors.

When Regulus sits down across from the little boy he giggles, happy as ever, as if nothing was amiss.

Well, at least the one time Regulus finds a lost baby it’s a happy one. Lucky draw, he thinks.

The boy is back to chewing on the little rubber ring again and Regulus eyes him curiously, chin propped on his fist. The boy’s skin is a warm brown, similar to Evan’s and Pandora’s and there’s a faint layer of freckles dotting his nose—just like it will happen to Regulus after a few more days out under the Hawaiian sunshine. There’s a small patch of drool on his yellow shirt but he looks clean otherwise.

After another moment of inner contemplation Regulus finally reaches out and tugs the sock back into place.

The boy snickers, wiggling his foot and Regulus finds his lips tugging at the corners.

“Pafoo, out!” the boy repeats again.

Regulus frowns, “Yeah, mate, I already got us off the elevator.”

The little boy keeps squirming in his seat.

“Oh,” Regulus makes when it dawns on him, “Oh, out. Er– yes, sure, hold on.”

He scoots forward on the leather to inspect the little belt trapping the boy in his seat. Eventually Regulus finds the lock, figures out the mechanism and untangles the boy from his buggy. Before he has the chance to freeze and wonder if the boy is even old enough to be able to walk yet there are small, chubby arms reaching out to him and tangling around his neck.

“Oh, okay,” Regulus blinks, feeling his tiny body warm where it’s pressed into his chest, “Um, okay, I’m– okay, uh. Hi.”

The boy pulls back from the crook of Regulus’ neck, smiling brightly. “Hi,” he replies, sweet as sugar and waving a hand at him. Regulus’ heart does not melt.

Regulus’ eyes however clock the small bracelet on the boy’s wrist, donned with little letters spelling out the name Harry.

“Harry, huh?” he asks. “My name is Regulus.”

Harry makes another one of his loud, elated noises, “Pafoo!”

“Nah, mate, Re-gu-lus.”

“Pafoo,” Harry grins.

“Fine,” Regulus sniffs, “I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from a one or two year old.”

Harry giggles again, nose scrunching adorably and hiccuping little laughs into Regulus’ shoulder.

If Regulus had ovaries he’s pretty sure they would be actively doing something right now which– is decidedly a disturbing thought to have. In a manner of trying to distract himself Regulus looks around, gaze landing on the socks once more.

“So what’s your favourite Spiderman movie, Harry?”

“Spidey!”

“Yes, which one?”

“Pafoo.”

“Mine’s probably the one with Andrew Garfield.”

“Mo!” Harry yells suddenly, pointing back at his buggy.

“Mo?” Regulus asks, confused.

“Mo,” Harry makes again, knocking his tiny, loosely curled fists against each other.

That’s when the clarity washes over Regulus, lips dropping open with a silent oh of understanding. It’s sign language for more.

He’s seen young parents teach their babies sign language for easier communication and with Dorcas being hard of hearing Regulus and his friends obviously have taken on learning a whole lot as well. The basics are as easy for Regulus as English and French are by now.

“More of what?” Regulus asks, doing the according signs.

“Tea!” Harry responds, smiling brightly, clearly happy with being understood.

Regulus kicks at the buggy to turn it and then fishes a sippy cup out of the holder next to the handles.

Harry slurps away at his cold tea content and does the little gulp ahh thing small kids do when they exhale once they’re done drinking.

Regulus does not think about adopting a baby.

“Harry!” someone calls from the end of the hall suddenly and may the gods stand by because the person running over is undoubtedly the most handsome man Regulus has ever seen.

The small boy in Regulus arms is literally a carbon copy what with the wild, black hair, the dark skin and the bright smile.

“Dada!” Harry yells, as if it wasn’t clear as day that they share the same DNA.

Regulus’ hands start sweating where they’re still around Harry’s now wiggling body, watching the young man rush over.

“Oh, god, thank you thank you,” the stranger chants, carefully lifting Harry out of Regulus’ hands, “Hi, baby, hi. Daddy’s here. Oh, holy fuck.”

Regulus snorts a little at the crude language but, alas, Harry is probably too young to remember anyways.

He gives them their little moment of embracing, fighting against the restless squirming in his stomach, the thing scratching at the inside of his walls demanding to find out everything about the cute boy’s father.

Once the young father has got enough squeeze time and Harry starts trying to wiggle free, he lets out another string of curses, this time Spanish, and Regulus barely refrains from whimpering.

He has to trap another one behind his teeth when the man finally, actually glances at him, relief clear on his features, laughing breathlessly and chocolate brown eyes glinting happily and with ebbing nerves.

“Thank you, I’m–” the handsome stranger blinks a little, mouth working uselessly before he slips back into a lopsided grin, “Hi, I’m James, you- wow, hello, uh– thank you, um, for Harry. I’m so glad he’s okay, I’m James– by the way. And you are? Aside from my gorgeous knight in shining armour.”

Regulus cocks a brow, hands on his naked hips right above the elastic of his short running pants and below his cropped, black shirt with pink letters saying those are bold words for someone in stabbing range. It was a Christmas present from his friends and the first thing he saw after rolling out of bed with a hangover this morning, sue him.

“No problem, he’s a little sunshine,” Regulus replies, gazing at Harry where he’s fiddling with James’ necklace, “I’m Regulus.”

“Wait,” James says, jaw dropping, “Your name is—”

“James!” it comes from the other side of the hall, followed by another rush of footsteps and Regulus turns to see two more men jogging over to them. One of them being—

“Jesus, fuck, I’m so glad you found him,” Sirius says, eyes fixated on James and Harry.

Sirius, as in, Regulus’ older brother Sirius.

Sirius, as in, Regulus’ older brother that he hasn’t seen in four years.

Sirius with his long-ish hair falling down to his armpits now in long, soft curls. Sirius with his arms full of tattoos and wearing red bootie shorts and having pierced nipples and Sirius with pink cheeks and a relieved look on his face and Sirius having his fingers interlaced with another man’s.

Sirius blowing out another breath as he strokes the little boy’s cheek carefully, “Where’d you find h—”

Sirius that swivels and looks right at Regulus standing dumbfounded in a random hotel lobby on fucking Hawaii.

“Regulus.”

“Sirius.”

“I– what are you doing here?”

Regulus narrows his eyes, “I found Harry.”

“You what?”

“Are you deaf?” Regulus shoots back, “I found your friend’s baby.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open, “Excuse me, that is my godson.”

Regulus slips into a frown, suddenly and stupidly feeling a bit possessive over the little kid that is clearly taken with him but apparently supposed to be his older brother’s godson.

He sniffs, crossing his arms, “Well, you’re clearly not doing your job well seeing as you’ve lost him. Also he called me his Pafoo.”

Regulus expects Sirius to volley back another insult, a counter-argument or something of the likes but instead he lets the loudest, most dramatic gasp rip from his throat.

“Oh God,” James mumbles, blanching but failing to keep his lips from twitching.

The man next to Sirius looks just as conflicted, instantly cooing into Sirius’ ear soothingly and rubbing his shoulder as this one whimpers like a wounded dog.

“What?” Regulus asks, looking at James.

The handsome father winces with a badly concealed grin before he ducks close, murmuring, “It’s Padfoot. That’s what we call Sirius, it’s sorta his nickname.”

Regulus can’t help it, the gleeful laugh bubbles right out of him. He could kiss little Harry right now.

“No!” Sirius wails, letting himself fall back into the lanky, taller man’s arms. “Betrayal!”

“Come now, Pads, he’s 18 months old,” the third man says soothingly.

“Remus is right,” James concurs, “Harry doesn’t even know my mum from our neighbour most times.”

“Effie doesn’t live with you,” Sirius cries out.

Regulus thinks there might actually be tears forming in his eyes.

“And neither do you,” James says pointedly, “You’re across the hall and you work full time, might I remind you. You’re over maybe four times a week.”

“Five! At least!”

“Sirius, darling, please stop yelling,” Remus mutters, glancing at a passing old couple with a wobbly smile.

Regulus grins, “No, please keep going, this is the highlight of my vacation so far.”

There’s a poke in his naked side and when Regulus looks over James is giving him a playful scolding glare.

Regulus digs his teeth into his lower lip, voice purposefully innocent, “What?”

“Don’t be a tease,” James chides but it sorta loses the edge with how wide he’s smiling.

“Or else?” Regulus counters.

James hums, giving Regulus a once over before clearing his throat, looking back at his friend, “Here, Moons, can you take Harry for a second?”

Sirius makes an affronted noise, looking downright stricken and he quickly takes Remus’ outstretched hands, pulling, what is presumably his boyfriend, out of reach for James. “Two Potters in one day!? Prongs, are you trying to kill me?”

James sighs, pulling Harry back against his hip which then decides to reach out his hands to Sirius, “Pafoo.”

“That’s right,” Sirius sniffs, crossing the distance and ripping Harry from James’ hold, “I love you, little stinker. You’ll get it with time, I know you will. You’re such a smart boy, Hazza.”

Harry immediately starts playing with the thin braids in Sirius’ hair and his brother swivels to level Regulus with a triumphant smirk.

“Whatever,” Regulus says, crossing his arms again.

But before jealousy, no matter over whom, can spread itself in Regulus’ chest, Sirius is stepping closer.

Regulus is certain their flip flops nearly touch and Sirius is staring at him intensely with the same eyes he sees in the mirror every day, and it makes him swallow. The freckle over Sirius’ mouth is just the same as four years ago, as is the one on Regulus’ temple.

“There’s a baby swimming lesson at the pool I wanted to attend with Harry later at 2,” Sirius says, voice husky, “Care to join?”

Regulus was supposed to meet the others back in Barty and Evan’s room at 3 but they’re probably passed out until then anyways. “I think I can make some time,” he replies airily.

Sirius blows out a heavy breath through his nose, before slipping into a grin, “Good.”

“Good,” Regulus mimics.

“I bet Harry floats better than you,” Sirius taunts, “Do you still sink like a stone?”

“It’s amazing how much of a talent you still possess for making me regret things,” Regulus snips back.

Sirius bumps their shoulder together, making Harry giggle and Regulus purses his lips in an effort to hide his smile.

And then James is there on the other side of him, taking Harry back from Sirius and smiling sweetly down at Regulus and for some reason his cheeks feel a little warmer suddenly.

—

[also for personal reasons i need everyone to know these were the booty shorts sirius was wearing]

#dad james potter #i'm rewatching modern family and mitch and cam lost lily in an elevator on hawaii so now we have this #jegulus #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #wolfstar #baby harry potter #toddler harry potter #lune writes #lune’s tiny fic #regulus black #james potter #black brothers #sirius black

351 notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 2 years

Text

eddie earns his first blowjob from his mean cheerleader girlfriend

warning: 18+, oral receiving, insecure eddie,

a/n: this was requested but i lost the ask lmao, enjoy. also not really that filthy xx

sex has never been his forte,

sure he jerks himself off and has a pile of porn magazines stacked underneath his bed but never actually experienced… sex.

girls aren’t exactly lining up to be getting dicked down by him. not when you’re the town freak. if anything, they avoid him like a plague. the only time girls want to be around eddie is just so that he can give them free greens and nothing else. he’s not stupid, he can tell what their true intentions are.

so when y/n came into his life. he has no idea what to expect. obviously, she’s far more experienced and skilled when it comes to it and it makes him feel slightly insecure. and jealous too. because he knows all of her exes were handsome jocks who probably scored more than twenty girls in their lives. no doubt that they had given her so much pleasure than he could possibly offer.

he wants to make her feel good. he really does.

“so, steve and robin gave me these” she pulls up two DVDs and show them to him. “evil dead and carrie. which one do you like best?”

he cocks an eyebrow, eyes switching between the two films. “i thought you wanted chick flicks or something like that?”

she shrugs, deciding to put evil dead on the player. “horror movies make me horny. and what better way to watch it than with my favorite man, hm?”

he chuckles nervously when she shoots him a wink and a smile. flirtatious one. “usually girls get horny when they see porn. but oh, not you. pretty fucked up if i might say.”

“you love it” she responds, crawling beside him as they both lay comfortably on her bed. “how’s your day, baby”

he puffs out a long exaggerated breath. “kind of shit, ms.O'Donnell been up my ass about the last assignment. she wanted me to re-do it.”

“aw that sucks” she pouts, running her fingers through his hair. “want me to beat her up for you?”

“no, i’m good” he laughs, not wanting her to do something that’ll damage her academics. the thing is about y/n, when she says something along the lines of ‘beating someone up’ you better not take it lightly.

because she will do it.

“too bad. I’d love to see her blood pouring out of those nostrils.” she sighs, plopping her head down on his chest as she hooks her leg with his. his arm wraps around her body protectively. “the offer still stands.”

“hey, enough of that would ya?” he kisses the crown of her head, smiling to himself. “as sexy as it is to see you get violent, the consequences will be ten times worse if you punch a teacher.”

“just gotta wait till graduation then.” she innocently replies, finger drawing circles on his chest.

halfway through the movie, eddie is trying his best to keep his focus on the plot. but she’s making it so hard for him to do so. she continuously shifts her weight on him, ‘accidentally’ brushing against his hard shaft with an innocent ‘oops’ every time she does it.

they’ve been together for almost a month and he hasn’t gotten used to the effect she has on him. it’s frustrating how he can’t control his thoughts and clammy palms whenever she puts her hands on his body.

“you okay?” she wonders, looking up at him with her doe eyes and playful smile. “you feel so tense, teddy”

“y-yeah” he stammers as his focus remains fixed on the screen. “just uhm, peachy”

peachy?? who the fuck says that?!

she hums in response, moving her mouth to attach itself on his neck with fingers moving down south to softly palm him over the thick material of his pants. he takes in a deep breath at the touch, finding it more difficult to think straight with her lips on him.

“y/n” he calls her softly, hand gripping tightly around her waist as he feels himself grow even more. “sweetheart i-“

she shushes him. “you look so good right now i have to do something eds.” her tongue licks a bold stripe on the skin, pushing her chest against his, “we can take turns later, yeah?”

he gulps, body melting under her touch. “s-shit, y/n wait, wait!“ he suddenly exclaims, freeing himself from her grip

y/n frowns when eddie pushes her lightly. feeling annoyed why he’s like that towards her.

“eddie what the fuck?! do you not want me to suck your cock?” she harshly asks, then a sudden realization hits her. “are you fucking another bitch behind my back, munson?!”

he wide-eyed her as she crosses her arm, ready to kill him at that exact moment. “what? no! w-what makes you think I’m cheating on you?!”

“who is it?” she shoots immediately. “Julia from the cheer team or that fucking weird four-eyed wendy’s looking motherfucker at loves to stare at you across the hall?!”

eddie is confused. he doesn’t even know who she’s talking about, let alone a wendy-looking girl that keeps staring at him. how does she even know that?

he shakes his head furiously, wrapping her hands in his grasp to reassure her.“no! oh god y/n, of course not! . i only got my eyes for my girl, you know that. plus, Julia? she hates me and my friends, why would you even think of her?”

“then what’s going on!” she groans, moving to kneel in front of him as he sits up straight. “every time we make out or when i try to suck you off, you’d push me away. are you not attracted to me, anymore?”

“princess, believe me when i say this has nothing to do with you! of course I’m still attracted to you.” he says, looking at her in the eye. “shoot me in the head if i decided to leave you for another woman, i give you the permission.”

“okay, so what is it?” her voice turns soft. “you can tell me.”

sooner or later, of course, eddie has to tell her the truth. he hates having to keep secrets from her, but it’s embarrassing. who the hell wants to date a virgin? if she found out about that, she’d look at him differently. and he doesn’t want to lose her. not when things start to get better for him,

she notices how his eyes drop down to his lap, fiddling with his fingers as he removes his hands from hers. this causes her eyebrows to knit in concern.

“baby? what’s going on” she reaches out to softly pat her thumb across his cheek,

“it’s pretty embarrassing” he lowly chuckles,

“it’s not if it got you all worked up like this. come on, It’s your girl.” she ducks her head down a bit to take a look at his features,

he exhales. “well you know it’s just that i…” he trails off, “never had sex before..”

“what?!” she sounds genuinely surprised. “you’re a virgin?”

he nods, slowly looking up to meet her eyes. “yeah. it’s why i have been so… weird. I’m sorry. i know you expected more from me.”

seeing him get so vulnerable and embarrassed because of that makes her heart break. that’s why he’s been avoiding her touch? god, this man is so precious she feels like she’s going to pass out.

“eddie, you don’t have to be sorry for being … inexperienced. there’s nothing wrong with that. and ‘expected more’? baby, you are already enough for me.” she cradles his face to get him to look at her. “do you think i care about whether you’re a virgin or not? because i don’t.”

“well, you’ve been with those guys before, right? i bet they made you feel good. and i want to do that too. perhaps even better.”

oh her heart is about to leap out of her chest.

“made me feel good? they thought they were doing something. i had to fake it because they barely knew how to do it”. she rolls her eyes, earning a small laugh from him.

“plus, i think it’s cute that no one has ever touched you before.” she giggles, pressing a kiss on his nose,

“well i don’t want to be cute! i want to be hot. for you” he grumbles, frowning like a small child.

“you are, baby” she giggles, even more, shaking her head at this adorable man. “so cute and hot, you make my head spin and panties drop. not a day goes by that i do not think of you”

“you mean that?” his voice small. “because you don’t have to say that just because I’m your boyfriend.”

“i meant every word. do you know how many girls i had to threaten and slammed against the wall for eyeing you? countless.”

“you never told me that…”

“not important” she waves her hand in an attempt to change the subject. “now… how about i make you feel good, hm?”

she moves to put her weight on top of him, putting her legs on either side of his thighs. his heart is beating a mile per minute the moment she sits there. having no idea where to place his hands, he just place them next to her knees.

there’s a twinkle of lust across her eyes, the straps of her blue nightgown falling down her shoulders. long messy hair tucks on the either side of her neck

“but i want to make you feel good too. make you cum on my fingers” he struggles to say each word when her hand begins to untie the strings of his sweatpants.

“we have plenty of time to do that, but … i think my boyfriend deserves it more. don’t you think?”

“well... only if you want to” he's being shy, cheeks red and it drives her mad how cute he's being with her

“of course, i want to.” his pants are pulled now down on his thighs and his cock springs free. “would you let me take care of you?”

he nods frantically, becoming putty underneath her bedroom eyes as she slowly wraps her soft palm around the base of his hard shaft. eddie had never thought her eye contact is strong enough to make his body tremble.

“f-fuck, sweetheart” he blows a sigh of pleasure when she goes down to lick the tip, humming to herself when she finally got a taste of him,

he watches every move she makes. afraid that if he misses just one second, he will regret it. it still doesn't feel real to him. having the prettiest girl in Hawkins as his girlfriend going down on his cock. with a sweet, innocent look decorating her features, enough to make him cream already. but he's holding it.

dear god, he's trying to hold it.

”not even halfway through but you taste so good to me already” she smiles with her tongue still out, he catches a glimpse of her piercing and almost lets out a moan. ”and you have been hiding this from me? not nice”

the minute she slips his cock into her mouth, he's a goner already. brown eyes lulling onto the back of his head with a soft grunt following. she drags her tongue slowly from the base of his shaft, all the way up before closing her mouth around the reddening tip. keeping her eyes on him as she goes, who seems to be having a hard time trying to compose himself.

a devilish smile appears on her face, and her freshly manicured hand reaches out to give his balls a soft squeeze. he flinches at the sudden contact, groaning and moaning when she works on her tongue around him.

”does that feel good, eds?” she checks on him to make after pulling her mouth off. making sure he’s enjoying every moment. coating the tip with her spit before she spreads it with her thumb, ”like having my mouth on you?”

he can only nod to answer, his body is consumed by too much euphoria to give her a verbal response. chest raising with a heavy breath every time her fingers tip-toeing over the sensitive skin. balling his fists so hard, he wouldn't be surprised if his fingernails create a dent in his palms,

”use your words, come on” she moves her hand up and down the stiff flesh with a soft grip, watching his mouth fall open.

”fuck yes. it feels so good b-baby please... don't stop, please” he begs in between breaths, almost sounding like a squeak. eddie finally opens up his eyes to gaze back at her. giving her, his best pleading look, ”i wanted your mouth for so long”

”good boy” with that, she slides his cock back into her wet mouth. while her other hand runs up and down his thigh, sending a light shiver down his spine and arising goosebumps on his skin

eddie's fingers are curling up against the sheets. a strangled noise leaving his throat when the sight of her breasts almost spilling out from the dress. looking like a proper porn star.

he thinks he might actually pass out from this. the velvety insides of her mouth make his head spin and her tongue never seemed to stop teasing the tip. his legs are tense and she can see it from the corner of her eye. she’s taken by surprise when his hips accidentally bucking up, hitting the back of her throat.

”shit, s-sorry about that, sweetheart” he softly tells her, earning a squeeze on his thigh from her as a reassurance that it's okay.

he feels his body is blazing. he can't exactly describe it but it feels so good. pure bliss blooms inside of him when she continues to bob her head up and down. and fuck, eddie doesn't want to cum just yet. but he can't take it anymore. not when she peers up at him through her lashes, still with that innocent look on her face. or when she reaches out to squeeze his heavy balls of cum.

it gets even more harder when she sinks further, moaning around his cock because the sweet, sweet taste of him is creating an excitement that bubbles in her stomach

“f-fuck, fuck. i'm cumming” he rushes, thinking that she might pull away but she only wraps her lips tighter around him. sucking even harder until he releases it all. thick, white string of cum falling in her mouth and painting her tongue. eddie cries out in pleasure, screwing his eyes shut.

his fingers slowly start to loosen the grip around the sheets, his breath going steady, and relaxes both his legs.

she pops off of him, brushing a finger in the corner of her mouth to swipe his remaining. not wanting it to go to waste. “you're so adorable” with a giggle, she plops herself next to him, “how was it?”

“fucking amazing” he laughs breathlessly, rubbing his face up and down with his hands before facing her. a lopsided smile tugging her lips. ”god you were so good with it, I thought I was going to die”

“never heard that one before” she snickers playfully, making herself comfortable underneath the duvet. cuddling up to him. “you tasted so good too, what's the secret?”

he pretends to think while pulling herself close to him. “cheerios and cigarettes”

she swats his chest with the back of her hand, making him laugh. ”I'm gonna make you some real food. my man needs to have the stamina if he's planning to fuck me with his cock.”

he freezes, leaning back slightly to take a good look at her face to see if she's pulling his leg. “what?”

“you heard me.” her voice is stern but also playful. “you're gonna fuck me into oblivion and I will guide you through it if I have to. and we're not stopping until you make both of my legs shake that i can’t fucking walk to school tomorrow.”

eddie is certain he's in heaven right now

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie things #eddie munson x mean!cheerleader

2K notes · View notes

duskiers · 2 months

Text

Comfort in the Kitchen

> Percy Jackson / demeter!fem!reader

> Percy has been feeling down from his nightmares. To cheer him up, you make his favorite, blue chocolate chip pancakes

> first fanfic woohoo .. ( please don't kill me 🏊🏻‍♂️ )

‿︵‿︵⊹‿︵‿︵⊹‿︵⊹‿︵🌳︵‿⊹︵‿⊹︵‿︵‿⊹︵‿︵

The day had been long and fraught with challenges that seemed to stretch the limits of your patience and strength. As a daughter of Demeter, you found solace in the natural world, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the soft murmur of the earth beneath your feet. But today, the world seemed a little heavier, the shadows a bit darker, especially for Percy.

You noticed it the moment he trudged into the common area, his shoulders hunched and his eyes shadowed with the remnants of a battle only he could see. Nightmares, you knew. The kind that clung to him, remnants of battles fought and friends lost. It pained you to see him like this, the vibrant, brave Percy Jackson reduced to a shadow of himself by the memories that haunted him.

Without a word, you slipped away to the one place you knew you could make a difference: the kitchen. Cooking had always been your way of nurturing, of healing. There was magic in it, the simple, profound magic of caring for someone through the act of making them a meal.

Tonight, you decided on something special, Percy's favorite: blue chocolate chip pancakes. It was a simple enough dish, but you poured every ounce of your love and care into it, mixing the batter with a touch of your Demeter-given magic to soothe and comfort.

The comforting scent of chocolate and the warm, inviting aroma of cooked pancakes filled the kitchen, weaving a spell of home and hearth and peace.

When everything was ready, you plated the pancakes, drizzling them with extra chocolate chips and a generous dollop of whipped cream. But the final touch, the one that made them distinctly for Percy, was the food coloring that turned them his favorite shade of blue.

Carrying the plate with care, you found Percy exactly where you'd left him, staring off into nothing, lost in thoughts you wished you could banish for him. You sat beside him, the plate in your hands offering up not just food, but an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding.

"Percy," you said softly, drawing his attention. "I made you something."

He blinked, focusing on you for the first time, and when his eyes landed on the plate of blue pancakes, a small, genuine smile broke through the shadows. "You made these for me?"

"Of course," you replied, your heart warming at the sight of his smile. "I thought they might help, even just a little."

Percy took the plate from you, his smile growing as he took his first bite. "They're perfect" he said after a moment, his voice filled with something like wonder, like maybe he couldn't believe someone would do this just for him.

You watched him eat, saw the tension ease from his shoulders with every bite, and knew that, for now, this was enough. You couldn't fight his battles for him or chase away his nightmares, but you could give him this: a moment of peace, a taste of home, and the knowledge that he wasn't alone.

"Thank you" Percy said when he was done, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of gratitude that left you breathless.

"You're welcome" you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

And in that moment, with the kitchen still warm from cooking and the night's shadows held at bay, you knew that this—this simple act of making pancakes—was its own kind of magic, the kind that healed, that comforted, that said 'I'm here for you' in a way words never could.

#꒰ ঌ 🪧 ໒ ꒱#percy jackson x reader #percy x demeter!reader #percy x reader #idk how to tag this #idk what im doing #but yeah #yolo i guess #percy jackson fluff #Percy jackson comfort

259 notes · View notes

kiss-me-cill-me · 3 months

Note

could u write a cill character where the reader is super horny w/ baby fever, a breeding type fic ❤️?? I love your works btw!!

Oh anon, I love you for requesting this ❤️ Partly because I had already planned to write it lmao. And thank you so much!! Sending love right back at ya 🥰

Due Date

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Your boyfriend is totally oblivious to your baby fever, but lucky for both of you, you aren't able to keep it bottled up for too long.

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, floor sex, stomach pressing (?? idk how to even phrase this lol), mentions of reader being on birth control, some fluff, established boyfriend/girlfriend relationship

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

There had been only one thing on your mind for weeks now, and you could not figure out for the life of you how to get rid of the thoughts. You wondered if you would ever feel normal again, or if this was just going to be your new default state forever. The idea of that was maddening.

Neil, on the other hand, seemed to be somehow blissfully unaware about just how badly you felt like you might explode every time Marcia and Buddy came around with their new baby.

You weren’t sure how that was possible, given that you practically sprinted over to the stroller every time they wrangled it into the store. How could he not have known, when you squealed for the hundredth time, every time, at seeing that chubby little baby face? Marcia had practically needed to wrestle her own child away from you the last time they’d paid a visit, and yet Neil seemed totally unaware of how badly you wanted one of your own.

Or maybe he just hoped that if he ignored it, your baby fever would go away. Your boyfriend had never exactly been one to take on responsibilities willingly, unless doing so somehow involved Gumshoe. The store was his baby, as he often joked, and you were starting to worry that that meant he would never have room in his heart for real babies. The kind that would giggle at Neil’s silly antics and look up at you with their big blue eyes, just like his, and-

You snapped back to reality. You had been daydreaming again, and you found yourself standing behind the counter with Neil, your finger stuck into the spool of a VHS tape as you worked at rewinding a stack of them together.

“You okay, babe?” he asked, sparing a glance in your direction.

You’d paused in your mindless task, lost in fantasy, and now you tried to shake off the fog that had crept over you, bringing with it the images of cribs and onesies and bouncing bundles that always seemed to end up in Neil’s arms.

“Uh…”

He would make such a good dad. A fun dad; the kind that would take his kids on adventures themed after all of their favorite movies. Lightsaber battles in the kitchen. Quests for treasure in the backyard that would make Indiana Jones quake in his boots. Neil would have just as much fun as your future children - you were sure of it. And that thought was almost enough to make you jump him right there in the store. It was pure torture, living like this, and for days on end.

“Helloooooo?” Neil droned.

You looked over at him with wide eyes as he caught you indulging in your secret fantasies yet again.

“You… good?” he asked again, slightly concerned this time.

“I am; I’m… just a little distracted,” you said, hurrying to get back to rewinding the tape.

Neil stuffed the cassette he was holding back in its box, giving you a smug look.

“Yeah, I do have that effect on you, don’t I?” he teased.

You shoved him, and he nudged you back with an elbow.

“In your dreams,” you laughed.

Privately, you could feel yourself starting to ache at just his words. He had no clue how true they were, and you certainly weren’t about to tell him. Now really wasn’t the time for a baby; your logical side knew that. And as much as a part of you wanted to tell him, you knew that it wouldn’t make any real difference. You would just have to be patient and wait.

“Thanks for helping out tonight, by the way,” Neil continued, slipping back into the easy routine of rewinding tapes. “I hate doing this.”

“I know; me too,” you agreed. “Which is why I expect to be paid overtime.”

Neil looked at you, side-eyed.

“Do you even work here?” he joked.

“Not for long if I don’t start getting paid.”

“Okay, fine,” Neil sighed. “The usual rate?”

You giggled as he put his tape down and pinned you against the edge of the counter, pressing your bodies together as he kissed you. A series of quick, fleeting pecks; your hourly wage for helping him out.

“Hey! Overtime,” you reminded him, grabbing at the hem of his shirt as he started to pull away.

Neil leaned back over and gave you one more kiss, catching your bottom lip with his teeth.

Just then, the bell at the top of the door rang, letting you know that a customer had arrived. Neil stood up straight, clearing his throat in a very professional manner as he backed up a little. Even with distance between you, you still felt your whole body thrum. The heat on your cheeks seemed to burst as the lone customer wandered the store, browsing the aisles as you and Neil stood side by side and rewound more tapes.

“All set?” Neil chirped up as the man approached the counter.

Neil went through the routine of checking out the tape, finally handing it over along with a receipt. He glanced down at the date that was printed on the slip.

“And you’re all set. Due date is… August fifteenth.”

Behind him, you made a small noise in your throat. Neil looked over at you, just for a moment, before he turned back to the customer and finished wrapping up the transaction. When the man had left, Neil turned more fully to face you.

“You’re acting weird, babe,” he said bluntly, scratching the back of his head. “Is there something going on?”

“Nope, never better!”

You cursed yourself silently. Why had something so stupidly simple as Neil saying the words “due date” lodged itself firmly into your brain as yet another excuse to obsess over babies?

“If you need to go home, that’s okay,” Neil offered. “I can wrap things up here by myself.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “It’s just…”

“Just…?” Neil echoed, leaning toward you.

“Hearing you talk about… due dates,” you sighed, finally admitting defeat.

Neil’s look of utter and genuine confusion would have made you laugh out loud, if not for the fact that you felt compelled to burrow down into the floor.

“Should I not… tell the customers when to return tapes?”

“No, you dummy!” You avoided his eyes as you shuffled uncomfortably. “I just mean that- It just makes me think about babies!”

You could see the gears turning in Neil’s head a few seconds after you’d blurted out your confession, slowly reaching a conclusion before his eyes widened.

“Ohhhh. That’s why you’ve been so interested in hanging out with Marcia,” he laughed.

“Yes! Neil - okay?” you cried, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I just- Ugh!”

You threw your hands up as you abandoned all attempts at explaining yourself. Neil was already throwing you glances, as if he had caught you in the middle of something scandalous, instead of just struggling to suppress baby fever.

In a way, though, he had. Your thoughts really weren’t all so pure as just picturing him with your kids at the park. Babies didn’t just drop down out of the sky, after all.

Neil took a small step toward you, making you shrink back as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“You like the thought of me knocking you up?” he hummed.

The shock of him saying it so bluntly made you shrink into yourself a bit more. Neil wasn’t letting you go anywhere, though, as he placed his arms to either side of your hips, leaning against the counter.

“Maybe I just think you’d be a good dad,” you shot back, slightly too shakily to be believable.

“Mmm, I don’t think that that’s all you’ve been thinking.” Neil took another step forward, closing up even the most fleeting idea of any distance between you. “I think you like to imagine me filling you up until there’s no way that you couldn’t be pregnant.”

You could hardly believe the words coming out of your boyfriend’s mouth. This was certainly not how you had imagined any potential conversation going.

“And… what if I do?” you asked.

Neil shrugged, not nearly as nonchalant as he was trying to be.

“You tell me,” he said, lowly. “Do you want me to?”

“Want you to…?”

Before you could finish your sentence, Neil’s lips were on yours again, kissing you with a renewed hunger that seemed to extend to some deeper level. Before, things had been teasing and light, like they usually were between you. Now, they felt almost serious. Your head spun as you felt yourself give in to the kiss, letting your wildest fantasies surround you as you stood there, knees buckling at the strong ache that ran through your legs. You had to hold onto Neil slightly as he pulled away.

“I know we’re not ready for kids yet,” you started, not very convincingly.

Neil was making it too hard to focus, as his lips trailed over the side of your face, pressing kisses into your jaw, your cheek, your temple. You hadn’t expected this reaction from him, and you were scrambling to figure out how to respond.

“So?” Neil laughed. “That doesn’t mean we can’t practice, right? There’s really no harm in that.”

“I… guess not,” you agreed.

Neil pressed a kiss to your forehead before leaning down to bite at your ear. You moaned - just a small sound you couldn’t hold back - and felt warm desire pool deep in your stomach as Neil whispered into your ear.

“I think you’d look cute, you know.”

He pulled back to brush a thumb over the very lowest part of your stomach, and the implication was obvious. “Do you?” you sighed, dreamily.

Neil pressed his body back up against you, and this time you could feel his hard length, digging into your hip. Your hands wrapped around his waist, holding him there as he answered.

“Mm-hmm. Seeing you pregnant would really just be a reminder of what I had done to get you like that, sooo… I think it’d be pretty hot.”

You wondered if Neil had any idea just how dangerous of a game he was playing. You knew he was only pretending. He and you both knew that you were on birth control. But… it would be so easy for things like that to change.

“You really need to start watching your mouth, Neil,” you warned him.

“I think I need to start watching you live out your little fantasies, babe.”

Neil’s next kiss was so passionate that he nearly bent you back over the checkout counter. His teeth caught your already-swollen lip once again as he snuck a hand under your thigh, pulling it up to hook over his waist.

“Neil! Can’t this wait til we get home?” you laughed, a sharp heat coursing throughout your whole body.

“Can you wait?” he countered.

That wasn’t really a fair argument. You very clearly could not, at least not based on the way you felt yourself clench around nothing more than the thought of Neil filling you up, just like he’d said earlier. You groaned as he kissed you again, sealing your fate.

“Okay, just - let me at least lock the door,” you begged.

Neil pulled away with a soft smile, and you could see just how incredibly hard he was through the outline of his jeans.

“Hurry back, baby. Or I’ll have to come over there and get you.”

You practically ran to the front of the store, flipping the sign hastily over to “closed” before locking the door and drawing the blinds over all of the windows. It was already dark out, and you caught a quick glimpse of your wide smile in the reflection of the plate glass. This wasn’t the first time that Gumshoe had closed early for some less-than-legitimate purposes.

Suddenly, something crashed into your back. From behind, you felt Neil’s arms encircle your waist as he pulled you away from the window.

“Sorry, babe - couldn’t wait.”

His voice was close, burrowing into your ear as it nestled right next to the thoughts that continued to swirl in your head. You felt a rush down your spine at his words.

Neil backed up a few more steps as he spun around, keeping you pinned to his chest, and then slammed directly into the shelves, spilling VHS tapes everywhere.

“Look who’s the overeager one now,” you laughed, arching back slightly as Neil’s hand grabbed roughly at your breast.

“Who said I wasn’t?”

Neil guided you down to the floor, flipping you over to face him as you landed among the catastrophe of VHS tapes. You shoved a few out of the way, making enough room to lie down while Neil hovered over you, busy with ripping off his shirt.

“Is this really how you treat the mother of your future children?” you joked.

“No,” Neil replied, looking down at you as he tore off his belt. “This is how I treat the girl who wants me to fuck my cum into her so badly, she can’t even focus on rewinding tapes.”

Neil shoved his pants down while you were still too shocked to speak, and then went to work on your clothes, nearly wrestling you out of them as he grunted above you. Neil sometimes got rough when he was excited, but you hadn’t ever seen him like this. Clearly, you weren’t the only one who liked the idea of him getting you pregnant.

Naked and lying on the floor of your boyfriend’s video rental store, you felt yourself practically drip onto the carpet.

“Neil, are you really gonna…?”

“Cum in you?” he finished. “Course I am. How else are you gonna get knocked up?”

Your face flushed. The line between real intentions and fantasy ones was already so dangerously thin, and you felt yourself grow even more excited at the idea of not knowing how serious he was. The two of you had always been cautious. Neil always pulled out of you, even knowing that you were on birth control. It wasn’t like anything would actually happen if he chose not to, but…

“Need you to take me nice and deep - okay, baby?”

Neil’s words snapped you back to reality again as you felt him line up. Your hips were hovering just off the floor, and the anticipation was killing you. You needed him inside of you, now.

“Okay,” you agreed breathlessly.

“Good girl.”

Neil sat up straight as he pushed in, and you felt yourself clamp down so hard that it was almost a miracle he was able to get anywhere. But he did, and you could feel every inch of him sink into you as he buried himself all the way, deep inside just like he’d promised.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hissed. “But you’re not gonna be after I’m done with you. Fuck.”

You watched Neil groan as he squeezed his eyes shut and pumped once, almost cautiously. You could feel the drag of his cock as he pulled out, and you savored the slow thrust. You knew that this pace wouldn’t last long once he got started.

Neil’s hand drifted back down to your stomach, pressing softly as he pushed into you again.

“You feel that, babe?”

The sensation made you gasp. The slight pressure from Neil's hand made the fat head of his cock seem to nudge inside of you even more deeply; the feeling intense but addicting. Neil kept the flat palm of his hand pressed against you as he dragged out, then pushed back in, a little more roughly this tine. It was almost enough to send you right over the edge, and your hips inched up to increase the pressure.

“Fuck - you like that,” Neil commented, breathlessly. “Like feeling right where I’m gonna cum, don’t you?” “N-Neil! Fuck!” you gasped, unable to string more than two words together.

It was absurd how quickly he’d brought you right to the point of no return. You could feel yourself, clearly about to let go any second, and you knew Neil could too. Your muscles were already spasming, clenching harshly around him, desperate for that last little push that you needed to tip over.

Neil grabbed your wrist with his other hand, only to drag it down to your clit. As he positioned your fingers, you heard him let out a small whine of his own.

“Fuck, baby - come for me, please,” he begged.

The added sensation of your fingers was more than enough to make you obey, and you screamed as Neil thrust his hips into you, pressing down harder with his hand. The feeling that washed over you was far too profane to be called good, but you found yourself unable to care about just how impure your thoughts were. You wanted Neil’s cum more than anything else in the world.

“That was so awesome,” Neil moaned.

His hands landed next to your head with a thud, as he fell forward heavily. The force sent a couple more VHS tapes tumbling off the shelf, raining down over the two of you. Neil didn’t seem to notice as he pumped into you again.

“I wish you’d told me about this sooner,” he laughed. “You’re squeezing me like crazy; I can’t believe how turned on you get at the thought of me fucking a baby into you.”

You could barely respond, still coming down from a high that had left you shaking. Neil brought a hand to your face, cradling you as he continued to thrust, steadily picking up pace.

“I’m right here, babe,” he assured, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Can you beg?”

His request sent a jolt straight through you. The sound of his voice, slightly strained and right on the verge of cracking, almost made it seem like he should have been the one to beg you. But, then again, he hadn’t needed even a full five minutes to get you to come so hard that you still couldn't see straight.

“Neil, please,” you whined, letting go of all sense of decency.

“What d’you want me to do, baby?” he groaned.

You suddenly found yourself with both hands pinned over your head; Neil’s fingers digging into your wrists as he held them tight. He leaned all his weight into it, using his other hand to grab frantically at your hip as he picked up his pace even more. It hurt, having both arms pressed so hard into the floor, but you honestly couldn’t have cared less if it meant Neil was close.

“Fuck, Neil - want you to fill me and fuck me again and again. Want your cum so badly. Want you to-”

“Fuck!” Neil yelled.

You felt him rush to bury himself, deeper inside of you than he had ever been. His expression as he came was so twisted in agonized pleasure that it nearly knocked the wind out of you. The sensation was somehow different than you had imagined it; a wet warmth that seemed to spread through you and seep into your bones, still sore from being pushed down into the hard floor.

As he came down from his own high, Neil thrusted weakly a few more times. You felt his cum start to slip out of you, dripping down the curve of your thigh before pooling onto the carpet.

That would be awkward to explain. You hoped that it wouldn’t stain too badly.

“Holy shit, we should do that more often,” Neil breathed. He brought his hand back to your face, dragging his knuckles over your jaw as he let go of your wrists. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m… yeah,” you said dreamily, still unable to think quite straight. “Wow, Neil.”

“Yeah, I could tell you enjoyed that,” he laughed, moving inside you and shoving his cum a just little bit deeper.

He had started to get soft, but you felt him twitch slightly at the new sensation. Your mind flashed back to earlier, when he had talked about filling you over and over again until there was no way you couldn’t get pregnant.

Neil kissed you sweetly on the lips, then pulled back to look at you. A serious expression bloomed over his face.

“Babe, do you have any other fantasies? You have to tell me if you do.” He kissed you on the nose, quickly, before continuing. “Can’t believe I almost missed out on the chance to breed your tight little cunt.”

Neil, clearly, hadn’t quite left this particular fantasy behind.

“I didn’t mean to not tell you. I just… I worried you’d think it was weird.”

“Baby, anything that drives you this wild would never be weird to me,” Neil promised. “Especially if it means I get to do this. You really do look so pretty stuffed full of cum.”

You felt your cheeks start to heat up again, and Neil pressed his lips to yours, softer this time. His tongue slipped briefly past yours, before he pulled away to look down at you. You were the first to speak.

“I really do think you’d make a good dad. Just for the record,” you said.

Neil brushed the tip of his nose over yours.

“You tryin’ to sweet talk me into doing all that again?” he teased. “Because I think we might wreck the whole store. Somebody’s gotta clean up these tapes.”

He gestured widely toward the shelf next to you, knocking over a few more cassettes in the process.

You laughed, wrapping your arms tight around Neil’s neck as you pulled him in close for one more kiss.

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #neil lewis #LemmyFics

337 notes · View notes

mitsies · 1 year

Text

clementines ; aki hayakawa

aki hayakawa hates your guts. unfortunately for him, he's stuck with you for an investigation.

aki hayakawa x reader, forced proximity, huddling for warmth, rivals to lovers, confessions, fluff fluff fluff! - wc: 2.5k

aki hayakawa doesn't see your appeal.

you're pretty, sure, and you can be funny sometimes (not that he'd ever dignify your humor by laughing at your jokes), and you've got a good head on your shoulders- but he just can't bring himself to like you. he's not too sure why.

you make him feel weird, in a way he's not very familiar with. his stomach turns when you're near and his palms go sweaty, and his throat runs dry. it feels like his heart is on fire and his blood is burning beneath his skin when you're near- he doesn't think he likes it.

and so, when aki realizes that you're the only person left to accompany him on an investigative mission, he's not the happiest in the world.

"hurry up," he states dully, as you flit around the devil hunter's headquarters in search of your coat.

"forgive me for not wanting to freeze my ass off outside."

"you don't have an ass to freeze off."

you freeze. "that was a low blow."

aki shrugs and turns, beginning to walk towards the exit. "you're taking too long."

"okay, okay, jesus. fine. i guess i'll just get hypothermia and die."

you're tailing him now, as he opens the door for you. "thank god."

you shoot him a wordless glare and his stomach drops- he isn't sure why. he doesn't talk to you again as he enters the driver's seat of the car.

you slide into the passenger's seat as he begins to drive. "so.. we're going to shinjuku? what for?"

he side-eyes you. "did you even read the information about this assignment?"

you shrug. "i skimmed it."

aki exhales. "we were given an anonymous tip about the gun devil's whereabouts."

you straighten at this, and he continues: "there's a system of old underground tunnels at the location we're headed to. we're checking that out."

"oh."

aki wants to punch you at that moment, because he looks over and sees you mulling over your thoughts and you look so good even when you don't mean to. he returns his eyes to the road.

the drive is quiet, except for your occasional statements or questions. aki's responses were brief and rude, and typically deterred further conversations. silence had settled around the two of you by the time you'd arrived at your destination.

the entrance to the tunnels is located on the outskirts of shinjuku. they were overgrown with ivy, and puddles of murky water are splattered around the entrance. aki watches you as you frown at the entrance.

"this looks like it's going to be gross." you dip the heel of your shoe into a puddle experimentally, watching as greenish sediment swirls around.

"you're going to have to get over it." your eyes shift to him at his words and suddenly aki's skin is burning, despite the chill of the tokyo night.

you're visibly irritated by him, and you roll your eyes and march into the tunnels. "of course. you're so right, as always. what would i do without you, the great and powerful aki hayakawa?"

the way you say his name sends a thrill of ice down his spine. aki pretends it was just the cold as he follows you inside.

you were right. the tunnels are indeed disgusting. they were obviously occupied at one point- the main passageway branches off into many different rooms.

each room, though, was either empty or lost to time. skeletal furniture and unidentifiable plant growth is all that's left. cobwebs gather in the corners and more filthy puddles collect in divots on the floors. the air smells heavy of mildew, and it's enough to make aki's skin crawl. he wonders how many people have died down here.

to your credit, you don't comment on the apparent ick-factor of the location. you diligently search every room, attentively leaving no stone unturned and pushing aside your own discontent.

aki might not like you, but you're undeniably good at your job. he can't fault you for that.

eventually, though, the both of you reach the end of the tunnels. at this point, you're deep underground. the light of your flashlights is the only thing illuminating the path forward.

"so, that intel was a bust," you state with a tight grin. aki scowls at you. "no shit, idiot."

you huff and turn away. "there's one room left. if we're lucky, that'll have what we need."

you open the door and, to both of your surprises, this room is fully furnished. aki is quick to enter behind you, letting the door close after him.

it's a small, cramped space, with a dust-covered desk in the center. the walls are lined with bookshelves that look like they haven't been touched in years, and an ancient rug that undoubtedly carries a disease or two lies on the floor.

"would you look at that," you start, turning to aki with glittering eyes, "maybe i'm magic."

he looks away from you, his heart burning under your gaze. "start looking."

you pour over the books, skimming covers and leafing through pages, while aki examines the desk. ultimately, though, he comes up empty-handed. he turns to you and sees that you've also found nothing of interest.

"i guess we got led on," you sigh.

"damn it." frustration bubbles up within him, and aki exhales heavily. he doesn't want to yell at you. he really could, and he kind of wants to, but he knows it's not your fault that he's pissed off.

he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, and you raise an eyebrow. "you can catch as many diseases as you want, aki, but let me and my nice clean lungs have their peace, please."

he wants to make fun of you. he wants to call you a coward, or some other trivial insult, because his blood is suddenly smoldering underneath his skin and it's all your fault for looking at him. but he just shoots you another glare before beginning to the office to light his cigarette in the hallway.

but as soon as he opens the door, a deafening crush of rock rains from the ceiling. the earth trembles and aki must've really, really pissed mother nature off because he's sent crashing back into the office's filthy stone flooring.

the collapse of the tunnel's roof ended almost as soon as it began. the thunderous rumbling ceases, and you're suddenly at aki's side.

"you're hurt. don't move." you stand, on edge, to try and survey the scene.

"i'm fine," aki tries, attempting to get up- but the world begins to spin and his leg hurts really fucking bad and he's back on the floor.

you let out a snort of laughter. "sure you are."

aki wants to say something but he snaps his jaw shut, watching from the ground as you pull open the office's door. a wall of massive rocks encases the entrance- some smaller ones begin to tumble back and you hop away with a small noise.

(aki thinks he might have brain damage, because he's smiling now. he bites the inside of his cheek to hide it.)

"okay," you declare, "we're kind of stuck here."

(aki is no longer smiling.)

he tries to stand for the second time, only to be humbled by gravity yet again- this time, you catch him before he slams into the stone flooring again.

"god, are you okay? do you have a concussion?" he grumbles something incoherent in response to your concerns. he sits leaning back against the wall as you fuss and examine him. (he hopes you don't catch how he has to look away because his face is undoubtedly flushed over your meticulous gaze.)

"oh my god," you start, as your eyes trail down to his left leg.

he tries to see what you do, pulling the pant leg up a bit, revealing his gnarled ankle. it's bruised and already bluing, with an ugly gash on the side. he's not sure how he didn't notice the blood before.

he pulls his pant leg back down. "whatever. we've got to find out how to get out of here."

you stare at him, unimpressed. "we're definitely stuck, aki. promise."

he wants to protest but he knows you're right. "god."

"yeah."

he tips his head back and closes his eyes in frustration- he has to have the worst luck. the sound of rustling clothing brings his attention back to you.

you're unbuttoning your plain black vest, which was your own addition to the devil hunter's plain uniform. aki always thought it looked good on you, though he'd only ever chided you about it for violating the dress code.

you pull it off of you and roll up the sleeves of your white button-up. he stares. "what're you doing?"

you glance up at him, and there's mirth in your eyes. "saving your life from the infectious diseases down here, hotshot."

aki rolls his eyes. he hates how helpless he feels, being unable to walk and underneath your watch. he can do nothing but observe as you wrap your vest around his cut leg deftly. your fingers brush against his skin, sending sparks throughout his nervous system.

once you're done tending to his wound, you retreat, and sit on the desk after dusting it off a bit. aki didn't realize how warm you were until you'd gone away.

"how long do you think we'll be here for until the other two come to get us?"

"probably a few more hours. they won't come until morning, at the earliest."

you purse your lips. "unfortunate. i was going to have chinese food tonight."

aki raises an eyebrow. "you can cook?"

"no," you say with a crooked grin, "but i have a takeout place on speed dial." i'm a horrid cook."

"i can imagine."

you laugh, and aki feels like he has just been given a warm hug. "what, are you a professional chef or something? who are you to judge me?"

he tries not to smile, but he thinks he does a poor job of it. "i could be a professional chef when compared to you."

you're grinning now, tilting your head with amusement as you tuck one leg underneath yourself on the desk. "you should teach me how to cook sometime."

and there's that feeling again- the unpleasant burn of every blood cell within aki's body, the thundering of his heart, the whirlpool in his gut. he impresses himself when he's able to form a coherent response. "maybe i will."

conversation flows between you and aki like a dam has been removed. he's still a little rude, and you still respond a little passive-aggresively, but it's easier to talk to you than aki remembers it ever being.

he begins to realize that he's not too sure why he disliked you in the first place. you were pretty, and you were intelligent. you had musical laughter and a sense of humor to match. you cared about things and people, and aki dared to think that he was one of them.

you were lying down on the desk now, hair fanning out behind you when you asked him what his favorite food was. you were hardly visible in the dim lighting, only discernable due to the white glow of the flashlight.

"i think oranges."

you pull yourself up. "oh. same."

"oranges are good."

"they are."

you pause for a second before brightening. "actually, wait-"

hopping off your desk, you fish around in a small messenger bag that you'd left on the floor at some point. you produce a small, brightly-colored fruit- a clementine.

"not quite an orange, but," you smile, moving to sit near aki on the floor, "i always keep one on me just in case."

you hand him the fruit, and he looks at you. "in case of what?"

(aki doesn't realize, but all the cruelties and demeaning words have died off his tongue. he doesn't care for them anymore, he's content with your company.)

you shrug. "bonding moments. i tried to give one to power before i realized that she's more of a... y'know. blood fan."

aki laughs.

(he's just as surprised as you are.)

he tries to compose himself as swiftly as possible, peeling the clementine gingerly. he splits the fruit in half, giving you the larger one.

the two of you eat your share in silence, an unspoken bond forming like ice over a freezing lake. aki thinks he likes clementines more than oranges now.

"you know," you say, after you're done with your slices, "i'm pretty sure you hate me. am i wrong?"

he freezes at your bluntness. "i don't... hate you."

he steals a glance at you. you're sitting with your knees pulled close to your chest, and aki takes in your side profile. he sees the curve of your lips, the slope of your nose, the taper of your chin- and he realizes that he could never hate you, not when he's in love with you.

oh.

aki hayakawa is in love with you.

"really? because you're kind of mean sometimes." you say it like it's a joke, but he can tell you're serious. he's still taking in his own realization, so for a few seconds, he just opens and shuts his jaws like a fish out of water.

he notices you shivering, and he realizes that you must be freezing- you lost your coat, after all, and your vest was currently tied around his bleeding leg. he shrugs off his blazer, and drapes it across your shoulders.

"i don't hate you," he struggles to get out. he looks away, and you blink.

"i don't hate you, too."

he expects the conversation to end there, but you keep going.

"i like you a lot, actually." you say it like it's a fact, like you didn't just put your heart out on a table for him to dissect. you don't look at him, either, even when he whips his head around to stare at you.

"oh."

"yep."

"thanks."

"uh-huh!"

aki doesn't know what to say. you seem content with the silence. he is not.

"you're cold," he states after a brief lapse in conversation.

now you look at him. "i mean, i was. but you gave me your jacket. i'm good now. thanks, by the way."

"no, i think you're still cold." you tilt your head at him, confused, before realization sparks behind your eyes.

"oh. oh, you're right. oh, great and powerful aki, i am so very cold and in need of warmth this fine, frigid winter night."

he rolls his eyes, awkwardly shuffling closer. until your shoulders touch and your legs are in line. he barely stops himself from exhaling sharply when your head falls onto his shoulder.

your body is warm against his, like a space heater, and aki doesn't think he's ever felt more alive. his hand absentmindedly finds its way around your waist and he feels your heartbeat pick up.

"goodnight," he finds it in himself to whisper a few minutes later.

you're already asleep.

(the next morning, aki wakes up to you standing up by the carpet, which you'd moved to reveal a wooden trapdoor, leading to daylight- an escape hatch.

you stare at him. he stares at you.

"we suck at this," you whisper as if it's not just the two of you in the room.

aki grimances.

"you do," he says, even though he doesn't regret a single thing.)

author's note: plz ignore anything wrong i have not watched csm🤭

#aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #hayakawa aki #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man #aki #reader insert

1K notes · View notes

ianthine-ichor · 4 months

Text

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but��” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

#call of duty x reader #john price x reader #gender neutral reader #tw: violence #tw: mentions of depressive and suicidal thoughts #tw: heavily implied domestic abuse #tw: blood #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #john price #john price mw2 #john price mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw3 #captain price #call of duty

165 notes · View notes

esamastation · 6 months

Text

Shizuroth, part eight.

"How is he?"

"What do you think?"

Lazard gives the SOLDIER First Class an unimpressed look and Genesis sniffs. "Never fear, Director - your Hero will be well fit for duty - after a break," Genesis says.

"Sephiroth never takes breaks," Lazard points out.

That earns him another sniff, one much closer to a scoff this time. "And people wonder why he's so unapproachable," Genesis says, rolling his eyes. "Why he keeps destroying training rooms in regular spars."

"I seem to recall you and Angeal having a hand in that too," Lazard says, amused and unimpressed. "You are all still forbidden from using the training rooms."

"Yes, yes, ours is a tragic tale of woe," Genesis says dismissively. "The point I'm trying to make is that whether Sephiroth takes breaks or not, he still needs them. He might be Elite even among us Firsts - but he's still human. No matter what the professor says."

Lazard folds his arms. "So this was to be expected, is that it?"

"Wasn't it? Have you not seen Sephiroth's schedule? And I don't just mean his mission roster. He's in and out of the labs so often they should install a revolving door, just for him," Genesis scoffs and looks away. "It's a wonder he didn't start losing it before."

Lazard narrows his eyes. "Has he lost it, then, Genesis? Has he been pushed to the brink?"

Genesis is quiet for a moment and then sighs. "No," he says. "Not yet. But something happened that shook him. Apparently his heart stopped, he was given too big a dose - but I don't think that's it. Not all of it."

"It sounds plenty shocking to me."

"SOLDIERs flatline all the time. That's what Phoenix Downs are for," Genesis waves a hand at that. "Sephiroth must've gone through it a thousand times. But maybe, in combination with the higher dose he got, and however long he was dead…"

Lazard hums. "Memory issues?"

"Most definitely," Genesis agrees, and gives him a sideways look. "He'll be able to cover it up - given time. But he must've forgotten more than he was letting on. I don't know how much - but it was a lot."

Lazard hums in grim understanding, and they're quiet for a moment in shared acceptance. Memory loss in a SOLDIER is common enough and usually isn't reason alone to pull them from the field - higher ups really didn't care. But it tends to have other detrimental effects…

Like an increased mortality rate.

SOLDIERs were sent out only on toughest of missions, taking on most dangerous assignments the company had to offer. Everything Turks or Infantry couldn't handle, the SOLDIER took care of. And going on a high-risk mission with any level of loss of mental faculties…

If Sephiroth was operating with something worse than your usual case of a few burned synapses…

"He needs to be evaluated," Lazard says finally. "Sephiroth has numerous missions coming up in Wutai - if his abilities are compromised -"

"You'll send someone else?" Genesis asks and scoffs. "That I would like to see! How will that look in the newspapers, when the poster boy is replaced? The horror, the controversy - the conspiracy!"

Lazard casts him a look. "Or maybe I will have to shuffle the roster to send someone with him," he says pointedly.

"To babysit Sephiroth?"

"Better than to risk everything due to lack of foresight," Lazard muses and leans back in his chair. "Angeal will be back tomorrow - I want you to debrief him on the situation - quietly - and then the two of you can assess Sephiroth's condition."

"Out of the company's view, I assume?" Genesis asks while whipping out his PHS to check the calendar.

"It wouldn't do for rumours to spread," Lazard agrees and looks away. "Thankfully the Third who saw him already promised to be discreet."

Genesis hums dubiously. "We'll see how long that will last," he mutters, scrolling through his schedule. In his experience, SOLDIERs gossip worse than the secretary staff.

"I'll take even a day's delay. With the true extent of his stay in Injections suppressed and with you handling the rest, hopefully the gossip won't find enough ground to spread," Lazard says.

Genesis hums and then frowns at a new message notification. "Ah," he says, reading the title.

"Hm?" Lazard asks

"Well. Speaking of gossip," Genesis says, his brows arching. "Someone is getting fired at Laybell's."

Lazard frowns and gives him a confused look. "Laybell's? You mean the clothing store?"

Genesis opens the mail that had just been sent out to Silver Elite and reads it through.

SEPHIROTH JUST ORDERED A WHOLE BUNCH OF SHIRTS FROM LAYBELL'S?!? by Beybelina

Hi, hello, hey, I'm a bit of a lurker, usually I don't have anything to say, but something INCREDIBLE just happened!

I work at the Laybell's in Sector Seven and I was just processing orders when it popped up! At first I couldn't believe my eyes! The name on the order, it couldn't be! It was SEPHIROTH! I thought it was fake, so I checked - and the mailing address is Shinra HQ!

Aaaah, my heart is pounding like mad! Sephiroth, making orders from our store! This is the happiest day of my life!

There's almost instantly a reply.

Re: SHIRTS FROM LAYBELL'S by Silver Tail

OH MY GODDESS! What did he order? What kind of shirts? What colour? Tell us everything!

And then an answer to that, just as quickly…

Re:re: SHIRTS FROM LAYBELL'S by Beybelina

I have the full list, though I probably shouldn't mail it because of customer confidentiality! But let's just say it looks like he's moving in from the Glorious Coat of Greatness and Goodness and we'll all be worse for it! He will look amazing of course, but it's still a tragedy!

Genesis brows arch slightly in incredulity. What customer confidentiality? "Apparently Sephiroth has been shopping for clothes."

Lazard looks up, and Genesis shows him the message. "Hm. I agree, someone is certainly getting fired," he says dubiously. "But is it really that unusual? Everyone uses mail to shop these days."

Genesis gives him a look. "You have no idea what the state of his wardrobe is, do you?"

"I make it a point not to pry into the personal affairs of SOLDIER members," Lazard admits.

"And we're oh so grateful - but I do, and it's something else," Genesis says flatly. He'd gotten his own leather coat because he'd gotten inspired by Sephiroth's style - only to soon realise where it actually came from.

He's never known anyone too damn haughty to get a new shirt, before Sephiroth. It would be amusing if it wasn't so irritating. Of course, there's also the fact that whenever they do as much as charge their hairstyle it's newsworthy. Sephiroth is especially sensitive to it, having been in the spotlight all his life. But mostly it was just the man being contrary on purpose, because someone said something, and sometimes Sephiroth just decides to dig his heels in about the weirdest things for no good reason. Like with the hair, oh, Goddess, the hair.

So the idea that Sephiroth is suddenly becoming fashion-conscious…? Highly unlikely.

Genesis scowls, snapping his phone shut.

Lazard is right - Sephiroth really needs to be assessed, thoroughly. Because either the man has utterly lost his mind… or he's up to something.

Cut to SY, sobbing screaming throwing up over a pile of torn shirts.

#Fanfiction #FFVII #Svsss #genesis rhapsodos #lazard deusericus

275 notes · View notes

faeriekit · 1 month

Text

Health and Hybrids (XX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... A LOT of readers google what an "ostomy bag" is! Danny reestablishes his comfort with the Arabic numeral system!

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

The next time Diana comes to visit her charge, her gloves are blue. Her scrubs are a pale pink. She is given a new face mask, and a new hair net, and walks through the double doors without needing to be buzzed in.

Alright. Perhaps the boy is not genuinely “her charge”. Still, he is hers to protect and to keep; although her position is, officially, as security to the medical team working with their young patient, the medical team knows as well as she does that the boy does not genuinely intend harm.

Is he prone to outbursts? Perhaps, but very few of them are powered. It is entirely understandable too, according to the mental health professionals on board the Watchtower: trauma affects how well one comports oneself and how one interprets their environment. They may see things, hear things, or misunderstand things, and believe they are under threat. The circumstance makes for a great deal of residual fear and mistrust.

Diana was once raised amongst communities of women with few untouched by battle fatigue. She recognizes the signs of lost time and of reawoken fear. She understands what battle-weary warriors are truly fighting against.

A doctor and a nurse mumble a greeting as Diana passes by them. “Morning, Wonder Woman.”

“Good evening,” Diana returns, eyes crinkling. One nurse visibly glances out the window—and then smiles, sheepishly, having forgotten their location in space. Time zones on the Watchtower are often…flexible; Diana, however, has only just returned from her day job. “How is the patient?”

A doctor jerks their head towards the monitor. It is only ever left on if no one else is in the room; privacy is key to recovery. The active monitor means that the medical team has left him alone for now. “Take a look. You might have to go kid wrangling again, Ma’am.”

Alright. Diana obliges them.

On the monitor, in little stick-figure form, are three figures, all sitting or crowded around the room’s singular bed. Her patient sits in his little white gown, legs still as ever, as Impulse drapes himself across the bedspread, and Robin (ex-Robin? Third Robin? Doesn’t he have a new name now?) stands at the bedside.

The Speedster wiggles, mouthing out words she can’t hear without a microphone. Robin is focused on something in his hand—a tablet, perhaps? If Impulse is chattering into the air, then Robin is short on answers; her charge, in comparison, looks back and forth between them, likely unable to understand what the two are up to.

Diana’s mask catches her sigh. “Busy, are they?”

“Do you think you can hold the red one down long enough for a refresher on proper PPE usage?” the doctor begs. The question appears to be genuine. “They just zoomed in a little bit ago. We’ve been trying not to disturb them, but without masks and gloves…”

…Her charge was still at risk for possible contamination or infection, as they couldn’t get consistently accurate test results on his immune system. Diana hummed. She could see the problem.

“I shall. Buzz me in, if you will.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door clicks open. Diana strides through, unafraid of teenagers or similar ilk, and content with her position as designated scolder.

And, to his credit, the Robin at her charge’s bedside recognizes Diana’s lack of enthusiasm with the situation, and winces with artful precision. Silly boy— as if Diana would believe that any Bat would be ashamed of breaking a rule if they had already chosen to break it. She cannot help but be fond of each Bird’s eccentricities in their own ways. Robin hides the contraband food in his hand behind his back.

Impulse, however, hardly notices her approach, draped over her charge’s casts as he is—a whiteboard in his hand, furiously scribbling away at whatever attempt at communication he has decided to test today. Having met several male teenagers in her recent years, there is a decent chance he has been drawing genitalia as well.

Diana politely coughs into her mask. The gesture is entirely performative. Robin responds by hiding a separate can of energy drink—opened—on the side table behind him, in the hopes of hiding it from view.

Impulse, who failed to notice her arrival, continues to scribble. Occasionally there will be a burst of superspeed, but it will be in contained little bursts. He likely either wants to preserve the marker, or he is taking more care with his attempted art than usual.

Her charge looks up.

His eyes are still a concern—glazed with a green film, they jitter back and forth ever so slightly when he tries to focus on any one object in particular. He hasn’t indicated any discomfort with his eyesight, however, so it hasn’t been addressed beyond documentation.

The crack in his face—from two inches above his white, nebulous hairline and trailing down to his chin—is visible evidence of an injury or gouge of some sort, with new pink skin all around the edges as the only visible sign of inhuman levels of healing. Diana has seen a number of scars, and a number of healed, gaping wounds, but it is occasionally unsettling to set eyes on her charge and see the still-healing brain matter, skull, and inner sinus cavity through a viscous, green, not-quite-organic wound filling material.

There seems to be a consistent rate of healing, though. Diana can only hope that recovery is possible.

“Good afternoon,” Diana greets softly. Her charge’s discolored fingers flex as his face turns to look at her. “Are you well?”

His green-tinged lips part and then come together again. He’s not not paying attention—he listens very well, and has begun to use certain words in English to compensate for his need for communication. That being said, Diana has little idea what he is and is not capable of understanding.

Impulse, however, finally recognizes the newest occupant in the room. “Wonder Woman! Uh—we totally had permission to be here this time! Promise!!” he offers, immediately switching from someone gleeful to see her from someone remembering their misdeeds.

Diana is very lucky that her mask covers her fond smile. If it is her job to be stern today, she ought to live up to the task. “Did you, now?”

Impulse beams sheepishly, and rolls off of the casts of a bemused half-alien boy. “Yes! Remember last time when the nurses all said I could ‘come whenever’ and ‘bring a friend’ and—“

“You were asked to buzz in ahead of time and put on your protective gear?” Diana finishes, wry. Before she is able to scruff him appropriately, however, the superpowered boy is already gone and back—now with an askew hairnet, an upside-down surgical mask, and gloves a size too large for his hands.

“So I did that!” Impulse protests, the mask moving unnaturally over his face. “Look! All dressed up!”

It is a well-intended last minute effort. Alas, it would all be for naught. Diana scoops up a squawking speedster by the nape, and a now-blinded-by-a-misplaced-surgical-mask Robin, and trots them both back to larger medical.

“One moment!” Diana tosses back to her charge, who is, understandably, concerned.

Still. It takes Wonder Woman, two nurses, and a paraprofessional to successfully sanitize and gear up an uncooperative speedster. Robin sulks through the entire process, but capitulates to it with more grace.

Her charge’s green eyes shine and his fingers curl around his few personal possessions as Diana returns to him his companions; she wishes, so dearly, that she could ruffle his pale hair. “All done!”

The teenaged heroes sprawl across his bed just as casually as they had before—if better prepared for their environment. Robin largely gives her charge his space, careful not to impede where he isn’t wanted, but Impulse freely shares affection that her charge, at least, does not visibly deny.

Diana has her own routine to complete. She heads for the intravenous injection bags, pulls out a fresh one, and cracks the seal. After that, it’s shaking to mix the concoction and a fresh replacement.

Impulse grabs one of the toys off of her charge’s side table and brings it into his lap. The board is tilted, and all the slotted-in pieces fall out. He spends some time sorting them by shape, and then by color, until her charge lifts trembling fingers to pick them up, very carefully, one by one.

She’s impressed. His pincer grasp recovery has not been consistently smooth sailing. “Excellent work,” she praises.

Robin looks up from his tablet. Impulse looks back at her and beams. Her charge gives her a brief look, observes that she doesn’t need anything from him at the moment, and gets back to sorting the little pieces back into their allotted slot.

Impulse rests his chin on the steel arm bar of her charge’s cot. The pose seems…uncomfortable. “Hey, Tim. He got them all right.”

Timothy Robin taps away at his tablet—no doubt taking down documentation of his own. Diana can’t help but feel affection; every Bat and every Bird is so nosy, but if she wants to actually see those notes on her charge, she will have to press Batman for them with a reasonably-sized threat.

“Really?” Robin asks, eyes on the screen. “Do you think the pieces were matched based on color, or actual understanding of the numerical system?”

Diana looks down, line in her hand as she reconnects the intravenous bag. The toy in her charge’s lap is a mock clock face. Each of the numbers is printed onto the removable piece, in different cut-out shapes, and painted different colors.

The atmosphere changes. The air itself tastes different—something like electricity sparks on her tongue. And then it’s gone.

“No, he’s looking to put the clock face back in order, specifically,” Impulse confirms. Ah. Speedforce. Diana should have been able to recognize the feeling by now. “He’s kind of annoyed, actually. It’s like a baby toy.”

“Well, it is a baby toy.” Robin taps away.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s annoying. He knows he should be able to do it.”

Impulse buzzes again, and her charge hums, stuffing his flat hand between the board and the sheet until he can tip it over without grabbing at it. He repeats the same process, the only difficulty stemming from his shaking grip and his shaking eyes.

The urge to pull him close and pet his hair is understandable, Diana reminds herself, but not conducive to his long-term comfort. She smiles at him, as best as she can behind a surgical mask, and discreetly checks his drainage bags to see if they need replacing while she’s already close.

“All’s well,” she declares at last, finished with anything that isn’t social. Thankfully, having two teenagers in the room takes care of her charge’s most frequent issue—boredom. She claps her hands together, and her charge looks up at her, eyes vibrating. “Do you require anything?”

Her charge looks at her. Her charge looks at his friend. “Ouatair?” he tries to enunciate, tongue thick against the green-filled split in his hard palate. “Pleese?”

“Ithinkhewantssomewater,” Impulse rushes to translate, but Diana already knows this request. The water provided is chilled in a refrigerator, and it takes no time for her to find sanitized cup and straw—steel, so as to be safe when dropped, and relatively uncrushable, with a handle for simple gripping.

She presents it to him grip-first. His expression is grateful, and frustrated. No warrior wishes to be in the position of needing constant. Diana can understand the wish to do things on his own.

“Soon,” Diana offers, voice a whisper. “You’re already better off than before.”

Her charge grumbles into his cup. His tongue, half-green, finds the straw for him; he chomps down on the straw, slurps as loudly as he can, and sulks.

Teenagers. Diana finds herself unable to understand how Bruce has so many of them, and understands perfectly well how easy it is to take on a child in need and make them your own.

The cup goes back onto the side-table, half-empty.

“Hey,” Robin starts again. He puts his tablet to the side. The white board is pulled out of Impulse's hands and goes onto her charge's lap, and with only a little whining. “How’s this?”

Her charge mumbles something neutral. His eyebrows scrunch together, but he takes the offered blue marker from Impulse and lets the boy uncap it for him.

“Yeah, it’s more adult or whatever,” Impulse encourages. Her charge sticks out a green-mottled tongue, but takes the marker to the white board and writes. Robin peers over his shoulder to watch. “It’s just the alphabet. A, B, C, D~!”

Her charge hums the tune back to him, continuing seamlessly where Impulse left off. The teen hero beams.

Diana stills.

“Yeah, you got it!” Impulse encourages, and peeks over the edge of the board to see her charge hard at work. His letters are wobbly, certainly, and there are some that he misses, but the alphabet song is a longstanding English-language tradition. He know it. He knows it by rote.

“You missed the ampersand,” Impulse points out. Her charge scowls through the fissure in his face.

…There is no reason for Diana to get excited. Yet. Robin-the-former is already jotting down his own notes, pleased with his observations. There are many reasons and many ways this teenager might have picked up the song. J’onn famously picked up on Earth’s radiowaves before being transported to Earth; this could be further evidence that her charge has some connection to Earth, or it could be a connection to something more bizarre and unusual.

There is no shortage of unusual events these days.

And, of course, Diana runs out of things to do. She smooths down her charge’s blanket, which he hardly notices in his frustration. She refills his water. She is tempted to go grab her copy of The Art of War from her bag in the other room, which she has read before, but which she is rereading at behest of Bruce’s newest initiative: Tactical Book Club. She is optimistic about the opportunities for further education this will provide her comrades-in-arms, if not underwhelmed by the reading material. As long as the teenage heroes are in the room, Diana is obligated to remain with them, in the event that the danger level might…fluctuate. A book would give at least the semblance of privacy to the three.

Her charge makes a noise. “Hay!”

Diana looks up. In shaky hands, resting on his lap, he holds up a largely complete alphabet. There are one or two shaky letters—thorn, which is fairly common, and eth, perhaps less so—but otherwise carefully drawn, very neatly done.

“Excellently done,” Diana praises. The alphabet is a triumph of the physical work it takes to heal.

Her charge beams through his craggy face, buzzing with delight.

"I dunno," Impulse teases, upside down on her charge's legs. "They're kinda wonky."

The boy's face scrunches, smears the color away with a swipe of his arm, and draws something else.

The board shakes with his exertion as he lifts it back into place on his lap, and Diana allows herself to sigh, audibly; sure enough, as she had expected, there is a misshapen, blue, cartoon representation of a penis.

Robin full-on cackles with surprise, but Impulse falls of the bed with laughter.

Unfortunately, it is now Diana's job to figure out how to scold a teenager, and one who speaks no known language besides. Based on the resulting expressions she earns, Diana is unsure if the scolding works, but. Well.

...She tried.

#teenage shenanigans triumph over adversity #even trauma. Even pain. Even horror.#ALSO we finally get an outside POV on his FACE #Danny's body is perhaps a little more fucked up than he knows #health and hybrids #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover

122 notes · View notes