Whatever the opposite of normalizing is can we start doing that plz
The epic highs and lows of having no sleep.
Based on the best-selling novel, #TellMeLies premieres September 7 on @Hulu.
How Would The Top Gun Guys React To Their Wives Visiting Them On Base Heavily Pregnant
‘(A/N:) I had this idea while I was driving today and it hasn’t left me alone since. I may make a part 2 with more of the pilots but for now I’m just hitting some main ones. So happy reading! ~Countess
Taglist: @mads-weasley @chaoticassidy
Part 2 is here
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X FemReader
This man has been waiting months to see you. Six to be precise, cause he had been counting since leaving you. When a family day had been announced on base he was once again counting the days until he could see you and hold you once more.
The day finally arrived and he was surrounded by his fellow pilots chattering excitedly while waiting for the bus to bring the family members that they had been missing severely. The rumbling of tires filled the air and the chatter rose in volume. Rooster tapped his foot impatiently knowing that you were close but still so far. He cursed the bus for moving slower than he liked. Finally the large vehicle parked and the engine died down before the doors open. Out flooded family members looking for their loved ones amongst the uniformed crowd. Rooster felt a twinge of anxiety when he didn’t see you immediately and even after the rest had stepped off, there was no sign of you. His heart dropped and he immediately looked for his phone when he heard the bus driver speaking to someone. He looked back up to see the driver helping you down the steep stairs while you held your stomach protectively. Normally Rooster would be a little peeved at another man getting to touch you but the shock of the difference in your body since the last time he had seen you silenced him.
He started across the base towards you when you finally turned around from thanking the driver.
“Rooster,” you called doing an awkward jog to try and get to him faster. That only made him pick up speed as he didn’t want you to jar yourself or your swollen middle too much.
“Hi baby I missed you,” you said while you embraced your husband you missed so much. He held you tightly before gawking at you silently. You flicked his forehead harshly, “Um Earth to Sky Chicken I said hello!”
He stared more mouth agape before you shook some sense into him. “What happened to you?”
“Oh jeez thanks, I missed you too! “ You scoffed rolling your eyes. “That’s what happens when you come back home and won’t go on dates with me. We stay home and then boom I’m pregnant as soon as you leave.”
“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet,” Rooster asked rubbing your stomach lovingly.
You removed an envelope from your bag waving it towards him. “I was waiting for you.”
Rooster grinned grabbing your hand to get you inside before the heat made you sick and you could of sworn he was strutting. You laughed while he yelled at his fellow pilots about being a dad.
“Yeah we can tell,” Phoenix teased rolling her eyes playfully causing everyone to laugh.
Jake “Hangman” Seresin X FemReader
Hangman never thought about having kids, the desire had never really been prominent in his mind. After marrying you the thought was there at times but he didn’t want to leave you alone the majority of the time you were pregnant. Raising a child alone is difficult and despite his demeanor he didn’t want to do that to you. Despite his cockiness Hangman truly had your best interests in mind. Now that he was away six months was beginning to take it’s toll on both of you. So when the instructors announced that every pilots’ families were invited to come onto the base to visit Hangman was calling you immediately to let you know. When he talked to you though he grew concerned as you didn’t seem like yourself. You sounded tired and like you had been sick. He asked if you were alright but of course you shrugged everything off and told him you’d be there.
Now that day arrived and like everyone else he was anxious to see the one he loves. It didn’t help that he had been worried about you ever since talking over the phone. He’d text every day but you only assured him that you were fine. Now as the bus pulled in his heart began to race. Families filed out of the bus but you were taking your time to exit the bus. Hangman left the other Navy members as he watched the driver take the time to help you down the stairs. Hangman was there before you could get to the second step.
“Thank you,” he said to the driver taking both of your hands. Your stomach swollen and heavy with child he stared in surprise before looking back towards you.
You flushed a little pale, “Surprise!”
“Hey are you okay,” he asked holding your cheek.
“Yeah,” you laughed. “I’m just a little sick. Hangman Jr has been making my pregnancy rough. Heartburn, aches, and don’t get me started on nausea. Even the smell of dirt makes me want to puke.”
“Let’s get you inside,” Hangman took your arm leading you away from the bus.
“I’ll be alright I’m just happy to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too but you should have told me,” Hangman shook his head kissing your temple.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you sniffed, hormones getting the best of your senses.
“Well you surprised me,” he cooed gently soothing you. “I can’t believe I get to be a dad.”
“Believe it hotshot.” You laughed. “Now I’m definitely going to have my hands full with two of you!”
“It’s a boy!!??”
“Sorry,” you cringed. “I couldn’t wait.”
Robert “Bob” Floyd X FemReader
The last time Bob had seen you was half a year ago and he missed you like crazy. The phone calls home, random texts, and video calling was not enough to satisfy him. He longed for you touch and presence. After the marriage you both could only have a short honeymoon before he was off once again with Phoenix protecting the country you lived in. Now that he was back on base for a few weeks of training he dropped everything once a family day was planned. He called you immediately letting you know. You promised to come, missing him as much as he missed you. What Bob didn’t realize is how much your lives were going to change once he saw you.
Bob stood in the midst of his fellow pilots, messing with the collar of his uniform in the stifling heat. Phoenix elbowed him jokingly when the noises of the bus filled the atmosphere. The pilots jittered and joked amongst each other excitedly. The knowledge that they were going to get to see their loved ones so soon had them amped up. That excitement grew into concern when the bus seemed to be empty but no sign of you. Phoenix was chatting with her parents when Bob finally spotted you. The bus driver was helping you down the stairs and the difference in your form since the last he had saw you caused Bob to stumble awkwardly. Phoenix noticed and grabbed him in time.
“Easy there Bob,” she said before looking towards where he stared in shock. A younger member of a different family was helping you towards your husband. You chatted sweetly with your helper thanking him kindly when he left you to go join his family once again.
“Nice Bob,” Phoenix slapped her WSO on the back. “Who knew that you were going to be a dad so soon?!”
“Hey Bob,” you hugged him and he stiffly returned the hug.
“How did this happen,” he stuttered.
“Seriously,” you raised your eyebrow. “Do I really need to remind you what happened the last time you were home?”
The other pilots whistled after eavesdropping. Bob blushed scarlet and begun to wobble on his on two feet.
“Phoenix can you catch my husband for me again,” you looked at the female pilot. She stepped in catching him and helping Bob inside while you followed along.
“Are you at least happy Bob,” you asked disappointed in his reaction.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life,” he replied holding your hand tightly. “I’m just overwhelmed at the moment.”
You laughed but kissed him on the cheek. While it wasn’t the reaction you were looking for you knew Bob never lied.
Through the Looking Glass
Summary: “I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.” —Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Pairings: Steven Grant x fem!reader, Jake Lockley x fem!reader, Marc Spector x fem!reader
Word count: 9.2k
Warnings: Rough non-con, panty kink, violence, blood, gunplay, glove kink, asphyxiation, murder, creepy behavior, kidnapping, discussions of mental health
Note: the wait is over! writing this one hit a little too close to home lol. i want to thank my wonderful beta @nephilxterra for everything she did to workshop this. love you to pieces!
The first time you saw him was in the early morning.
Everyone was waiting for group to start when the big double doors marking the entrance to the psych unit swung open. Two paramedics wheeled a gurney right across the white line on the ground you weren’t allowed to cross with a man strapped to it. The unit you were in constantly saw people coming and going, so no one else paid him any mind. However, even at the risk of seeming rude, for some reason you didn’t understand, you couldn’t stop staring at him.
He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the hollows of his cheeks were sunken in and sallow. The patients who were brought into the unit were normally calm (usually due to whatever anti-anxiety meds that had been given to them at the emergency room they were transported from), but there was something different about how resolute he appeared, like he was preparing himself for what was to come.
Suddenly, his gaze shifted, and his eyes locked with yours. Your breath hitched in your throat. You felt rooted to the ground by his eyes on you, as if he’d turned you to stone with the weight of his gaze alone. You couldn’t tear your eyes off of his. There was something impossibly dark about them, like they were two cold, empty voids you could fall into and get lost in forever. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.
You thought you saw his lips curve into a hint of a smirk before he was wheeled out of your sight.
You didn’t see him again until dinner time.
He was considerably more groggy, trudging into the rec room where the other patients waited while the nurses passed out trays of food. One of the nurses called out the name ‘Marc Spector,’ and he moved forward, clutching one of the unit’s standard issue blankets close around him.
By the time you got your tray, you spotted him sitting alone at one of the tables, picking at his mac and cheese absentmindedly with the tongs of his fork. Your heart wrenched in your chest with pity for him. You were lucky you’d been brought into the unit late in the night so you’d had time to process the situation while you slept. You could only imagine how overwhelming it was for him to be thrown into the middle of it all.
You mustered your courage before walking over to him. He raised his head when he saw you approach. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, plastering a smile on your face.
He looked up at you through droopy eyelids. “No, not at all.” His voice was weak, but you could just barely make out the lilt of a British accent.
“Thanks.” You slid into the chair across from him and introduced yourself. “You must be Marc.”
“Actually, my name is Steven,” he corrected you.
You blinked at him. You could’ve sworn the nurse said Marc, but you must’ve misheard. “Oh, my bad.” You shifted in your seat. “Is this your first time in a psych unit?”
He tilted his head, his face drawn up in a pensive expression. This close, his eyes weren’t hollow like they seemed before. Maybe it had been all in your head. “I’m not sure.”
You furrowed your brow. How could someone not remember being institutionalized before? Maybe whatever drugs were in his system were still wearing off. You didn’t recognize him though, which meant it was at least his first time in this particular unit. “That’s okay. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to be afraid. Everyone here is really nice.”
He perked up, some of the fog clearing from his gaze. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re all easy-going. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Groups are optional, and most of the time they’re just fun stuff like games and arts and crafts. It’s not like you’ll be forced to spill your deepest darkest secrets or anything.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “Honestly, the most annoying part about being here is the nurses waking you up at six a.m. to check your blood pressure.”
That managed to earn a wheezy laugh from him, and you’d be lying if your stomach didn’t flutter a little at the sound. “That’s good to hear.”
Your face heated up under his gaze, and when you smiled at him this time, it was genuine. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in and out of here in no time.”
From then on, you and Steven were practically attached at the hip. He told you everything he knew about Egyptian mythology, reciting all sorts of stories about the gods Osiris and Anubis and Taweret that were better than any trashy romance novel you could find in the unit’s bookcase, and in turn you showed him the ins and outs of the unit. You took turns seeing who could solve a Rubik’s Cube the fastest (which Steven always did in an unprecedented short amount of time). You played long running games of Golf with the other patients, keeping score of who was in the lead until someone went home and then you’d start all over again.
You couldn’t remember smiling as much as you did since Steven had arrived there. You felt more yourself when you were around him, like you’d been sleepwalking through life and suddenly you were wide awake for the first time in months. Which made it even more heartbreaking when you discovered that he wasn’t real.
Steven Grant didn’t exist.
You were sitting in the rec room with the TV turned to a channel running a marathon of old B movies. The one that just so happened to be playing was Tomb Buster, a film whose main character was a British archaeologist who excavated Egyption tombs and just so happened to be named Dr. Steven Grant.
At first, you were worried that you’d imagined him, that you’d somehow seen this film before and it’d snuck into your subconscious, creating Steven as a way to cope with being stuck in the unit for so long. But it turned out to be very much the opposite: Steven was a coping mechanism for Marc Spector.
Steven fronted consistently since coming to the unit as far as you could tell. You figured he must be a protector, and the stress of the situation was too much for Marc to handle. You hadn’t actually met Marc, but Steven told you plenty about him, though it didn’t always paint him in the best light.
“He can be a real bugger,” he huffed. “Honestly, it’s better off if you don’t meet him. He’d probably just brood you to death.”
After a couple weeks, you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask him how he ended up in the unit, but he told you he didn’t quite remember. He said he figured Marc must’ve brought them in. All he could remember was waking up in his room before being called to dinner where he met you.
You didn’t care that Steven was an alter. You’d met plenty of people with DID before. After all, you were in a psych unit. You were just happy to have a friend. It almost made you selfish enough to wish that he wouldn’t leave.
You couldn’t sleep, not that that was new to you. You had long grown used to fitful, restless nights where you tossed and turned in bed, jolting awake from nightmares you couldn’t remember.
You were also used to feeling eyes on you at night. After all, the nurses completed their rounds every hour, peeking in on each patient through the little window in the door. But recently, something felt off. You could feel someone watching you, and no matter how tightly you clutched the thin hospital blanket to your form, you shivered at the chill that settled deep in your bones.
You burst awake for the umpteenth time that night, sitting up tangled in sheets soaked through with sweat. Your chest rose and fell in rapid succession as you sucked in big gulps of air, and your heart pounded against your ribcage. You reached for the cup of water at your bedside, hoping to get rid of the dry, sour feel in your mouth, only to find it empty.
You grabbed the cup and slipped out of bed, creeping out of your room. You padded down the hall in sock-covered feet, squinting against the fluorescent lights that were on all hours of the day. The faint noises of a commotion hit your ears, growing louder the closer you drew to the rec room.
When you got there, you saw Steven was awake too. His back was to you, and he was pressed up against the doors to the unit, slapping his palms against them. There were two nurses with him, trying to get him away from the doors and coax him back to bed.
“Please, please! You’ve gotta let me out of here!” he yelled. His voice was deeper, and lacking the usual intonation of his British accent. “I’m gonna hurt someone!”
You nearly crushed the plastic cup in your hand. That wasn’t Steven. That was Marc.
“Marc!” you rushed towards him. “Hey, Marc, it’s okay.” You told him your name. “I’m a friend of Steven’s.”
He went still, dropping his arms at his sides. He slowly turned around to face you. His dark hair was wild, and his eyes widened when he saw you. He pressed his back against the doors as much as he could. “Get her away from me!” He pointed at you, his finger shaking. “Stay away!”
Your heart sank to your stomach. You’d been looking forward to meeting Marc, only for him to be so scared of you that you couldn’t get a chance to talk to him.
You felt a hand on your arm and nearly jumped out of your skin. Your head snapped to see a nurse at your side. She must’ve snuck up on you. “Come with me, let’s get you back to bed.” She patted your arm. “You don’t need to be here for this.”
You let her guide you away, craning your neck to see Marc for as long as you could before he was out of your sight.
You didn’t see him for a couple days after that.
When he returned to the unit, you were ecstatic. As much as you wanted to hug him though, you resisted the urge and approached him cautiously with your tail tucked between your legs like he was a wild animal that might spook at any moment.
“Hi,” you said timidly, a small smile on your lips. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes were barely open again, the same way they’d been when you first met him. He was probably still recovering from whatever calming meds the nurses had given him. “I’ve been better, love,” he said, his voice thin.
Your heart thumped a little faster at the pet name, though you reminded yourself he used it often and now was especially not the time to get hung up on little things like that. “So I finally met Marc…”
His face fell. “You met him? When?”
“The night before they locked you away from everyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “He didn’t seem to like me very much…”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, trust me. He was very adamant about making it clear,” you said.
He scoffed. “How could he not like you? I find that hard to believe.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I swear, and he thought he was the more sane of the two of us. Bloke must be out of his mind,” he muttered under his breath.
You bit back a smile. He focused his attention back on you. “What did he say to you?”
“He told me to stay away from him.” You frowned. “He seemed like he was scared of me, Steven.”
His hand shot out and grabbed yours, gripping on tight. “Well, don’t listen to him, alright?” He looked down at his hand and, realizing he was holding you too tight, let go. “I don’t want you to stay away. I’d dislike that very much.”
You couldn’t help but smirk. “You would, now would you?”
“Aw, bug off.” He knocked his shoulder into yours playfully. “I’m sure he was just freaked out to be fronting after weeks of being dormant. It probably had nothing to do with you. Besides, what reason would he have to be scared of you in the first place?”
You pursed your lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Steven. I don’t want to make Marc unhappy.”
“But have you stopped to consider what’d make me happy?” He raised his brows. “And since I actually know you, I figure that’s more important, yeah?”
He batted his lashes at you, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. You heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But if Marc gets mad, that’s on you.”
His face broke out into a lopsided grin. “Puppy dog eyes work wonders, don’t they?”
You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t suppress it anymore and threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I missed you, Steven.”
He went still for a second before tentatively wrapping his arms around your middle. “I missed you, too.” He let out a breath, the tension leaving his body as his shoulders sagged. “Don’t worry, I’m here. I’m back now.”
You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, clinging to him like your life depended on it. You didn’t want to ever let him go again.
You rummaged through the little cabinet in the corner of your room that held what little belongings you were allowed in the unit, a towel wrapped around you. You frowned when you couldn’t find your favorite pair of underwear, though you didn’t think much of it. Things tended to get misplaced when the nurses did the laundry all the time.
You huffed and grabbed for a pair blindly. You knew it was stupid to be upset over something so miniscule, but when you were required to wear a hospital gown and pants the unit provided for you everyday, getting to pick what underwear you wore each day gave you a little bit of freedom back.
Once you were dressed, you walked out into the rec room. You felt ten times lighter when you saw Steven sitting on the sofa by the TV like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You skipped over to him.
“‘Ello, governor,” you mimicked his accent as you plopped down on the cushion next to him. “What do you feel like doing today? Maybe some coloring, round up the others to play some Golf? Or do you just wanna zone out and watch TV all day?”
He didn’t respond, too busy trying to stare a hole into something over your shoulder. You cocked your head at him before glancing behind you to see a nurse rolling out one of the patients into the rec room.
“Oh, him? That’s just Arthur Harrow.” You folded your arms over the back of the sofa and shrugged. “You haven’t seen him before because he hardly ever leaves his room, and when he does, he’s usually out of it.”
When he didn’t respond, you looked back at him and froze. His eyes were rolled back into his head, and his body was trembling all over, like he was convulsing or having a seizure. You were about to call a nurse over when he stopped and blinked, his eyes returning to normal.
His gaze fixed on you, and you felt paralyzed. His brows were drawn together, and the features of his face were set into a stern expression. His lips were pressed together in a taut line. You knew in an instant that this wasn’t Steven you were looking at any longer.
“Marc?” you asked tentatively.
He said your name, his voice grim. “You have to listen to me very carefully. I need to get out of here.”
“Marc, I know this must be confusing for you,” you spoke in an even, calm tone, mirroring the way the nurses had talked to you many times before. “But you’re safe. You’re in a psych unit. You checked yourself in at the emergency room, don’t you remember?”
A crease formed between his brows as they knitted together. “That wasn’t me.” He shook his head.
It was your turn to look confused. If he couldn’t remember coming here, and Steven couldn’t either, then who did?
“You’re not listening to me.” He latched onto your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. “Something very bad is going to happen if I stay here.”
Alarm bells rang in your head, and your muscles locked into place. “Marc, you’re hurting me,” you whispered, gritting your teeth.
“Do you hear me?” He shook your wrist, baring his teeth. An errant curl fell down his forehead. “I need to get out of here before something bad happens!”
You glanced over at where the nurses sat across the room. They were looking over at you, taking notice something was wrong, and started to stand. “Marc, you need to calm down or you’re going to get locked away again,” you hissed. You couldn’t handle even a few more days without seeing Steven again.
“You’re not safe.” His voice rose in panic. “He’s going to hurt you.”
Your lashes fluttered. “What?” He wasn’t scared of you, but for you? “Who’s going to hurt me? Is it Steven?”
Before he could answer, two of the nurses were on him. “Too much excitement for the day, huh, Marc?” one of them cooed in a sweet tone.
They each grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him up, escorting him towards the hall. “Why don’t you take some time and rest in your room, all right?”
“Stay away!” Marc shouted after you as he dug his heels into the ground, his voice bouncing off of the walls. “Stay away!”
They dragged him out of sight. You stayed where you were, the sudden silence that had fallen over the room making the tension even more palpable.
He once again disappeared for a couple days, and when he returned, he was the same old Steven you knew well. You didn’t mention the encounter you had with Marc. You figured there was no point talking in circles with him. But you never could quite get Marc’s words out of your head.
You and Steven were the only ones still awake in the rec room. The TV had long been switched off, and the nurses were gone for the moment, most likely trading off shifts.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out?” you asked him, curled up in the recliner and hugging your knees to your chest.
He pursed his lips in thought. “I’m going to look up at the sky,” he said, his voice almost reverent with awe. “That’s what I miss the most about being in here: being able to look up at the night sky and see all the stars forming constellations that were there long before us and will be there long after us, too. Reminds me that in the grand scheme of things, we’re quite insignificant.”
You snorted. “Yeah, that’s real uplifting.”
He rolled his eyes. “I mean that compared to the billions of years the earth has rotated around the sun, our lifespans are like a blip in comparison.” His face was tilted up like he could see the stars through the ceiling. “So we shouldn’t waste time worrying about the little things and make the most of it we can.”
You rested your head on the back of the chair and admired his profile. The longer you’d known Steven, the more you started to look past the under eye bags and appreciate just how disarmingly attractive he really was: the strong curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, his long lashes brushing against his cheekbones, the crinkle by his eyes when he smiled. How thick and soft his dark curls looked, just tempting you to reach out and run a hand through them–
Your runaway train of thought was cut off when he turned to look at you. You sat up, hoping he hadn’t noticed you ogling him like a freak. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get out?”
You cast your gaze down to the floor. You were finally confronted with the sad truth, and you still couldn’t stare it in the face. “It’s not really a matter of ‘when,’ moreso an ‘if.’”
His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no point in me going out there when I’ll just end up right back here.” You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes. “I don’t think I’m meant for the real world, Steven.”
He started to rise from his chair. “Hey, don’t say that.” He scooted closer to you. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that. You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”
You wheezed a laugh, a tear dripping down your cheek. You went still when he cupped your face in his hand, gently brushing away the tear with his thumb. You couldn’t help but lean into his warm palm like a cat nuzzling his skin.
He dipped his head to stare directly into your eyes. “You’re going to get out of here, okay? I promise you will. And when you do, you’ll have me by your side.” The corners of his lips tilted into a small, fond smile. “I’m not leaving here without you.”
Your heart leapt unevenly in your chest. You thought back to what he said earlier, about making the most of what little time you had on this speck of dust hurtling through the infinite abyss of the universe. If that was the case, there’d been something you’d wanted to do for a long time, and you didn’t think you could hold yourself back any longer.
All it took was for you to slightly lean forward to close the space between your lips. Your nose bumped against his, and your teeth clacked together, but you made the most of the clumsy, fumbling kiss that you could. He froze against you, and when he didn’t ease up, you pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured. You could already feel your skin heating up in embarrassment and started to shrink in on yourself. “I just thought–”
Before you could finish your sentence, his other hand came up to frame your face, and his lips crashed against yours. This time, the kiss was like something out of a novel or like what you’d seen in the movies, passionate, sparks going off and fireworks erupting. All the cliches and interchangeable love songs had been right.
You broke away at the same time, both out of breath. Your gaze flickered down to his lips to see they were swollen, a lovely shade of red.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice soft like he was afraid speaking any louder would disrupt the peace that enveloped you both like a warm blanket. “I wanted to do that for a long time, too.”
It was like he could read your mind. He caressed your cheek, and you melted into a malleable ball of putty in his hands. You sighed and closed your eyes, a dopey smile on your lips.
The bubble that had encapsulated you both popped when someone cleared their throat behind you. You pulled away from each other in an instant and turned your heads to see a nurse looming over you.
“Time for bed,” he grunted and didn’t say anything more.
You both crept down the hall like schoolkids who had managed to get away with something naughty, giggling to yourselves. You stopped in front of the door to your room, and he paused in front of his a couple doors down from you.
“Good night.” You bit back a smile. You wanted to kiss him again, but knew better than to risk it. The nurses would be on their rounds soon.
He leaned back against the door to his room. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
You raised a brow. “Did you just quote Shakespeare to me?” You shook your head. “Wow, you really are a nerd.”
You pushed through your door without saying anything else.
You slept peacefully that night for the first time in ages.
Finally, your unconscious state wasn’t plagued by nightmares, by shadow creatures chasing after you while your legs felt like lead. Instead, you dreamed about laying in a wide open field with Steven while staring up at the night sky. He would point out all the different constellations to you, rambling about each one at length, while you’d be preoccupied looking at him like he was the one who hung the stars in the sky. You’d much rather stare into his eyes than at the night for hours at a time any day.
When you woke, your eyes fluttered open, and you stretched your limbs with a groan. Remnants of your dream started to come back to you, and you grinned like an idiot, hiding your face in your pillow. It was still dark in your room, and you half-rose to glance over at the alarm clock on the bedside table to see it was still the middle of the night.
You huffed, though you supposed you should still be grateful. You couldn’t remember the last time you got that many hours of sleep in a row. Maybe kissing Steven wasn’t the cure-all to everything right away. Or maybe you’d have to go farther with him next time to get even more shut eye…
Before your thoughts could veer off into dangerous territory, the skin on the back of your neck rose to stand on end, and you shivered despite the covers on top of you. You looked over at the door, and sure enough, you could see a shadowed face peeking through the window into your room.
You were about to shrug and write it off as one of the nurses checking in on you when the face’s features struck you as odd. Your blood ran cold through your veins when you realized who you were looking at.
It was Marc. At least, you thought it was him. The lines of his face were too stern and the pitch of his eyes too dark to be indicative of Steven.
You managed to break from the paralyzed trance he caught you in and reached up for the light switch on the wall. You flipped it, flooding the room with light that had you wincing. You looked back at the door, but the little, square window was empty, showing nothing but the blank wall in the hallway.
He was gone.
The next day, you ran over to Steven’s room first thing after you dressed. His door was wide open, though when you scanned inside, he was nowhere to be found. You heard the telltale sound of running water from the adjoining bathroom and deduced that he was in the shower.
You took the open door as an invitation to come in and took a seat on his bed, deciding to wait for him. You tapped your foot against the floor as you smoothed your hands over the covers. His bed was perfectly made, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. You imagined him tucking in the sheets to your shared bed when he got up in the morning while you grumbled, pulling the comforter closer around you.
Your cheeks burned as you thought of how many times you’d imagined messing up his bed with him. Now that your feelings were out in the open, would that be a possibility? It’d be tricky with the nurses doing their rounds, though you supposed an hour was enough time to sneak in at least a little bit of fun.
You were drawn from your salacious thoughts when you looked down to see something wedged between the mattress and the bed frame. You furrowed your brow at the piece of fabric. Normally, you would’ve minded your business, but the pattern looked oddly familiar…
You yanked it out from where it was stuck and held it out in front of you. A pit formed in your stomach when your sneaking suspicion was confirmed: it was the pair of underwear you’d lost a couple weeks ago.
You blinked as all the blood drained from your face. You pinched them on both sides between your thumb and your forefinger. You looked inside to see that they weren’t clean. In fact, there was a dried substance crusted over the crotch.
You flung your underwear across the room. At the same time, the door to the bathroom flung open, and your underwear smacked the bare chest of a fresh out of the shower Steven before falling to the floor.
You both stared at each other for a moment, neither one of you daring to speak. You were too consumed by your recent discovery to be fazed by the fact that he had nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
He said your name, his hair straight and plastered to his face like a wet rat. “What are you doing in my room?”
You ignored him. “What’s that?” You pointed to the underwear on the floor.
He looked at you in bewilderment. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?”
“Well, I found them in your room tucked into the side of your bed.” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“I didn’t put them there, I swear.” He stumbled over his words as he spoke. “It must’ve been Marc.”
“Marc, huh?” You clenched your jaw. “I’m guessing it was also Marc who was peeping at me last night?”
His brows drew together, and his upper lip curled in confusion. “What?”
“I woke up last night and saw you staring at me through the window.” You’d thought maybe you were still dreaming when it happened, but now you knew it had very much been real. “Originally I thought it was Marc, but now I’m not so sure…”
“What are you implying?” he asked.
“I talked to Marc a couple weeks ago, before you were secluded again,” you said.
His mouth fell open. He looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think it was important at the time, but now that I know you might be creeping on me…”
“I am not creeping on you!” he interrupted.
“He told me I wasn’t safe and that ‘he’ was going to hurt me.” You stared him dead in the eye. “Who else could that be referring to, Steven?”
“Why are you taking his word over mine?” he fired back. “You don’t even know him!”
You stood up. “Why don’t I talk to Marc then and get this all sorted out?”
He looked disgusted. “That’s not how it works. You can’t just summon one of us like a dog waiting at your beck and call.”
“Well, that’s very convenient for you to blame everything on someone who can’t even defend himself,” you spat. “It must be nice to never have to take accountability for your actions.”
He stumbled back a step, like your words had slapped him in the face. You softened a little bit at his pained expression, but your blood was boiling hot in your veins with fear and anger and embarrassment, urging you to keep going.
“Is everything alright in here?”
You both looked over to see a nurse hovering in the doorway, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two of you.
You stepped away from Steven. “Everything’s fine. We’re finished here.” You looked back at him, sneering, “If you see Marc, tell him he got what he wanted.”
You stomped towards the hall. You paused in the doorway and glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Oh, and you can keep those by the way.” You gestured to the underwear still on the floor by his feet. “They’re ruined now.”
And then you left without turning back.
Today was the day Steven was finally going home.
You stood in the corner of the rec room, watching him. He sat at one of the tables near the double doors, his leg bouncing up and down impatiently. It was the first time you’d ever seen him out of a hospital gown, and you didn’t even get to tell him how adorable he looked in his jacket and flat cap. You wondered if those were the clothes he’d worn when he checked in all those many months ago.
You were surprised at how quickly he managed to recover. It only took him a couple days to be discharged after his fight with you. You wondered if you’d been what was holding him back all along, and now he was doing better without you.
Your whole body ached with guilt over what you’d said. You wished you could take it all back, to suck up all the venom you had spewed so easily. You wished you’d heard him out and hadn’t been blinded by rage. Maybe you’d reacted too quickly. Maybe it’d all been a misunderstanding.
But it was too late. He was leaving now.
You watched as a nurse came over to him and told him something that made him stand up. He started towards the double doors, and your heart pounded in your chest. Before you knew what you were doing, your feet carried you over to him.
“Steven!” you called out. “Wait!”
He stopped right as his hand rested on the double doors. He turned around, facing you with a blank, unreadable expression. You stood on the other side of the white line on the ground separating you, shifting your weight from foot to foot and toying with your fingers.
You hadn’t even thought of what to say before you went storming after him. All the things you’d wanted to say to him for weeks rested on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to spill out: I didn’t mean what I said. I miss you. Please don’t go. I love you.
But there was one thing above all the rest that you wanted to say to him more than anything.
“Steven, I’m…” Your voice sounded impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”
He stared at you, long and hard for a moment. You could feel your pulse throb in your wrists as you waited anxiously for his response.
“I have to go.” There was something off about his voice. It didn’t hit your ears right. “My ride’s here.”
Then, he turned and pushed through the double doors without looking back.
You stood there, watching the doors swing on their hinges while your heart cracked in two in your chest. You swallowed down everything else you desperately wanted to tell him, and all your unspoken words sank in your gut like a stone.
You went back to life before you met Steven.
After living in color for so long, it felt strange to see in black and white again. You withdrew into yourself, not going to groups, eating meals in your room, skipping out on games of Golf with the other patients. You were no longer content with the meager friends you’d make who’d leave in a couple of days. You wanted him.
You’d had hope that maybe there was a chance you’d leave and stay gone once, but now you were sure you were never getting out.
You were lying on your side, staring at the blank wall in your room. You were thinking about the time Steven tried to teach you French (which you had failed at miserably, but you really just wanted to hear him speak the language of love) when you noticed how eerily silent it was. In the middle of the day, there was always some noise in the unit, but now it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Footsteps cut through the quiet drawing closer to your room. You twisted around to watch as a figure passed by. You caught a glimpse of them through the window in the door, their face shadowed by the flat cap low on their head.
Your heart rate spiked. It couldn’t be…
You threw the covers off of you and jumped out of bed in a hurry. You peeked your head out of the room just in time to see him turn the corner. You slipped down the hall, following in his tracks. You wondered if you were seeing things, if you’d finally truly lost it. Only one way to find out…
You rounded the corner and noticed the door to Arthur’s room was open. You furrowed your brow as you crept forward. You peered into the room and saw the figure with his back to you, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his jacket as he hunched over.
“Steven?” you asked, hopeful. Had he come back for you like he promised?
The man stood up straight and whirled around to face you. Your face fell. The man you were looking at had Steven’s face, but his eyes were cold and dark without the usual twinkle in them. They made goosebumps rise on your arms.
You stumbled back a step. “You’re not Steven.” And judging by the harsh, grim lines of his features, he wasn’t Marc, either.
He swayed to the side and something behind him caught your eye. Arthur was sprawled out on his bed with his mouth open in a silent scream, his wide eyes boring into you. A red stain bloomed in the middle of his white hospital gown.
He was dead.
The man smiled. “Allí estás, querida.” He took a step towards you. “Esperaba que te presentaras.”
That’s when you noticed the gun he was gripping in his gloved hand.
You opened your mouth to scream, but he was on you in a second, clamping a gloved hand over your mouth. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you back flush against his solid chest. “Silencio,” he hissed in your ear.
You writhed against him, kicking your legs, but his hold on you remained strong. Your screams came out muffled against his hand. He dragged you down the halls like you weighed no more than a feather, even as you struggled. You tried to dig your heels into the ground, but that did little to deter him.
As he carried you, you noticed the carnage he’d left in his wake: patients and nurses alike, some you’d known for months, slumped over on the floor and painted scarlet. You were oddly enough thankful for his hand over your mouth as you gagged, your stomach contracting in on itself.
He pushed through a door and yanked you outside. You squinted against the harsh light assaulting your eyes to see you were behind the hospital. You sucked in a breath of fresh air through his hand covering your nose and mouth. You had no idea your first time outside in months would be like this.
He pulled you over to a white limousine that was parked behind the hospital. He wrenched open the door and threw you inside. You landed on the plush seats, and he slid in after you, closing the door behind him and shutting out the light behind the tinted windows.
You instinctively reached for the door handle, but before your fingers made contact, you heard the lock click into place. That didn’t stop you from tugging on it anyway. “Let me out!” you yelled, slapping your palms against the glass. “Help! Somebody, please!”
He sneered as he grabbed hold of the back of your hospital gown, ripping you away from the door. His other hand holding the gun came up and brought it down on you, smacking you clear across the face. Your head fell to the side, your cheek already blazing. The inside of your mouth was cut from where metal had struck against teeth, the copper taste of blood flooding your mouth.
You clutched the side of your face, your cheek throbbing under your palm. Your skin stung and was already starting to swell. You backed away from him and pressed yourself against the other side of the limo, as far away from him as you could get in the confined space.
“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice barely louder than a whimper.
He chuckled, and the sound made a chill run down your spine. “Si quisiera matarte, ya estarías muerta.”
You wrinkled your brow. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How’s this, princesa? Better for you?” he asked in a thick hispanic accent.
You swallowed hard around the lump in your throat. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Jake Lockley.” He tilted his head, eyes trailing over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I’ve been waiting to finally meet you for a long time, querida. It’s a shame you had to behave the way you did.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You kidnapped me.”
“I could’ve done way worse. You saw what I did to your little amigos back there.” His lips split open into a grin. “You should be thanking me right now.”
You gritted your teeth, thinking about the corpses littering the hallways of the unit at this very moment. “Why did you kill them?”
“I didn’t want to,” he said, though he didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest, “but they were in the way of my target.”
You furrowed your brow. Target? The image of him hunched over Arthur’s dead body covered in blood flashed unbidden in your mind, and you had to keep from retching again. He’d been after Arthur the entire time.
“Why?” you asked. Was he some kind of hitman or something? “Why did you kill him?”
He leaned back in his seat, his lips tilted into a lopsided smirk. “That’s for reasons far beyond your understanding.”
“Then why didn’t you kill me?” you snapped. “Or is that also too far beyond my understanding?”
He wasn’t fazed by your temper. In fact, he seemed impressed by it. “You got quite the mouth on you, querida.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s one of the things that drew me to you.”
There was an intensity in his eyes, an almost sort of fondness he held for you. Your eyes went wide. The underwear. Marc’s warnings. The face in the window. They’d been him this entire time.
Steven was right, and you had called him a liar to his face.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Jake continued. “I was worried you’d become a distraction that’d I’d have to get rid of, but that was before you proved yourself useful to me.”
You curled your upper lip. “Useful?”
“You knew all the exits and entrances to the building, when the nurses would be on rounds and change shifts, all the blind spots on the security cameras.” He spread his arms wide. “I have to hand it to you. If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I’d have been able to pull it off.”
The world started to spin around you. You’d known everything there was about the unit and told it all to him so freely. He’d taken advantage of the knowledge you’d acclimated after being there for so long and your loneliness. You’d practically served Arthur to him on a silver platter.
“No…” you muttered under your breath. You shook your head, your breath accelerating to the point where you were nearly hyperventilating. “No…”
“Think of it this way: without you, a lot of more people would’ve potentially died.” He shrugged nonchalantly, like he was discussing the pros and cons of buying a new car. “Consider the fact that I’m sparing your life as my repayment for your help.”
You squared your jaw. “Thank you,” you spat.
He hummed, his eyes sliding over you. “I can think of some other ways you can show your appreciation.”
He reached forward and cupped your face in his gloved hand, stroking your skin with his fingers. Your muscles locked into place, your pulse thrumming at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings. You tried to shirk him off, but he tightened his grip until he was squishing your face, the leather of his gloves painfully digging into your skin.
“Steven,” you tried to say, but it came out garbled. “Steven, I know you’re in there. Don’t let him hurt me.”
“He already told you that’s not how this works, remember?” He leered at you. “But don’t worry. He’ll be watching everything I do to you.”
You were thankful he was holding your chin so tight, stifling the sob that threatened to come out of you.
He tilted your head this way and that like you were a pet he was appraising. “I meant it when I said you have quite the mouth.” His tone was menacing. “But I think I have a better use for it.”
He pinched your cheeks closer together, forcing your lips apart. “Open.” He pushed a gloved finger into your mouth.
A fire burned in your eyes as you prepared to bite down. He must’ve felt your jaw tense, because he started tutting. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”
You felt the metal silencer on the gun in his hand press against the side of your head, and your body went stiff. “I’d hate to blow your pretty brains out all over the inside of this limo.” He smirked. “It just got cleaned.”
He slipped another finger into your mouth, parting your lips even further. He thrust them in and out, feeling around the wet cavern of your mouth. His fingers were so thick, they filled the entirety of your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and pushing against the roof of your mouth.
You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. You didn’t want to see his face, the same face you’d admired and adored for so long, twisted into something so cruel and ruthless and menacing.
“Open your eyes,” he hissed, pressing the gun harder against your head. “Look at me.”
Your eyes snapped open, staring up into his unforgiving ones. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, the leather shiny and glistening. He shifted his grip on your chin, and your saliva felt cold and tacky against your skin.
“I wanted to see you like this from the first day I saw you.” His voice was low. “On your knees for me like the putita you are.”
His hand shifted on the gun, and then he was pushing it into your mouth. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull, and you made a noise of defiance, pushing against his knees. He didn’t ease up, sliding it further into your mouth. You stilled when it hit your uvula, your throat constricting painfully around the metal.
The gun retreated, and you sagged in his grip a little bit, exasperated. But then he thrust it all the way back into your mouth, forcing you to gag again. “Come on, putita. Treat it like a cock,” he taunted you. “You know how to suck cock, don’t you?”
You looked at where his finger hovered over the trigger and knew what he would do if you didn’t comply. You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head in time with his thrusts despite the way you trembled in his grip. Your mouth squelched each time the gun sank to its limit.
“That’s it, cariño,” he purred. He let go of his grip on your chin to pet the top of your head condescendingly. “Isn’t it so much better when you’re a good girl for me?”
The gun was massive, thicker than his fingers and even longer due to the silencer almost doubling its length. And he insisted you took all of it, shoving it down your throat. Your jaw ached from how wide it was pried apart, and your dry lips cracked around where the gun slid into your mouth. Your tears mixed with where your drool collected on your chin, dripping onto your lap below.
He pulled the gun out with an impatient growl. You sputtered, coughing for air. Your lips were swollen and sore from all the abuse they’d already suffered.
“Turn around,” he demanded.
You froze, fear seeping deep into your marrow. You stared up at him with wide, unblinking eyes like a deer caught in headlights.
“Turn around,” he repeated, gritting his teeth. “Now.”
You still didn’t move. He got fed up and grabbed you by the hair. You cried out as he yanked on your scalp, forcing you to turn around. He pushed on your head, and you crumpled to your hands and knees in front of him.
Alarm bells went off in your head when you heard the jingle of his belt behind you. “I thought you were done with this.” He undid the buckle lightning fast, tugging it loose through the loops on his pants and whipping it off. “What happened to my good girl?”
“Please, don’t,” you croaked, your voice hoarse. “I’ll do anything, but not this.” Not like this.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, querida,” he sneered, pushing up your hospital gown. “You may not want me, but I know you’ve wanted this body for a long time. I saw the way you looked at Steven.”
You wailed as he pulled down your pants, your underwear going with it. He leaned down and pressed his nose against your folds, inhaling deeply. Your body tensed, your face flushing with embarrassment.
“I love your scent.” He sighed dreamily. “I used to jerk my cock late at night, smelling your panties, but the real thing is even better.”
He retracted from you, and you went lax under him until you felt him position himself at your entrance. “I can’t wait to get inside you any longer.”
Panic flared in you. “Wait–” you started to beg but were cut off as he pushed into you.
You wheezed, jolting forward as he thrusted into you to the hilt. You fell to your elbows, arching your spine as his grip on your hair kept your head up. Each time he thrust into you hard, it felt like a punch to the gut. His hold on your hair was so tight, you thought he would rip the strands straight from your scalp.
You tried to scramble away from him until you felt the gun pressed against the back of your head. “Don’t test my patience, putita,” he grunted.
You went still and squeezed your eyes shut, your chin wobbling as you held back sobs. Even without the gun, you knew you’d be helpless against him. He could overpower you easily. At least now you weren’t forced to look at his face anymore.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned. Sure enough, there was a telltale squelch as he fucked into you, every ridge and vein of him sliding against your sensitive walls. “Is this all for me?”
You yelped as he sped up the pace, the clap of flesh against flesh filling the interior of the limo. He let go of his grip on your hair, and your head fell forward against the seat. He brought his hand down on your ass hard, eliciting a squeak from you. You were sure you’d have an imprint of his glove on your cheek for days afterward.
“Do you think Steven could fuck you this good, huh?” He leaned forward to growl in your ear, his hand slipping down to rub at your clit. “‘Cause I don’t think he’d last more than thirty seconds in this warm, tight pussy.”
You bucked against him involuntarily as he rubbed light, fast circles over your clit, the fingers of his gloved hand sticky with your spit brushing against the bundle of nerves just right. Your vision went white as pleasure spread across your whole body. You clawed at the leather of the seats, leaving scratch marks as you convulsed around him.
“Mmm, yeah, that’s it.” His voice was husky as he didn’t let up on your clit. “Come for me, putita.”
You mewled from the oversensitivity as you came down from your high. The guilt and shame set in, heavy like a stone in your gut, and you felt sick to your stomach getting off on this man forcing himself on you.
“Do you think Marc could make you come that hard?” He pressed the gun harder into your head until it dug into your scalp. “‘Cause I think he would finish before he could get to feel you squeeze his cock like that.”
He hammered into you at a frantic, rapid pace. He shoved your head into the cushions until you couldn’t suck in a full breath of air. You scrambled, trying to push yourself up with your hands pressed against the seat, but his hold on you didn’t budge an inch. Your screams came out muffled, and your lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen.
“Fuck, just like that.” His voice started to rise in pitch, and his thrusts lost rhythm. “You’re gonna make me come, putita. I’m gonna fill you up, have you dripping with me for days.”
You were too out of it to try to protest. Your head swam as you felt him thrust into you as deep as he could. He stilled as he came inside of you, flooding your insides with his hot seed.
He pulled out of you and flipped you over. You gasped for air, greedily sucking in sharp intakes of breath. The fuzzy, gray dots clouding your vision started to clear just as his lips crashed into yours, stealing what little breath you’d manage to inhale. He forced his tongue into your mouth and ran it along the cut on the inside of your cheek, making it sting all over again.
He pulled away from you and licked his lips, painting them red with your blood. You slumped back against the seat, overcome with exhaustion. He looked down at where his come mixed with your juices trickled out of your abused hole, pooling on the leather cushions beneath you.
“Khonshu is not gonna like that,” he muttered to himself. He took off his hat to rake a hand through his sweaty locks before putting it back on. “He’s not gonna like where I’m taking you either.”
He rose, ducking his head as he climbed into the front seat. You mustered enough strength to lift your head. “Where are you taking me?” you rasped.
You caught his dark gaze in the rearview mirror. He twisted around in his seat to look at you over his shoulder, raising the gun still clutched in his hand as a reminder of his power over you. (Not that he needed to. You were too weak to fight him now, anyway.)
“You’re coming with me.” His lips parted in a smirk. “Steven said he wouldn’t leave without you, and I intend to make good on that promise.”
Querida - Darling
Cariño - Sweetheart
Princesa - Princess
Putita - Little bitch/slut
Silencio - Silence
Amigos - Friends
“Allí estás. Esperaba que te presentaras.” - “There you are. I was hoping you would show up.”
“Si quisiera matarte, ya estarías muerta.” - “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”
the moment the haikyuu boys knew they lost you for good
KAGEYAMA always went to the grocery store with you. after you had left, he made sure to wait it out until you got back. of course he wasn’t going to go without you, he couldn’t imagine doing it alone. two weeks had past and he was now surviving on rice alone. condiment here, topping there, he was fine. wasn’t the best, but he could manage. the third week past, and he found himself traveling to the local market because he was out of everything. he’d walk past the stands you both used to disguise yourself multiple times to get free samples from, or the fridge you’d study for minutes without end wondering which juice would best fit your walk home. he even bought a juice for you, heading home with his groceries, wishing you were there to yell at him for holding all the bags by himself.
the juice sat in his fridge too, waiting for you to come back.
SAKUSA always kept his passenger seat warmer on for you. when it was winter, and even during the summer, he would watch you pressed the button. he didn’t understand it really, it could be a million degrees outside, yet you’d still press it. whenever questioned, you just claimed that you get cold easily. so, he took it in his hands to always make sure the car was warm for you. it had been months without speaking, yet he continued to prepare the vehicle like always. it was a year since your breakup at this point, and he was driving to pick up a date. the whole thing was set up by atsumu, he claimed sakusa was too pent up and needed to relax. and as he picked them up, his finger clicked the button as a force of habit.
“I think you pressed the wrong button, Sakusa. I’m not cold.”
AKAASHI no longer had that fresh cup of coffee you prepared him every morning when he was deep in an all nighter, rushing to finish his papers before the deadline. he felt himself getting more tired by the time it hit eight am, something he normally didn’t experience when you were around. dragging himself to the kitchen, he made his own cup. but it didn’t taste the same. it was the way he made it before he met you, but he had grown so accustomed to the way you had put a little bit more sugar than he did, or the way you made it a different roast. he found himself searching for the same brand, the same measurements, but to no avail.
the coffee he made was nothing like yours, and it will never be.
ATSUMU figured you’d come back eventually. he waited day and night, still doing things he did normally. he’d ignore the girls clinging to him at games, claiming he had a girlfriend. he would buy two servings from onigiri miya just in case you came home. he also would make the bed just the way you like it, because he didn’t feel like being scolded. the house was spotless, and everything seemed fine. that’s how most knew it wasn’t okay, because he was the type of guy to purposely forget small things like that just for you attention. it was something you vocally expressed that made you fall in love with him.
little did he know, it was the same reason you fell out of love.
KITA thought you were just staying with a friend. it was until he noticed your toothbrush was missing that he lost all composure. he found himself searching the house for other small belongings you owned. your contact solution wasn’t in the cabinet, and your special fabric softener was missing. debating whether or not to call, he paced around his home in hopes that his rapid thoughts would figure out a solution to something that very much seemed like a problem. he would text you, only to realize the message was left for days without a response.
he wanted you back desperately, but he reacted too late.
SUNA was doing fine without you. sure, you had moved out completely, but you guys still talked everyday. it was only a matter of time until you made up and moved back in. he went about his day normally. waking up and stretching, eating his normal breakfast and catching up on the twitter drama of the week. something was off though, and a few moments later, he realized that he never received a good morning message from you. he often slept through his alarm, so you always sent a reminder. his fingers quickly typed your name in the search bar to send you a quick message, and there was no feeling inside his body besides his heart dropping.
‘No user found.’
a/n: here’s a lil sum sum i had saved up since i’m on vaca xx <3
Baby Bump, Spencer Reid
Spencer Reid x pregnant!Reader
Word Count: 715 words~
Today seemed like any other day. I woke up beside Spencer before he did. I got up without waking him before walking to the kitchen and doing my usual morning routine. I took my prenatal vitamins and started Spencer's coffee while cooking him two eggs and toast. Everything seemed, and still seems, normal.
Although these are things I do any other day, something feels off. Like, something seems off about the house or something in it. I know it's not exactly 'normal' to be pregnant (I'm only twenty-four weeks along though) and that may be what's making me feel weird. Maybe Spencer will feel it too when he wakes up.
Once the coffee is made, I begin to pour some into a mug, only to hear footsteps sounding against the hardwood floor beneath me. Looking away from the coffee cup, I turn my head and smile seeing Spencer rubbing his tired eyes. His hair is pointing in every direction while his chest is bare and his cotton sweatpants hang off his slender hips. Still, nothing seems out of place.
"Good morning, sunshine," I greet him with a grin, turning my head back down to look at his coffee cup, adding sugar as I do so.
"Good morning to you too," Spencer says with a smile before walking over to me. Stopping behind me, he wraps his arms around my waist and places his hands on my stomach, running over the area a few times; a ritual he's done since the second I told him I was pregnant.
After Spencer's hands rub my stomach a few times, he stops suddenly. Without warning, Spencer drops to his knees and turns my body toward him while I stare down at him with wide and shocked eyes. "What? What is it?" I immediately ask him, referring to his sudden erratic movements.
Looking down at him, I watch as he lifts my shirt up above my abdomen stomach and places his hands against the skin of my stomach. A few seconds pass before Spencer breaks into an open mouth smile, a small gasp emitting from his parted lips. "What?!" I ask him again, growing impatient. He's starting to scare me!
"Someone decided to make an appearance today..." Spencer tells me, his honey orbs flickering up to my (e/c) eyes. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion before I fully realize what he's saying.
I have a baby bump.
Walking fast to the bathroom (because Spencer does not permit me to run), I open the door and walk in with Spencer quickly following behind me. Stopping in front of the mirror, I lift up my shirt like Spencer had done just a few short seconds ago and turn to the side. Sure enough, my stomach is poking out a little more than it was yesterday, and it is a bit rounder. Placing a hand over the risen skin, I smile as the thought of a little person being right here excites me. Of course, I've known this for a while, but to full on see it... it's almost unbelievable.
"Oh my God," I mutter, covering my mouth as tears swell in my eyes. Coming up behind me, Spencer wraps his arms around my waist and places his hand over mine, intertwining our fingers with each other. "Our baby is really here," I note, my voice sounding like an excited whisper. Smiling, Spencer presses his head against the side of mine and nods.
"I know," he tells me, kissing my temple. "I love you."
Turning toward him, I kiss him while holding him close. Pulling apart, I cup his cheek in my free hand while staring intensely into his eyes. "I love you too, Spence," I tell him, my voice calmer now. Like always, Spencer's cheeks turn red just before he gets on his knees once more and kisses my bare belly.
"And I love you as well, little one," He says to my bump. "I know you'll be as beautiful and great as your mother-"
"Or as handsome and smart like your father," I add to the sentence for him, making him chuckle.
"But nevertheless, we'll love you all the more," Spencer resumes speaking before planting one last kiss on my belly as a promise to his words.
happy birthday | austinbutler
note reading this request killed me bruh who hurt u anon?? i asked the discord gc how i was even supposed to go about this... its so sad. but i love it. so here u go!
tw austin literally forgetting ur birthday. wtf.
austin was running around like crazy as of recently. it was the last few weeks of shooting so everything was falling into place, baz was starting to align all the scenes and everyone could begin to see everything coming together, but that also meant that the cast had even more pressure on them. everyone was excited to be done but they were also a little sad — austin had explained it as a bittersweet feeling, relieved that the stress of the last two years was finally coming to close, but upset that he would have to go back to a normal lifestyle, for what was normal for him.
you always took pride in austin’s work, he was a phenomenal actor and you supported him as much as you could, whether that be going to see his works or being there whenever he needed. it was difficult, at times though, when he’d be gone for long periods of time or threw himself so far into his work that he seemed to brush you off. it was often, and you knew he didn’t mean to ignore you, but it just happened naturally although usually it passed quickly. this time, though, was different.
you hadn’t spoken a real conversation with each other in about a week, you guessed, and hadn’t really seen him in days. you always knew he came home, you’d hear the door open late at night and felt him crawl into bed with you, but most times you were too tired, and so was he, to stay up and spend time with each other, so he’d greet you with a kiss to your shoulder and then pass out moments later. you missed your boyfriend, but you knew how seriously he took his career and had made the commitment to support him when you first got together. you couldn’t complain — technically, you had signed up for this.
it wasn’t until your birthday that you ever said anything.
“you’re so old now! i miss you.” you were on a call with your sister, pulling into your driveway as she was connected to the bluetooth in your car. “how is everything? got any big plans for your birthday?”
“yeah, actually. austin isn’t needed today so i think we’re gonna do something,” you answered, the smile on your face being your first genuine one in a while. you were excited to see your boyfriend, actually spend time with him for once in what felt like forever. “he’ll be done filming in a couple weeks but he’s been so busy lately, i feel like i haven’t seen him in years,” you explained, pressing the button to open your garage.
“that’s good. tell him i say hi. you still want me to come down for the premiere?”
“yeah, definitely. i’m going with him to cannes but whenever it gets to theatres here we’ll get you a ticket,” you said, glancing over as you noticed the second garage door lift open and austin’s car reverse out. “can i call you back in a bit? i just got home.”
“yeah, for sure. love you.”
“love you too.” you hung up with your sister, then honked your horn to grab austin’s attention. the boy looked over, and his lips curled into a soft smile as he lifted a hand to wave at you. he looked tired, hair wet from the shower you assumed he had just taken and his thin smile not quite reaching his eyes. he still looked as pretty as the day you’d met him so many years ago, but you knew he was exhausted. this movie was kicking the shit out of him, and more for his case than yours you couldn’t wait for it to be over.
you rolled your passenger window down, him following suit, and you leaned into the passenger seat as you yelled to him. “where are you going? i thought you had the day off.”
“baz just called, i guess he needs me to come and help him with piecing together a bit of the scenes,” austin explained, and you felt your heart drop a little in your chest. “shouldn’t be long, though. just a couple hours. i’ll be home for supper i think. you’re not working tonight, right?”
he forgot about your birthday. “no, i’m not.”
“okay, i’ll see you later then. i love you!” austin called, giving you a smile before continuing to back out of the driveway. he hadn’t even waited for you to say i love you back, and he had obviously forgotten why both of you had the day off.
you tried to shake it off as you pulled into the garage, and up into the house. you were greeted by your pup, who jumped on you as soon as you walked in the door and barked up at you. at least someone remembered your birthday. “hi, baby,” you cooed, a smile forming on your face as you knelt down to play with the small puppy.
you spent the rest of the day not doing much, watching netflix and answering calls or texts from your friends and family who reached out to tell you happy birthday. by the time six o’clock came around, you were starving so you made yourself something light to eat in case austin came home. it was ten o’clock by the time you realized, and you had nothing better to do so you went upstairs to take a shower and get ready for bed.
by the time you were getting out of the shower, your towel wrapped around you and toothbrush in hand, you heard the main door downstairs open and close, and you sighed. you wanted him to come home but to be honest, you were dreading it. it hurt, austin forgetting your birthday, but you tried to ignore the feeling as best you could. you continued brushing your teeth, hearing austin yell into the house, “y/n? you up, baby?”
you spat out the toothpaste, calling back to him. “upstairs!” moments later you heard his footsteps walking into the bedroom, and the sliding door into your bathroom opened, revealing austin with his dark hair and grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and eyes circled dark with eyeliner. you looked up at him, speaking through your toothbrush. “you had to film today?”
“yeah, baz wanted me to retake a couple things,” he explained, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. you mumbled something, finishing up before washing your face and moving into your closet to change. by the time you walked back out, wearing only a t-shirt of austin’s, he was lying in bed, shirt off with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he laid on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. you said nothing as you crawled into bed, reaching over to turn the light off.
“you okay?” austin asked, not glancing up from his phone but offering a hand, reaching over as he draped his arm around your chest, rubbing your shoulder.
“mhm.” you rolled over onto your side, back facing him. it was then that he looked over at you, but you couldn’t see. he retracted his hand and went back to his phone, deciding to ignore it. you were probably just tired.
it wasn’t until filming was done, austin technically being completely finished with the project, that he realized he had missed your birthday. it was the first day he had nothing to do, when he was lounging around the house all day, waiting for you to get home.
that day was olivia’s birthday. he had reached out to her first thing in the morning, texting her that he wishes her a good day, and that’s when it hit him. your birthday was just about a month before olivia’s, but he couldn’t remember doing anything for it. that’s because he forgot.
laying back in bed, austin ran his face over his hands. fuck. he was an idiot. he glanced over to your side of the bed, sheets still tangled from when you had gotten up and gone to work hours before without a word. usually you kissed him goodbye, or he’d do the same to you depending on who left first, but you hadn’t done that in a while. austin didn’t think much of it until he realized why.
this wasn’t something that he felt comfortable just texting you about, so he decided to wait until you got home. he had gone out and bought some groceries and things he needed, having a plan on how he would surprise you. it was about 6:30 when you got home, finally, austin felt like he had been waiting forever. as soon as he heard the garage door open, he scrambled into the kitchen, grabbing the bouquet of roses he had bought earlier, and positioned himself leaning against the island counter. he felt stupid, but he felt stupider knowing that he had forgotten something as big as this — and gone weeks without realizing, mind you.
“hi, my love,” austin greeted as you walked into the living area. you paused, your feet frozen in place as you looked
at him, dressed in black jeans and a black long sleeve, hair recently dyed back to his natural sandy blonde. he held red roses in his hands, a nice contrast to the all black he wore. “how was work?”
“it was fine… what is this?” he had candles on the table in the middle of the room, a nice smell of something cooking on the stove, and the lights in your house were dimmed slightly, the night sky doing nothing to light up the room save for the moonlight.
“it’s a… birthday present,” he said, and when you looked back at him, you could see the nervous look on his face. austin wasn’t a generally nervous person, as far as being uncertain of himself went. you could tell this was eating at him, though, and you felt your heart skip as a beat as he began walking towards you. “i’m sorry.”
you dropped your purse to the floor, pressing your lips into a line.
“i’m the worst person in the world,” he said, placing the roses on the table next to the candles and reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “i love you. and i’m sorry i forgot your birthday. i’m a fucking idiot and i don’t understand how you haven’t gotten right pissed off at me yet. i don’t deserve you.”
you didn’t say anything, just accepted the hug that he offered you. austin held your head to his chest, his fingers moving to run through your hair soothingly. you could hear his heart beating only inches away from your ear, and you closed your eyes. “i love you too,” you mumbled, fisting at his shirt. “but i am mad at you. a little bit.”
“why do you think i cooked and got you flowers and ran you a bubble bath?”
“you ran me a bubble bath?” you asked, pulling away from the boy. he nodded, and you pouted your lower lip before standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips. austin didn’t let you pull away so soon, though, as he moved a hand to your jaw, holding you firmly as he bent down and kissed you back deeply. your tongues danced with each other, lips wet and soft as your breath mixed together and you couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed you like this. “is there room for you in the tub, too?” you questioned, pulling away from him.
austin licked his lips, eyes cloudy as he chuckled. “i’m sure we can make room,” he mumbled, lips finding yours once more as he deepened the kiss again.
➳ @mesbouquins @reeldeal @suspiciousbutler @sagesolsticewrites @shimmeringlights44 @bonzaiblitzz @butlersbitxh @floralcyanide @sassy-ahsoka-tano @austin-butlers-gf @anangelwhodidntfall @she-is-juniper @butler-on-beale-street
Hey! How you doing? Weird request but can we have an imagine with Billy Hargrove being a father and how he handles the baby? I need him to have a happier ending 😭
pairing: billy hargrove x f!reader
genre: established relationship! , fluff
A/N: this is so cute, i love your request! 💗
requests are OPEN
You stir awake at the cries of your daughter, she’s just a few weeks old which means she’s still a lot to handle: having to feed her every 2-4 hours, burp her, change her diapers, and bear with her high pitched cries. The whole parenting thing is overwhelming and exhausting but despite it all, having your sweet little angel makes it all worth it.
You were about to go up when a warm hand lands on your arm, “I’ll check on Wendy” Billy says, his voice raspy. He sits up and rub the sleepiness off his eyes and he takes the blanket off his body. “Are you sure?” you ask, pushing the blanket down to your waist as you prepare to go to your daughter. He gets off the bed, “yes I’m sure. Now please get some more sleep” he replies, fixing your blanket by pulling it up to your figure. You hesitate at first but decided not to protest and take the opportunity.
Billy yawns as he enters the nursery, he looks over Wendy and a soft smile forms on his lips. “Someone’s hungry huh?” he says soothingly, wiping away the tears of his daughter with his thumb ever so gently.
He walks over the long table with her necessities: diaper, milk, bottles, kettle, and a gallon of mineral water. He grabs the bottle and pours the water in, 3 ounces of water with one and a half scoop of milk, he reminds himself.
He shakes the formula and places it on a bowl with hot water to warm it up.
Billy approaches Wendy’s crib and lifts her up. Carefully putting a hand under her bum and one between her neck and the back of her fragile head. He cradles Wendy and he sighs in relief, she seems comfy. it’s not that hard he thought. He starts to rock her side to side as he grabs the bottle, checking if the temperature’s right.
He finally feeds her and continues to softly sway your baby to soothe her a little. Wendy immediately chugs on her formula once it touches her lips, causing Billy to chuckle. “You just drank milk two hours ago and now you’re already starving” he says, adorning her features. The first thing that people would notice is her beautiful long and thick eyelashes just like her father’s, she also has rosy cheeks and blonde hair.
She’s a literal carbon copy of Billy.
Wendy finishes her bottle and Billy sets it aside. He puts her up and rests her chin on his shoulder, his hands supporting her body as he burps her - patting her back as gentle as possible. “You know, mommy’s really tired because of you. You’re lucky she loves you very much” he speaks softly.
A sudden wave of guilt spreads through his body as he remembers how worn out you looked a while ago. He felt bad for not helping you enough with the baby, he was just working overtime during the past weeks to earn extra funds since you’re in maternity leave.
But now that his schedule’s back to normal and have more time at home, he decided to take note and watch everything you do to Wendy - how to change diapers, carry her properly, how to burp her, how to check the milk’s temperature, the measurements of the milk and water, how to soothe her and so much more.
And Billy’s doing a great job.
Sure it’s both your first time to have a baby and you both had no idea how to take care of one especially Billy, where all he knew was nothing but both emotional and physical pain from his parents - more specifically his father. But the whole parenthood just naturally came to you and Billy. He may not see it in him but Billy Hargrove’s an amazing father. He’s loving and made sure he’s present in every way possible. He did everything his dad didn’t.
Wendy finally burps and he settles her now peaceful figure back to her crib, tucking her in and placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I love you Wendy” he whisper.
He walks back to your shared room and sees you in deep sleep. He lays down beside you and runs his fingers over your cheeks, brushing away some strands of hair off your face.
Your eyes flutter open at the warmth of his hand, “she good?” you ask and he hums in response. You smile and scoot closer to him, his scent making your body melt and relax from the comfort it brings you.
“I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry I’m not able to help you with Wendy lately. Let me do all the work with her, I want to make sure you get to rest” he says quietly, wrapping his arm around your waist and rubs small circles around your back with his hand. “Honey, you don’t have to apologize, I completely understand” you reply.
“Thanks for being such a great husband and father. I love you so much” you add, your eyes closing again.
“I love you too”
arranged: pt. 6 (blindsided)
arranged - pt. 6 (blindsided)
Pairing: mafia!Chris Evans x Female Reader
Series Summary: Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.
Warnings: language, alcohol, arranged marriage (chris’s family signs contract with readers family that promises their first born daughter to their first born son), parental abuse mentioned, age gap. Reader is 25, Chris is 35. Guns, violence, blood. this series has smut (18+ only).
A/N: love me some angst ;)
Italian and Italian translation in italics. DISCLAIMER - I am not Italian and do not speak Italian, if there is something wrong or something not phrased correctly, PLEASE CORRECT ME! Huge shoutout to @chaelle for helping me with the italian translations :)
likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤
I do not have a taglist, please follow @time-for-a-library and turn on notifications!
Lydia’s hands cupped your shoulders, pushing you back to do a once over, “Well, don’t you just look perky and freshly fucked!”
“Jesus, Lydia!” You pulled away from her, smacking her arm before taking a seat across from her.
She wasn’t exactly wrong.
It’d been a couple of weeks since the night you told Chris you loved him and you guys had just about christened every surface in the house. The bathroom vanity, both dining room tables, the kitchen counter, the pool, his desk in the study…. A bookshelf… You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other and neither of you were bothered by that. He’d fucked you over the hood of his car just 20 minutes ago before the two of you parted ways. The man was insatiable. Although it definitely wasn’t one sided. Being with Chris was like having all the comfort of coming home after a long day, mixed with the adrenaline rush of jumping out of a plane coasting at 20,000 feet in the air. You couldn’t get enough either.
Your eyes scanned the tables around you, hoping they were oblivious to the comment she’d just made, “Why are you like this?”
A grin spread across her face as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, “You love me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes, smiling at your best friend. You studied her face for a second, her normally bright, vibrant, green eyes seemed tired, dull. If you didn’t know her so well, you wouldn’t have noticed the dark circles under eyes, strategically covered with concealer. You chewed on your lip for a second, your smile faltering, “Lyds… you doing okay?”
She waved you off, taking a sip of the mimosa in front of her, “I’m fine.”
“I’ve known you for like 22 years, what’s going on?”
Her hands rubbed against her thighs as she shrugged, “It’s just– everything with Seb. I don’t know. It sucks.”
It’d been a little over 2 months since Seb was targeted by the Irish Mob, resulting in a shattered orbital socket, broken nose, 4 broken fingers, a small tear in his rotator cuff, and a sprain in his ACL. Not to mention the internal injuries he’d sustained. Seb was on the mend now, granted he had a slight limp and bore a few extra scars, but Lydia had confided a couple weeks ago that he was also dealing with some pretty nasty PTSD nightmares. Not to mention they still hadn’t really made any headway. They knew it was the Irish, but they didn’t know how they knew where Sebastian was and how they got to him.
Her green eyes filled with tears, “He’s just… not the same. And I don’t expect him to be, I just don’t know how to help.”
You reached across the table, pulling her hands out of her lap and squeezing her hand gently, “He’s a tough guy, Lyds. And he’s got a pretty tough gal at his side. You guys can get through anything,” you paused, not wanting to say anything untoward, “Do you… do you want me to talk to Chris? See if he has any resources for Seb to get some help? I can’t imagine this is the first time someone in the family has dealt with something like this.”
Both you and Lydia knew that Sebastian wouldn’t ask for help. Stupid cavemen. But maybe if you brought it up to Chris and Chris approached him, it would be different.
She lifted her left shoulder in a shrug, “I don’t know, Y/N, honestly,” she scratched her eyebrow with her thumb, “Part of me thinks it might help, but then the other part of me thinks that it’ll just make things worse.”
“I know what you mean… I don’t know, Lyd, I just wanna help. I hate seeing you like this. Both of you.”
You had only seen Seb once or twice since he was jumped and it crushed you. You’d cried to Chris after the first time, guilt washing over you. Chris did everything he could to convince you it wasn’t your fault, but that was also one of the first times Chris stayed with you all day instead of tending to business and you couldn't help but think that if Chris was with everyone, it wouldn’t have happened.
She let out a humorless laugh, “And I wasn’t even the one on the brink of death.” She rolled her shoulders, as if shaking off the conversation, patting her eyes with the cloth napkin, “Anywho, let’s talk about anything else, please, like the fact that your shirt is missing a button and you’re missing an earring,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
You gasped, looking down at your blouse and sure enough, one of the buttons securing the fabric over your breasts was missing. Your hands flew to your ears, scowling when both earrings were in place.
Her eyebrows wiggled again, “Care to share the class?”
“I do not,” you shook your head, your mind flashing back to the garage where you laid sprawled out over the hood of Chris’s Bentley. He’d ripped open your shirt, but you hadn’t even thought about the fact that he might have torn a button.
Lydia threw herself back against the chair, whining, “Oh, come on! Let me live through you. I’m not getting any, I wanna know all about your sexcapades with Chris.”
You had no intention of sharing any intimate moments of your life with Chris with anyone, especially with Lydia, but you also had a soft spot in your heart for her. So you conceded, knowing that even for just a moment, this would take her mind off of Sebastian. You cleared your throat, eyeing the tables around you again, “Fine. We– uh… before I left…” your voice lowered, “wehadsexonthehoodofhiscar,” whispered, your words slurring together.
She leaned forward, “Huh?”
Sighing, you scrunched your face, “We had sex on the hood of his car,” you repeated, looking at the shocked expression on Lydia’s face.
“THE HOOD OF HIS CAR?!” She exclaimed, her head falling back as she laughed.
“Shhhhh! Lydia, jesus! Keep it down,” you reached across the table, smacking her arm. As embarrassed as you were, seeing the smile on her face as she momentarily forgot what Seb was going through made it worth it. You shrugged, “We were both leaving… we kissed goodbye… he said he liked my ass in these jeans and…. Yeah,” your voice trailed off, not needing to fill in the rest. Lydia always had quite the imagination.
She laughed again, “Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?”
You groaned, “I don’t know, he just– does something to me. Like brings something out in me, I can’t control myself when I’m around him.”
Her amused grin was replaced by one that held sentiment, “I’m so happy for you, Y/N. Like on another level. You were so worried about Chris and… it truly sounds like you found your other half. Not a lot of people in this life get that and… I'm happy that you’re happy, hon.”
“Thank you,” you smiled, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I– I told him I loved him,” you held your breath, anxious for her response. You hadn’t told Lydia that you were falling in love while it was happening or when you’d told Chris, only that you guys had been intimate. Now, given it was a couple of weeks after the fact, you weren’t sure what her response was going to be.
She shook her head in surprise, eyes widening as she processed what you’d just said, “You told him you loved him? You love him?!” She all but shrieked.
Once again, you were shushing Lydia in Mr. Ricci’s crowded restaurant with the biggest smile on your face, “I do, I really do. It’s not that big of a deal, Lyd!”
She scoffed, “Not that big of a deal my ass, Y/N! You’re–” her voice lowered to barely a whisper, “--in love with the most dangerous man in the three families. That’s a pretty fucking big deal, I’d say!
“He doesn’t feel dangerous, at least not to me. I mean, I’ve seen what he’s capable of, to an extent, but he feels bad if we're laying in bed and he tickles me too hard.”
Her mouth dropped open, “Wow. Chris fucking Evans… tickling someone.”
You giggled, “You know, he told me he loves me, too.” you rolled your eyes at her shocked silence, “Pick your jaw up off of the ground, gonna be hard to enjoy Mick’s frittata like that.”
“God, look at you. The pussy that turned Chris Evans soft.”
“Why do you have to be so crass!” you shook your head, not able to stop the next bit coming from your mouth, “And to be fair, I think my pussy has done anything but turn him soft.”
“Who are you?!” She threw her head back laughing and you smiled, happy to take her mind off of everything, even at your own expense.
A few hours later, Vinnie dropped you back off at home, Chris’s car still missing from the driveway. You shot him a quick text, letting him know you were home before climbing the stairs to your bedroom.
Chris: Be home in 20, Romano and Stan are with me. Got some club stuff to handle before this evening. How was lunch?
You: good, remind me to talk to you about Seb when you get home.
Chris: good or bad?
You: nothing crazy.
You: neither good or bad. I mean, kind of bad. But not what you’re thinking.
You: nothing involving organized crime or beating people up in our study.
Chris: cute *eye roll emoji*
Chris: Delete that.
You: Already on it *eye roll emoji*
Chris knew that you cared deeply for Sebastian, he was like a brother to him and with most of Chris’s family living in Italy now, they leaned on each other now more than ever. He would hear you out and probably even talk to Sebastian just to appease you. But it didn’t matter, you’d take it. Even if he was just doing it for you.
Chuckling at your joke, you tucked your phone in your pocket as you walked into your bedroom when you heard Gina calling out after you, “Mrs. Evans! Do you have a second?”
Spinning on your heels, you came face to face with Gina as she power walked down the hall, flashing her a smile, “anything for you, what’s up?” You nudged her on the arm, “and please, call me Y/N.”
She smiled, “Y/N, yes! Well… Mr. Evans normally pays me for the week on Fridays and I was wondering if you’ve seen him?”
Oh. Right. Why did it never dawn on you that she was paid to be here? Not just to hang around and offer cleaning and life advice whenever Chris was busy.
“He’s out, he should be back in about 20 minutes. Does that work?”
She glanced at her watch, “Um, well I have to get my son from school.”
You patted her arm, “of course! Let me call him,” pulling out your phone, you dialed Chris who picked up almost immediately.
“Hey, everything okay?”
You smiled, “Yeah, Gina was wondering about her pay? She’s gotta pick up her son and can’t stick around. What can I do?”
“Shit, tell her I’m sorry. There’s a safe in my nightstand, code is 1215. Pull out three grand.”
Holding up a finger to Gina, you walked into your bedroom and kneeled down to where the safe was, “three grand?”
“Not enough,” you countered, laughing.
You heard him snort out a laugh, “Give her five, then.”
“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of badass, you big softie.”
“Ah hush, I’ll see you soon,” he laughed again, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, bub,” you hung up, sliding the phone into your back pocket before counting out five grand. When you pulled out the last stack of cash, a packet of paper poked out, your name in bold letters next to Chris’s. You furrowed your brows, reaching for the packet when Gina shuffled her feet behind you. Remembering what you were doing, you left the safe open and walked the cash over to her, “Here, G. I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll make sure you’re paid in the morning from now on, promise.”
She stared at the cash in your hand, then shook her head, “That’s way too much, Mrs. Evans.”
“Y/N,” you cocked an eyebrow, teasing her, “And congrats, you got a raise. I told Chris you didn’t make enough,” you winked, pushing the cash towards her.
She threw her arms around you, “Y/N, thank you! You have no idea how much this means,” you squeezed her gently and pulled away, her expression bringing a smile to your face.
You waved her off, “Don’t mention it, you do a lot for us. It’s the least we can do.”
She tucked a strand of her salt and pepper hair behind her ear, “You’re changing him, you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
Her hand reached out, gently resting against your forearm, “In all of the years that I have known Mr. Evans, I have never seen him this happy. His blue eyes have always been captivating, no one can dispute that. But now, they are full of life and you did that.”
“Wow– Uh–” you took a second, clearing your throat, “--thank you, Gina. That… means more than you know.”
She would never know what that meant to you. Ever. Someone that was impartial and had known Chris beforehand could see the difference your marriage was making in his stone cold exterior and the emotion that swelled in your heart, warmed your entire body.
Gina squeezed your arm slightly, “I just thought you should know.”
You hugged her briefly before pulling away, “I appreciate it, now get out of here! Go grab Sean.” She thanked you again before heading down the stairs, your mind immediately being pulled back to the packet of paper you saw in the safe.
Walking back into your bedroom, you knelt on the floor in front of his nightstand, pinching the paper between your fingers and sliding it out from underneath the stacks of cash. You studied the front cover, a few key words sticking out.
You flipped through the papers, realizing that it was your marriage contract… except.. That couldn’t be right. You dragged your index finger across the paper, tracing the inked words as you tried to make sense of what was in front of you.
“This doesn’t… what?,” you mumbled to yourself, flipping another page. You re-read the same paragraph 7 times before the bile crept into your throat.
Chris signed your contract. 10 years ago. When you were 15 and he was 25. Not his father… This wasn’t from birth. This was from 10 years ago! Chris wasn’t FORCED into this, he CHOSE you.
“$100,000?!” You whispered. Your father really had sold you to the highest bidder. It was right here in front of you. Your hand in marriage, in exchange for $100,000 on the wedding night, the year you turned 25. Signed off by daddy dearest and the man you’d come to love. Love.
You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, Chris was lying to you. All this time, you constantly reminded him you were in this together, figuring it out together, but he chose you. He signed the contract. And he let you believe it was all his fathers doing.
The tears in your eyes were making it harder and harder to read, the pain in your chest from the betrayal you felt making it hard to catch your breath.
You’d given everything to this man. Every part of you. Emotionally and physically and he’s been lying to you the whole time.
All the promises he made to “navigate” the arranged marriage you were forced into felt like a knife in your heart because it was his arrangement. His contract. His payment to your father.
You fell back from your kneeled position on the floor, your back hitting the side of the bed as you cried. Your hands clutched at your chest, silent sobs shaking through your body. A part of you didn’t feel like there was a need to feel this betrayed, you knew about the contract. You knew you were Chris’s. That wasn’t anything new.
But the fact that you’d been lied to by your mother and Chris, two of the people you trusted the most, broke you down. When your mother told you about your contract in high school, she told you that Chris’s father and yours made the agreement before they were married. Before any children were born, with the promise that the first borns would be wed. And now… you were finding out that it was Chris all along.
You pulled out your phone, dialing your mothers number, knowing you had about 5 minutes until Chris was home.
She answered after the second ring, “Tesoro, I was just going to call you! I was-“ (honey)
“Mamma,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “you lied to me. You both did.”
“I– what are you talking about?”
You sniffled, wiping at your nose, “Mamma, Chris signed my contract. 10 years ago.”
“So you knew?”
She sighed, “It’s just the life, dolce ragazza.”
“So the two people I love and trust the most have been lying to me this entire time?” your lips quivered as another sob threatened to escape.
“You love him?”
Your hand slammed against the hardwood, “Now is not the time, mamma! You lied to me!” you yelled into the phone, “Chris lied to me,” you sobbed out, burying your face into your hands, the phone dropping to the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest as you cried.
A few minutes later, you heard the garage door open as your phone vibrated against the floor. Wiping at your eyes, you opened the text from Chris.
Chris: Be in the study for a few.
With your judgment clouded by blind rage, you snatched the contract from the ground and stood, making your way downstairs. Chris had told you that when the door was shut to his study, you shouldn’t come in, but you didn’t care. You stomped towards the room, throwing the door open and catching the three men by surprise.
Chris sat at his desk, leaned back in his chair with his right ankle resting on his left knee, his hand scrubbing his beard. Sebastian stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he leaned against a bookshelf, Romano standing next to him. All three heads snapped towards you.
You slammed the contract down onto Chris’s desk, your index finger jabbing at the bold letters on the front, “What the fuck is this?!” you yelled, locking eyes with Chris, mascara dripping down your cheeks.
Chris sat up straight, clearing his throat and jerking his chin towards the door. Sebastian and Romano filed out of the room.
You cut him off again, “You lied to me, Chris! You lied to me!”
He palmed his forehead, taking a deep breath, “I didn’t lie to you.”
“Seriously?” you scoffed, “Lying by omission of the truth, is still fucking lying! This whole fucking time I thought we were in this together. I thought that we were forced into this. But no, Chris. You fucking chose me! You paid for me!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Y/N, it’s not like that, I–”
“I gave everything to you, Chris. Everything!” Your index finger jammed into his chest, “You’re a liar. And you’ve just lost the trust of the only person who will ever truly love you for you and not because they’re afraid to get shot. Fuck. You.” you turned to walk away, but his hand reached out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to a stop. He stood, towering over you. The hurt he felt inside was clearly readable on his usually stern expression.
“Cara, I need you to listen to me, please.”
You yanked your arm from his grip, “Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “It means nothing. This marriage means nothing. Everything we’ve worked towards, means absolutely nothing. It’s all built on a fucking lie.”
He shook his head, his jaw ticking. You could tell he was trying to control his temper, no one ever raised a voice at him like this and you could tell he wasn’t used to it, “That’s not true, Y/N. You have to know that.”
Your voice cracked, “I don’t know that, Chris. I don’t know anything anymore,” shaking your head, you held back the sob that was bubbling in your throat, “But you got what you wanted. A wife. Someone to spread their legs and pass on the family name. And my father got what he wanted. Money and to get rid of me. I guess that’s all that matters in this life,” you paused, your heart aching as you stared at the man you loved, “I was a fool to think that this–” you paused, gesturing between the two of you, “--was anything more than a business exchange.”
Chris stood before you, defeated. His arms hung at his sides, shoulders slumped. For a moment, pride swelled in your chest, knowing you’d been the one to break Chris Evans but it was gone just as fast as it came. “I was going to tell you.”
You laughed, not an ounce of humor to be found, “Classic response.”
“I was, amore mio, I was. I just– I didn’t know how.”
“Well, too little, too late,” you turned to leave again, but this time, Chris stepped to stand in front of you, his large arms caging you against the wall. You felt his breath against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. You took a couple of shaky breaths, “Let me go.”
He shook his head, “We need to talk about this.”
You were entirely too hurt to have this conversation with him. The betrayal you felt right now was nothing you’ve ever felt before, it was crippling. More tears cascaded down your cheeks, “Let me go.”
“No,” he replied simply.
You could feel the venom of the words you wanted to say stinging against your throat. You tried to choke them down, but you couldn’t stop, “And you swore you were nothing like him. I guess that was just one more thing you lied about,” you spat.
He pushed off of the wall, stepping back like you’d punched him in the gut. In a way, it felt like you did. You wanted to puke. His large hand drug down his face before falling audibly to his side, “Where do you plan on going?”
“I don’t think it matters,” you snapped, trying to compose yourself.
He sighed, “Go wherever you want, but I made a promise to you, Y/N. I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I’m not breaking that promise. So where do you plan on going?”
“Anywhere but here.”
He dipped his chin and you tried desperately to ignore the hurt in his eyes, “Please keep Vinnie close. He’s yours for as long as you need.”
You rolled your eyes as you stomped out of the study, heading up to the bedroom. You heard heavy footsteps racing after you. You turned on your heels, ready to give Chris a piece of your mind when you saw Sebastian quickly approaching.
“Y/N.. You need to hear him out.”
“I don’t need to do shit, Sebastian. Stay out of it.”
He took another step, “Y/N, you’ve known me for a long time. You’re like a sister to me. Just.. hear him out. There’s more than meets the eye.”
Without saying another word, you turned and walked into the master bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind you. You stumbled in a daze through the bathroom, grabbing the first duffle bag you saw and throwing in some overnight things as well as your toiletries. You wouldn’t stay gone long, you couldn’t impose on anyone like that, but you couldn’t be here. At least not tonight.
Once your bag was packed, you grabbed your phone from the floor and called Vinnie, letting him know to come pick you up and then dialed Lydia.
“Miss me already?”
You sniffled, “I do. Can I come over?”
“No,” you answered, your voice cracking.
“Oh, honey… come on over. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
You sighed with relief, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
Tucking your phone into your pocket, you opened the door and made your way downstairs. The sound of breaking glass and yelling made you jump. Sebastian and Romano stood outside of the study, their arms crossed as they leaned against the wall. The shouting came from Chris’s study. You winced when more glass shattered.
“Sebastian, don’t,” you held up your hand signaling for him to stop getting closer, “Just… tell him I’m going somewhere safe.”
He dipped his chin, his jaw clenching shut.
It only took another minute for Vinnie to show up and you were out the door. Once you climbed in, you locked eyes with Vinnie in the rearview mirror, “Please don’t tell him where I’m going.”
He nodded, but you knew the second he dropped you off, he would tell Chris. After all, it was Chris that paid him. You were just the wife. You rattled off her address, then slid up the partition, allowing yourself to break down again before you got to Lydia’s.
You ignored the phone calls from your mother and Chris, eventually just turning your phone off all together, still trying to process every emotion that you were feeling right now. You were so unbelievably hurt by Chris lying to you, yet so in love with him that you wanted him to comfort you. Not Lydia. You wanted to lay in his arms, feel his breath against you, his hands tracing circles on your back.
Burying your face into your hands, you cried. The first man you’d ever loved and he shattered your heart completely.
You hadn’t even noticed that Vinnie pulled up to the Ricci’s until his knuckles rapped against the back window, giving you a second to yourself. The partition might keep him from seeing you, but it wasn’t sound proof. Taking a second to rid your cheeks of any runny mascara, you composed yourself and grabbed your bag while Vinnie opened the door.
Lydia kept her promise, the front door unlocked when you approached. You pushed it open, immediately heading up to her room where she was waiting with shot glasses and a bottle of vodka. You smiled, quite pitifully, with running mascara and quivering lips and wrapped her in a hug.
“God, what happened?” She asked, wrapping her arms around you before pulling back and pouring a couple of shots.
You took a deep breath and retold this afternoon, crying some more, taking some more shots. Sebastian was blowing up her phone– for Chris since you’d turned yours off– and it was starting to drive both of you crazy. Maybe Vinnie had kept his word and not said anything to him?
After several hours and several shots, Lydia shot up in her bed, momentarily swaying from the head rush, “We need to go out.”
You snorted, taking a sip of the Screwdriver you’d switched to, “No. I do not look or feel like going on right now. At all.”
She turned to face you, “Come on, it’ll be the best– hiccup– revenge!”
Shaking your head, you downed the rest of your drink, “What are you talking about?”
“Chris owns the fucking clubs on the strip, Y/N! As soon as you step inside of one, his little goons are gonna go running. You’ll be all dolled up, looking totally fuckable and he won’t be able to fuck you. The perfect revenge.”
“Yeah, no. Not happening.”
She whined, “Come on! It’ll be fun,” she insisted, pulling on your arm. She shook your body gently, “Please! Please!”
If it weren’t for the vodka swimming through your veins, you probably would’ve said no and it would’ve been a firm answer. But, that would’ve been 5 shots and 5 mixed drinks earlier and despite how much you wanted to say no, drunk Y/N was always easily swayed by drunk Lydia Ricci.
You groaned, all logic thrown out the window when you pictured Chris being all jealous and protective. Seeing you at the club would most definitely piss him off, that vein in his neck would bulge, he’d probably be wearing a shirt 2 sizes too small so the fabric would strain against his muscles. GOD YES. Goodbye feminism, hello caveman-alpha-husband. You were still pissed, but the thought of him throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you out of that bar (which is the only way you planned on leaving) stirred something deep within you.
Lydia shrieked, standing up and clasping her hands together, “Okay, go wash your face, spruce up your hair. I’ll take care of your outfit and get make up ready to go! This is gonna be so fun!”
“I’m gonna get in trouble,” You rolled your eyes, your words slurring together just a tad. Enough to tell anyone you were feeling it, but not enough that you didn’t want to go out.
30 minutes later, you were dressed in a tiny, black number with a slit that allowed your left thigh to poke through. Lydia let you borrow a pair of heels, 5 inch Louboutins that would drive Chris crazy. You wanted to hate what you were doing, this was silly. He was your husband. But still, Lydia was pretty persuasive and just like that, you were out the door.
You pulled up to the club, a line formed down the street to get in. Luckily (or rather unluckily considering he was immediately going to rat to Chris), Russo was playing the part of dutiful club bouncer tonight. What a freakin’ coincidence. You walked up to the door with Lydia, flashing a grin at him.
He reached out, grabbing your bicep, “Mrs. Evans, I think you should go home. Chris won’t be happy you’re here.”
You yanked your arm out of his grasp, “I’ll do whatever I please. I’m sure the minute I step through that door, my husband will be made aware of my location. He can come find me if he’s that upset that I’m here.”
Pushing ahead, Lydia grinned behind you, “Man, this power of being a don's wife is really going to your head.”
You laughed, grabbing her hand and leading her to the bar to grab a drink, “One drink and then we have to get on that dance floor,” you watched as the crowd of sweaty club goers swayed to the music, hips grinding, hands in the air, as strobe lights flickered around the packed dance floor. The entire room smelled like sweat and vodka and you loved it.
A couple of shots later, you were making your way to the dance floor, Lydia in tow, convinced the evening you had with Chris was a memory of the past. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the talk you’d had with Lydia. You weren’t sure, but she’d done her best to try and make you see Chris’s perspective, too. All children in the 3 families had to be married. All children were involved in a contract. It’s just the life. And as much as you hated that fucking excuse, you knew it was true. But you knew it wasn’t the contract that bothered you. It was the fact that not only your mother, but Chris, too had lied about the terms. You fell head over heels in love with this man and the contract, combined with the lying, was just a reminder that you were nothing but a business transaction.
You felt your chest tighten, downing the rest of your drink to ward off the emotion bubbling in your throat. You were here to have fun. Not wallow over Chris.
Lydia leaned in closer, “You good?”
“Yes! Dance with me!” you yelled back, grabbing her arms and swaying with her.
You threw your head back, hands in the air, sweat beading down your neck as your body moved. You felt the beat of the music, the warmth of the bodies next to you, throwing yourself further into the drunken abyss. Lydia moved beside you, her movements matching yours. You needed this so bad. You felt like a ball of stress, each movement loosening the tension you carried.
Lydia twirled towards you, stopping abruptly and looking over your head, sobering up almost immediately. She gulped, eyes widened at you before she mouthed, good luck.
Turning, you came face to face (well… face to chest…) with a very angry Chris. His jaw was clenched tight and just like you predicted, the vein in his neck was bulging. His arms crossed, biceps flexed against the black button up he wore. Not being able to read the room in your drunken stupor, you looked him up and down, admiring the massive man in front of you. He completed the look with a pair of grey slacks and a black pair of shoes, (this is what i imagined) his brunette hair pushed back out of his face, but lacking the normal style that it normally did. You watched him grind his molars before he spoke up, “What are you doing?”
You could tell he was trying to keep his voice calm, but it wasn’t working. Sebastian stood a few feet back in the same, pissed off stance as Chris, motioning for Lydia to follow him. Yup. You were screwed.
“Well, I was enjoying a night out with a friend before you ruined it,” you replied, watching Lydia walk out the front door, Seb’s hand on the small of her back.
He rolled his shoulders, still trying to keep his composure, “You promised to always answer your phone.”
“You promised to never hurt me.”
You watched his adam’s apple bob as he lost patience, “Let’s go.”
Again… not reading the room, you groaned and rolled your eyes, “God, you’re such a caveman. We were having fun, Chris! Just go, I’ll be home when I’m ready.”
“Well. I’m ready now.”
“And I’m not. I deserve to have fun.”
He sighed, “Y/N, come on,” he extended his hand out to you.
It took everything in you not to slap it away, “No, thank you.”
His eyebrow cocked, “I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where this was up for negotiation. You’re leaving. Now.”
Such a caveman.
Like a disobedient toddler, you crossed your arms over your chest, smirking when Chris’s eyes fell to the cleavage on display.
His eyes met yours again, “You have two options. You willingly walk out of the door, or I throw you over my shoulder and we leave that way.”
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little turned on right now. You swayed on your feet for a second, “I’m not leaving. I’m having fun.”
“Alright,” he responded, bending over and picking you up. He threw you over his shoulder like it was nothing, the club goers splitting like the red sea as he led you out.
“Dammit, Chris!” you slapped his back in a poor attempt to get him to set you back down, “Let me go!”
He continued to walk towards the door, ignoring your commands.
Fine. You wanna play dirty?
“I’m not wearing any panties, Chris! La tua figa is on display for everyone to see,” (your pussy) you yelled. Probably too loud, but it got the point across.
He grunted, reaching out the other hand that wasn’t gripping you to his shoulder to his trusty sidekick, Romano, “Jacket. Now.”
You rolled your eyes when Eddie slid it off, offering it to Chris, who promptly used it to cover your backside.
Chris carried you outside, Vinnie opening the backseat to the town car he chauffeured you around in. He set you down handing the jacket back to Eddie and crossed his arms, his stoic posture letting you know there was no way to escape this.
Rolling your eyes, you turned to climb into the car when Chris reached up, gripping your chin gently, “Cara, roll your eyes at me one more time and I swear to God, I will bend you over the car and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to stop them from rolling. Capito?”
You gulped, your heart pounding against your chest, “That doesn’t seem like a punishment.”
“Obviously you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”
You felt the twinge in your chest, knowing the double meaning behind his words.
“Get in the car,” he demanded, releasing you before stepping around the trunk of the car to climb in on the other side. He immediately threw up the partition. He rambled angrily in Italian, only stopping when he saw the confused look on your face. He sighed, “What are you thinking? Turning your phone off, going to a club with no protection? Are you fucking crazy? Don’t you realize who you married, Y/N? This was stupid and careless.”
You shrugged, “I was having fun,” your words still slurred, you leaned your head against the cool glass window, the lights of the city blurring past you.
Chris was breathing quite heavily next to you and you realized it was him trying to contain the frustration he felt so he didn’t spew it at you. A courtesy you hadn’t extended earlier.
You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. You felt Chris’s hand raise, gently stroking at your jawline. You tensed for a second, your eyes staying shut while his fingers lingered, “Do you really love me?” Your question barely came out as a whisper.
It took him a second to respond, but when he did, it was in Italian, “Più di quanto pensi.”
“Traduci,” you sighed, too tired to attempt the translation on your own.
“More than you know, cara.”
And for the 50th time today, you broke down, tears ruining your newly applied face of makeup. Not that it matters, Chris obviously wasn’t letting you go back out tonight.
You felt your chest tightened, your hand clutching at your sternum as you cried. Chris reached over, pulling you closer and securing his arms around you. You sobbed into his chest, your hands gripping the material of his shirt. While you were still angry at Chris, the fact that he still wanted to comfort you after the harsh things you’d said to him, warmed your heart.
You really were in deep with this man.
“I’m still mad at you,” you hiccupped.
He chuckled, his fingers brushing down your spine, “I know. We can deal with that tomorrow.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it out to you.
Your face scrunched up, “I don’t want that, that’s gross.”
“It’s clean, Y/N.”
Still, you hesitated.
You felt his chest shake as he laughed, “It’s clean, I promise.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, taking it from his hands and dabbing your eyes and nose, “Are you taking me to Lydia’s?”
Ugh, this man.
“Just take me home, I wanna sleep this off in my own bed.”
He dipped his chin, lowering the partition to let Vinnie know, “You scared me.”
“I’m only sorry for turning my phone off. I’m not apologizing for anything else. This argument will not be turned on me.”
Flashbacks of the gaslighting conversations you used to have with your father flooded your brain. Anytime he did anything remotely wrong, including putting his hands on your or your mother, it was twisted to seem like your fault. “You made me do this.”; “If you behaved I wouldn’t hit you.”; “If my coffee wasn’t gross, you wouldn’t have that bruise on your cheek.” Pathetic.
His head shook, “That’s not what’s happening, Y/N. I don’t expect an apology. I’m not turning the argument on you. But you scared me. That’s all. I–” he swallowed the words begging to be said before turning his head to look out of the window.
“Cosa?” (what?) you asked, looking up at him.
The corners of his lips twitched at your Italian, “You’re getting better.”
“Don’t change the subject,” you warned, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He sighed, looking down at you, “I was scared that you turned off your phone, yes. I couldn’t bear to think about what would’ve happened if you were in trouble and your phone was off. But… when you left. I was scared that you wouldn’t come back. And that terrified me.”
Your lips quivered at his confession, “I just needed time… to process.”
“I know,” he responded, looking back out of the window.
“You know… Lydia said la mia figa is turning you soft.”
He chuckled, his large hand spread across the small of your back, holding you close to him, “Did she?”
“Oh yeah,” you paused, hiccupping, “I quickly told her that my pussy was doing anything but turning you soft,” you laughed, laying your head back against his chest.
You shrugged, “It’s true.”
You rode back to the house in silence, Chris’s arm wrapped around you the whole time. Even mad at each other, you still sought the other out. Begging for his comfort while simultaneously wanting to rip him a new one. This is love, huh?
Somewhere along the ride, you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you know, you’re rolling over in bed, a jackhammer headache splitting your brain in two. You groaned, shoving your face back into your pillow.
A few minutes later, you heard the door open, “you up?” Chris whispered.
You groaned again, “No.”
He chuckled and you tracked the soft padding of his bare feet against the hardwood, knowing he was standing next to you. His hand reached down, stroking your cheek, “come on, you gotta eat something, cara.”
Your stomach churned at the thought, “I’m not really in the mood to eat anything that you cook, Chris.”
“Wow, I’m gonna pretend like that didn’t hurt my ego a little bit,” he sat down on the bed, his hand patting your calf over the blanket, “come on, you gotta eat, baby. And we gotta talk.”
Your stomach churned again, for an entirely different reason this time, “I don’t think I can do that right now,” you turned your head to look at him.
He shrugged, “then you’ll listen. But you need to get up and get something in your system. I had Gina stop by and make some breakfast.”
“Gina isn’t supposed to work on weekends,” you mumbled into your pillow.
“Come on,” he patted your leg again, pushing himself up from the bed and making his way downstairs.
You took a minute to brush your teeth and wash your face before changing into a pair of Chris’s sweats and pairing them with a sports bra. It probably was time for you and Chris to discuss this issue like adults. Of course, you were a little to blame for that, but you were completely blindsided by the contract and finding out that Chris had chosen you. At the time, it seemed rational to be so upset and take off. Who could really blame you? This was your first real relationship… your first time being a wife. It was going to take time for you to figure everything out.
Realistically speaking, you knew this wouldn’t be your last fight with Chris. Even the happiest of couples fought sometimes, it was inevitable. But like you talked about the first week, it was up to you guys to figure it out together. To conquer the learning curve.
Head still pounding, you made your way downstairs, rubbing your temples at the brightness of the house. Normally, you couldn’t get enough of the natural light. Today, you had enough, “Fuck the sun,” you mumbled, eliciting a small laugh from Chris. You hadn’t realized you said it loud enough for anyone to hear..
“I have some Advil over here,” Chris smiled, pushing a glass of orange juice towards the center of the island.
You smiled gratefully, taking a seat and downing the pills with a swig of orange juice.
“Y/N, look. I know that you’re not–”
“Hold on, can I speak first?”
He dipped his chin, lifting his mug to his lips with his eyebrows raised, curious as to what you have to say.
“Obviously, as you know, this is the first time I’ve ever been married–” he smirked, taking a sip of coffee “--and my first time in a serious relationship. And… I don’t know… how to process my emotions. I’m sorry that I left. That wasn’t right. As your wife– As your partner in life, I owed it to you to hear you out and I didn’t. So I'm sorry that I didn’t hear you out and I’m sorry that I went out last night.”
He smiled, “I think you should apologize to yourself for going out last night,” he chuckled, walking over to where you sat. He cupped your cheek with his large hand, still warm from the coffee mug he held in it just moments ago. Your eyes traveled from his to his bare chest, your index finger tracing the various tattoos. He cleared his throat, snapping you back to the conversation, “I think you know that this is also the first time I’ve been married or in a serious relationship and I’m sorry that I scared you. I’m sorry that I lied to you. I know at the time, it seemed like a convenient answer, but I was going to tell you. I promise you that, cara. On everything. I just– I wasn’t sure when to do it and then time just kept passing and I fell more and more in love with you and then it never felt like the right time. I never meant to hurt you.”
You closed your eyes, nuzzling your head into the hand that caressed your cheek, “I love you, Chris,” turning your head slightly, you placed a kiss on his palm, “I appreciate you apologizing.”
“Do you think you’re ready to hear me out?”
You nodded as he pulled away, putting a plate with a couple slices of toast on it.
“I… picked you as a favor.”
Your face twisted with confusion, a piece of bitten off toast hanging out of your mouth, “Sorry what?” you asked, your mouth full.
“Sebastian came to me after a… particularly rough night with your father. He knew that I was to sign a contract in the next month and he asked if I would consider choosing you. To get you out of your father’s house.”
You gasped, your eyes immediately filling with tears, “He what?” you asked, breathlessly. You blinked furiously, the tears blurring your vision, “What?”
Chris reached over, wiping at the tears that slipped from your eyes, “He explained the situation, told me that your most recent encounter ended with you almost being sent to hospital, and he asked me to step in in the best way I could without alarming your father. I knew that you still had 10 years left in that house, but signing that contract started as a favor to Sebastian, to help you.”
A hand flew to cover your mouth, your eyes prickling again, “I– I– I don’t know what to say.”
Sebastian asked Chris to marry you. To help you escape from your father. Sebastian offered you an out when there was no light at the end of the tunnel. How would you ever repay him?
“Chris… you did that for me?”
He shrugged, a small, playful smile on his lips, “I mean, technically, I did it for Sebastian…” You smiled and rolled your eyes, but he continued before you could interject, “I did it for Seb. As one of my best friends, I did it as a favor. But now? I can’t even express how happy that favor has made me. So yes, I signed your contract 10 years ago, it was not arranged at birth, but I wanted to help a friend.”
This entire time you were so fucking pissed at Chris for choosing you, but he’d done it out of the kindness of his heart. Something you were told didn’t exist.
You pulled him close to you, gripping the back of his neck and pulling his lips to you. You ignored the splintering headache and melted into him. His hand found your hip, squeezing gently when you pulled away, “Thank you, Chris… I’m so sorry I didn't give you time to explain… God, I feel like an idiot,” you shook your head, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of guilt that washed over your body.
“It’s okay. You’re allowed to have feelings, Y/N. I already told you, you’re allowed to act out and make mistakes, you’re human. I’m not married to some mafia-robot-wife. I’m married to you. The way that you feel things… I would never want to change that.”
For the second time today, tears flooded your eyes. You stood, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you, “What happened to being the scariest don on the East coast? You mafia men are like teddy bears.”
His arms secured around your waist, you felt his breath against your neck, “I am the scariest don on the East coast, cara. I don’t know what happened or how it happened, but you… you’re my kryptonite. I’m putty in your hands. I will walk to the ends of the earth or step on any broken mug, to make sure you are happy and satisfied in life.”
You let out a shaky breath, one filled with so many emotions you were unable to express, “I love you… so much.”
He pulled away, cupping your chin, “Ti amo, Y/N. Hai tutto il mio cuore.” (i love you. You have my whole heart.)
“Traduci,” you groaned, frustrated you still couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“You have my whole heart, amore mio.” (my love)
You inhaled a sharp breath, “How do you say ‘always and forever’?” you asked, smiling softly.
The corners of his mouth tipped up into a smile, “sempre e per sempre.”
“Well, sempre e per sempre,” you promised, matching the small, yet sentimental smile on his lips.
Third time’s the charm
They only got out of that horrible place late afternoon, which left Harry pacing most of the day, giddy with terrified excitement. Scorpius was tired when they finally arrived, yawning into Draco’s neck, but after a short look around the house he came alive, pulling Draco’s hand to go this way or no, that way!
He had so many questions about everything: why is there a Troll leg in the hallway? Who is that person in the photo? And that one? He kept looking at Harry, polite little Mr. Potters that were an exact copy of how Draco said it. Before Harry even had the chance to get used to the concept of them, here, to all the noise and the blond hair and the warmth, it was evening, and they retired to the kitchen. Scorpius insisted to be seated in the middle.
“Eat your dinner, love,” Draco tucked the apron around him.
“I don’t like dinner,” was the immediate response. “Dinner is yuck.”
It felt bad to be laughing when Draco looked so miserable, rubbing his eyes. “But. You love mince and carrots.”
“Yuck,” Scorpius argued. His arms crossed over his chest, pout at the ready.
“Darling,” Draco intoned.
“I don’t…” his eyes were red when the hand finally came down. “I’m sorry, Potter. Usually he’s much better. Not so awfully picky, normally, are you, love?”
“No,” Scorpius agreed good-naturedly. “Daddy, what are you eating?”
“I’m having the same, dearest. This nice food Mr. Potter was kind enough to prepare for us.”
“Your daddy said you liked it,” Harry apologised. Draco seemed like he wanted to throw himself in the sink.
“He does, normally. I’m so sorry. You went through all this trouble…”
“No, no, it was nothing. I can—"
Scorpius hummed. “Mr. Potter, what are you eating?”
“Just the same. Mince and tatties and carrots. Very yummy.”
He took a moment to consider the new information. “Mr. Potter, is that your favourite?”
Movement in the corner of his eye—Draco was nodding above Scorpius’s head. He was so impossibly serious, Harry nearly laughed again.
“Yeah, absolutely. My favourite.”
Scorpius looked pensive. “Maybe—maybe it’s my favourite, too.”
“Hmm. Tell you what, if you really wanted it, then maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you have a bit off my plate.”
Draco made this weird, raspy noise that wasn’t a gasp and wasn’t a giggle. “Merlin, you’re good,” Harry thought he heard him mumble. Beside him, Scorpius was nodding.
“What do we say?”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” he chanted as Harry ladled some mince into a new bowl.
“You’re very welcome. And you can call me Harry.”
He’s been thinking about it all day. Hearing Scorpius say his name in that natural tone was entirely joyful and a little bit alien. Harry already couldn’t wait to hear it again.
Draco seemed pleased too, in the way he was smiling into his fist. “Good. Well. Eat, menace, before it gets cold.”
But Scorpius had more important things on his mind. “Harry, do you like reading books?”
“Er. Sure. I think.”
“Me too. I reeeally like reading books.”
Draco’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Enough stalling, Scorp. Eat your dinner.”
“I don’t like dinner. Dinner is yuck.”
“Oh, for Goodness—”
He was starting to pout again, and Harry, very valiantly, in his opinion at least, jumped in. “So what, er, what books do you like best?”
“I really like the one about the fire engines,” he said, grey eyes—just like Draco’s—open wide. “But my favourite is llama llama red pyjama.”
“Ask him why,” Draco advised, face still turned upwards.
“Er—why do you like that one?”
“Because I have red pyjamas!” Scorpius yelled happily. “And daddy says I can be a llama too!”
“But only if you eat your food,” Draco sighed, and Scorpius giggled. “Llamas are very well known for being good boys who eat all their carrots.”
“That’s not true,” Scorpius said in feigned shock with a big-big smile. “Daddy, that’s not true!”
“Okay, fine, maybe not well known for it. Still, darling. You need to finish here, so that you can go to bed and me and Mr. Po—and Harry, can have, er. Can talk about maybe staying here for a little longer.”
“Really?” it was hard to swallow, seeing how bright those grey eyes could sparkle. “We can stay here?”
“Of course you can,” Harry choked, same time as Draco said, “Only if you eat your dinner.”
Scorpius looked between them, eyebrows scrunched, evidently deep in thought. Then picked up his fork, and managed to pierce half a piece of carrot. On his other side Draco shook his head, then looked right at Harry, first time all day.
“Thank you,” he mouthed as Scorpius shoveled mince into his mouth.
Harry didn’t know how to say I should be thanking you and I can’t believe you’re trusting me enough for this and I’m already in love with you both. So instead he closed his eyes and imagined he could have this every night.
“Scorp, there’s still half… you know what, fine. We’ll keep it for later. Let’s get you in the tub?”
“And then Harry can read llama llama with me?”
He opened his eyes on a laugh, heart so tight it couldn’t possibly contain the exasperated look on Draco’s face, or the excited smile on Scorpius’s. “Yes.” yes, yes, yes.
For the lovely @ladderofyears, 900 words. You can prompt me too!
HEY HEY HEY BUB! I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD DO ANOTHER PART OF 'WHEN YOU THINK THEY ARENT PAYING ATTENTION'???? please and thank you :3
Make sure to drink loads of water <33
when you think they aren’t paying attention
feat. Akaashi, Hinata, Sakusa
note: uhh hinata’s is the only one where it isn’t a pre-established relationship!
it was Akaashi’s idea to have small walking dates in the evening as a way to spend time with one another and wind down after work
sometimes the two of you couldn’t fit a date day/night in your schedules, so carving out a small amount of time to just walk around the neighborhood every evening made up for it
Akaashi held your hand, smiling at the way you playfully swung it as you told him about something that happened on this new show you were watching
when all of a sudden his phone gets a little buzz- it was work emailing him
normally he would ignore it, but the subject header was of upmost urgency
so with one hand he was typing out a response
but as he was doing so, he noticed how your words seemed to die down, leaving only quietness
“you stopped talking, what’s wrong?” he asks, looking back at you
“oh, you looked like you were busy just now so I didn’t want to disturb you”
Akaashi’s brow furrow as he quickly pockets his phone
“you’re never a disturbance Y/n. now please, keep talking and this time I'll make sure you know that you have my full attention”
“but your work-”
Akaashi quickly interrupts, “that email can wait. honestly, I'm off hours anyways so there’s no need for me to tend to work at this moment. right now, the only thing I’m focusing on is you”
you stop in your tracks, a small pout sprawled across your face. you didn’t want him to get in trouble with his job
Akaashi leans forward to kiss your forehead
“Y/n, I promise you it’s alright. now go on, I want to hear more of your story”
as you continued your story, Akaashi listened intently the entire time
he was right about everything being alright by the way
but for the record, he would always put you above his work
you were invited to a little hangout with some of your friends- although at this point you felt like it would’ve been better if you didn’t show up
as you were in the midst of telling a story, you could easily sense that the most of the group seemed disinterested in what you had to say, and you were slowly becoming dejected with this reaction
it wasn’t until another friend had shown up that the rest of the table became lively again- welcoming the latecomer with much excitement
and once they settled in, you noticed how the table seemed to shift the topic and how everyone was seemingly talking amongst themselves
you looked down at your lap, slightly embarrassed by the fact that no one was really paying any mind to what you were saying
“Y/n, you didn’t finish your story”
your eyes dart up to see Hinata facing you with his elbow propped on the table for support as the side of his face leans into the palm of his hand
“you were listening? I thought you would’ve drowned it out or something” you halfheartedly chuckle
Hinata’s smile drops for a fraction of a second and his eyes quickly dart to the others at the table- all of which were unaware of this side conversation going on
his eyes flicker back to you and the smile returns to his face
“of course I was listening to you. I always am... wait no that sounds a bit hmmm....” Hinata furrows his brows, trying to phrase his message in a way that didn’t make him seem like a creep
you can’t help but laugh, this time a genuine laugh
“no I understand, don’t worry,” you reassure him before continuing on with your story
and Hinata’s soft gaze never dropped from your face as you talked
one of Sakusa’s favorite things to do after practice was to wind down with you
and today, his head was resting on your lap as you ran your hands through his hair, telling him about your day
honestly, he could probably stay like this forever
you watch as your boyfriend closes his eyes, tired from his long day at practice
from your end, it seemed like Sakusa dozed off in the middle of the conversation
your words die down until you eventually stop talking
a second later you see a hand waving in front of your face
“hey, you didn’t finish your story” Sakusa says, slowly opening his eyes
you blink at him in confusion
“oh, you’re awake?” you respond back, watching as the gears turn in your boyfriend’s head
“did you just assume I stopped listening and decided to nap? how hurtful” he jokingly says, cracking a small smile at you
“okay now, in my defense you look exhausted and you had your eyes closed. my fault for assuming my tired boyfriend just wants to nap rather than hear about my boring day” you move one of your hands to poke his cheek
Sakusa grabs your hand, pressing soft kisses to the palm
“I always want to hear about your day- don’t ever think otherwise” he mumbles against your skin
so you continue on with your story, and this time Sakusa makes sure to participate in the conversation to let you know he’s forever interested in what you have to say
[Gif credit to @abbyilr1967]
Square: Bed Sharing (for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me a Story Bingo 2022
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: minor language, nightmares mentioned/implied, fluff (pretty PG for this blog of mine)
Summary: No one outgrows having a teddy bear by their side to keep the most evil of nightmares at bay.
Word Count: 1.5k
Dean, Sam, and Y/N drove down the dark high after a, yet another, trying hunt. Vampires and kidnappings, a usual vampire hunt.
Sam leaned up against the window, struggling to stay awake. Only sustaining minor cuts and bruises, nothing severe or life threatening. Same for Dean and Y/N. Y/N slumped down in the seat, her knees pressed against the back of the front bench as her head rested against her backrest. She had long since fallen asleep since Dean hit the main highway before turning onto the exit leading them back to Lebanon. Dean on occasion would peek in the rear-view mirror checking on Y/N.
Dean pulled up the driveway as carefully as possible, so he didn’t jostle Y/N awake. But the classic car’s suspension failed him with the change in direction. Y/N stirred awake, noticing they’re pulling up the long driveway.
“We’re home.” Dean says softly. Noticing Sam had dozed a few miles back.
Y/N yawned big as she let her body stretch in the backseat. She sat up as she stretched.
The impala slowly coasted into the garage as Dean slowed to a stop in the impala’s spot. Quickly parking it and killing the engine.
Sam woke, aware the car had stopped moving.
Y/N got her duffle bag and worked her way out of the impala, drawing out a tiring yawn.
She, at her tiring speed, attempted to quickly put her duffle bag down on her bed. Her bedroom sat next door to Dean’s bedroom since joining the Winchester’s for what seems like a lifetime ago. She quickly, despite being tired, grabbed a clean change of clothes.
Her wardrobe wasn’t your normal female’s wardrobe. Y/N was the kind of girl that went for comfort rather than attention seeking. Jeans, T-shirts too big for her frame, baggy sweats, hoodies and even beanies. When it came to sweats and a t-shirt, that was usually her pajamas for the night as well.
She made her way down to the shower room further down the hall away from the boys as they made their way into their respectable rooms.
She was in autopilot mode, taking her clothes off and quickly getting her shower to her perfect temperature and stepped in.
The heat from the water calming her heartbeat, relaxing her muscles, and calmed her mind as it thought back on the hunt.
It was nothing special. Her mind does it all the time, even if she did everything right. It’s like her mind has it out for her, wanting her to not sleep, not eat, just sit and worry. She started to get good at ignoring it or just straight up telling herself that she did good. She did nothing wrong, so there’s no need to worry. She’d mentally chant that to herself as she stood under the hot stream of water, cleaning the day’s dirt and grime from her hair and skin.
She didn’t worry too much on the little things like shaving. She just cleaned up on the legs and underarms, nothing else. They were quick for her; she didn’t worry about her intimate areas.
Once all is said and done, she turned the water off and quickly got out to dry.
While she was in the shower room, she decided that once she was dried and dressed for bed, she’d brush her teeth while she was at it.
She knew she was really pushing herself to stay awake as she moved the brush across her teeth, washing and cleaning away the acids she ate and drank throughout the day. She just felt too tired to gather her dirty clothes and towels and bring them to her room even if she’s heading there to begin with. She was drained.
“You done using the shower’s sweetheart?” Dean asked, tearing her away from her tired thoughts.
“Mmhmm.” She hums.
He can see how exhausted she was. Letting a soft chuckle escape.
“I got this when I’m done, go on straight to bed, you look like you’re about to fall over from exhaustion.”
“Mmhmm.” She hums again, walking tiredly to her room. Too tired to form words.
She shot awake with a sharp gasp.
Her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, as she sat there catching her breath, calming her heart rate.
Just a typical nightmare that wasn’t related to the hunt. There are times Y/N questions where her dreams and nightmares spawn from. This one, had to have been from a hunt from her dark past before meeting the Winchester’s that she buried so deep within her she doesn’t remember it. Nor does she choose to remember it.
Still very much on edge, she gets up from her bed. A part of her telling her to go to Dean, another part was to just hang out in the Dean Cave and watch movies until she falls asleep again.
She loved him. Deep down she knew it, the feeling of unconditional love. The Demon Deal to save Sam, convincing Sam to give an angel his consent in order to save him. He’d do anything for his brother. But she ever wondered if he’d do the same for her.
As she walked slowly to Dean’s bedroom, she pondered on the idea. Did Dean ever do extremes to save Y/N’s life?
It could be her anxious and vulnerable state that she can’t remember those moments.
She made it to his door, and slowly opened it without knocking. Not making a sound.
“Dean?” she whispers, ever so quietly.
She heard him stir.
“Hmm.” She heard him, muffled in the pillow.
“I, uh, I had a nightmare. And I’m too scared to fall asleep again.” she says. Once the words left her lips she felt stupid for saying them.
“You know what, this is stupid. I shouldn’t have woke you. I’m sorry.”
“C’mere.” She heard him say, slightly louder but still muffled in the pillow.
She looked and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she can see his arm had come up holding blankets up to offer her his right side of his bed to her.
She walked in, closing the door behind her. Heading over to his bed, slowly getting in.
She carefully moved her body beside him, he adjusted himself to make her more room. Once she was laying on her side, he covered her with his blankets. Wrapping his arm around her waist, bringing her close to his side. Her back, snug against his chest.
“G’night sweetheart.” He says tiredly, his hot breath fanning on the back of her neck.
“Night D.” she says softly. Falling asleep rather quickly.
She felt herself waking from a peaceful night's sleep. Noticing she is warmer than usual, and feeling her cuddling a large, muscular body close. She opened her eyes, realizing she’s in Dean’s bed, hugging his waist as if he was a giant teddy bear.
She began to get up, feeling embarrassed. But as she moved his arm wrapped tightly around her. Holding her close to him.
“Five more minutes.” He mumbles in his sleep.
She chuckles softly.
“I’m sorry D, I feel like I’m overstepping boundaries here sleeping in your bed with you.”
“I don’t think so.” He says tiredly.
She looked up at him, shocked, taken aback by his statement.
“I mean, we’re friends D, I don’t want to mess that up.”
“You won’t.” he says.
“What makes you say so?”
“Well,” he sighs. Beginning to wake up more. “For the fact I heard you and Sam talking about me, and the best way to come out and say you like me, more than friends.”
Her eyes widened. He heard that? She thought.
“I can tell in the way you treat me versus Sam or Cas, or hell, even Jack. Sure, you keep it equally between all of us, but I feel it. You love me.”
She can feel her heart rate spike higher, hitting her ribcage hard. She wonders if he can feel it with her chest pressed against his side like she is his little teddy bear as well.
But he’s not wrong. She does love him.
He chuckles. “I love the way you laugh at my jokes harder than you do Sam’s. So hard you snort.”
“And hearing you sing, jamming to your favorite songs, god you have such a beautiful voice.”
She can feel her eyes heat up as tears begin to build up. A big grin formed on her face.
“The way you look at me when I do something for you. So soft, innocent, warm. Your eyes, beautiful. I can just stare at you all day.” He says. His eyes still closed as if to appear sleeping.
She wonders if he knows she’s still lying beside him.
“I guess we both love each other.” He says, waking up fully looking down to her with a soft smile.
“I guess so.” She says.
He places a kiss atop her forehead. She hugs his side tighter.
Since that morning, the following nights Dean and Y/N slept together. Dean noticed that his nightmares rarely spawned in his mind. Y/N noticed the similar effect.
She never thought, the one thing that could get rid of all of her nightmares would be the six foot teddy bear next door.
What’d you think? Let me know as feedback is fuel that keeps these stories coming.
Dean Girls Tags:
@pandazombie69, @akshi8278, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @jankles-blog, @flamencodiva, @anotherspnfanfic, @megzdoodle, @misfit0118, @shawnie74, @lyarr24, @missmemoire09, @racetrackheart, @spnbaby-67, @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad
Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic / supernaturalneurodivergantwolf. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 05/22/2022
Put It Into Practice — Steve Harrington x Reader (chapter four)
Pairing: Scoops Ahoy era Steve Harrington x f!Reader (she/her/hers pronouns, AFAB)
Rating (by chapter): M (Mature)
Summary: “King Steve” Harrington had been the subject of swooning for every girl in their right mind back in high school. But when his sexual dexterity comes into question the summer after graduation, Steve is not about to let his reputation become marred quite so easily. Luckily, Steve is offered the help of his new friend—to give him advice, a few pointers, and maybe a bit of healthy practice…
Word Count (by chapter): 9K
Content: sooo much fluff, very dialogue-heavy chapter (you’re going to love Steve even more than you already have), some angst, some cursing, Steve and Reader finally hash everything out lmfao
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Stranger Things or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized.
A/N: Hi friends! I'm so excited for you to read PIIP chapter four! I’ve literally never struggled so hard to finish a chapter ever... It wasn’t even necessarily hard to write; I’ve just been beyond wiped out from my new job. I’m on my feet 6-7 hours straight during the day (and getting BANK for it) but it’s been simply exhausting. I find that I have absolutely no mental or physical energy left when I get home to write with the same intensity as I had earlier this summer. So I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry to everyone that I haven’t been churning out as much content in recent weeks 🥺 I still absolutely love writing and I’m excited to continue doing it! But I really really appreciate your patience with how slow/inactive I’ve been ♡ This chapter is verrrrry fluffy and dialogue heavy. It's becoming a bit of a slow burn which I know we all will love 👀 and I pinky promise there's smut in the next chapter!
And as always, PLEASE comment if you enjoyed this, for the love of all that is holy—your powers supercharge me!!—thank u in advance ♥ Love, Juni
chapter one \ chapter two \ chapter three
NEXT CHAPTER TBA (or check my masterlist)
“Hi, sweetie, how was the fair?”
You glance up at your mother as you close the front door behind you and kick off your shoes. She’s in the living room with a novel in hand, from which she’s hardly looking up to even acknowledge your arrival. In the reclining chair, your father is asleep, and his snores are drowned out only by the background noise of the television.
How was the fair? you think to yourself. Which part? The part where Steve Harrington and I got each other off in the Hall of Mirrors? Or the part where we made plans to sneak out tonight to see each other again?
“It was fun, Mom,” you say instead, as simply and calmly as possible. Inside your chest, your heart races with anticipation. You mentally go through a checklist. Tell her goodnight. Take shower. Pretend to sleep. Sneak out window.
“That’s wonderful,” she says absently as she turns the page of her novel.
“I’m going to shower and head to bed, I’m super tired,” you lie as you walk to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water to bring upstairs. It was part of your nightly routine, and you didn’t want her to be suspicious at all. Not that you had any reason to worry. Your mother, as expected, seems completely unsuspecting of your clandestine evening plans.
You go to her, kiss her on the cheek, and say, “Night, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Y/N, sweetie,” she says back. As you head up the stairs to your bedroom, you hear her turn off the TV and shake your father awake, telling him it’s time to go to bed.
That’s one of the perks of being the normal, trustworthy teenager of two overworked parents. When you really wanted to break the rules, they wouldn’t even bat an eye.
You’d always been a good kid, but that’s not to say you havent been involved in your fair share of teenage mischief. You’d simply gotten highly skilled at evading the less-than-watchful eyes of your workaholic parents. It had been all the usual, harmless milestones of teenagehood; underage drinking, going to parties, hooking up in cars. Nothing really out of the ordinary or truly egregious. For a while, the craziest thing you had ever done was sneak onto the roof of the high school gymnasium at midnight to smoke weed with Carol and her rowdy friends during your sophomore year.
Now, a new deed takes the cake; hooking up with Steve Harrington in the Hall of Mirrors at the Fourth of July fair.
It had been reckless, certainly. And illegal. But the thrill of getting caught, combined with the added tension between you and Steve from your prior argument, had made it all the more exciting.
You and Steve are now more than just friends.
You could have stayed in that Hall of Mirrors with Steve forever, just holding him and kissing him among the endless reflections, blissfully poking fun at each other for the mess you’d made in between your thighs and on his hands. But the sound of the security guards nearby had spooked you, and you and Steve hastily exited the attraction and booked it to the parking lot, giggling even more uncontrollably as you ran.
Neither of you had wanted to go home. But while Steve’s parents couldn’t have cared less about what their son was up to, you knew you had to at least make an appearance at home so your parents wouldn’t worry. And that was where the plan was hatched; you would tell them goodnight, convince them you were going to bed, and then sneak out your bedroom window. Admittedly, you’ve never snuck out of the house before, but there was a first time for everything.
You make haste in showering and shaving, keeping a close eye on the clock; Steve had promised to pick you up at 10:30. Every time you think of him, your heart gives a little flip. His doe brown eyes, his playful smile, his stupidly perfect hair. Now that your feelings for each other are more or less out in the open air, you’re bristling with new and exciting feelings for him.
Before going to your room, you wrap a towel around your chest and pad downstairs to check on your parents again. Their bedroom door is closed with the lights off, and your father’s snoring continues. Perfect . You tiptoe back up to your room and scour your closet; what is one supposed to wear when sneaking out of the house to meet up with her no-longer-just-friends friend? You consider another sundress, but you settle on a pair of jeans, a tee shirt with the logo of your favorite band, and your trusty white sneakers—the ones you remember Steve complimented once, a few months ago. Back when you had been just friends.
What are you now? Will he want to talk about it tonight? Or will tonight just be for… well …?
You don’t know what to expect from Steve tonight. He had been hesitant yet enthusiastic to help you sneak out of the house— “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, but fuck, Y/N, I’d love to see you later,” he’d said. And of course, how could you have said no?
And for you, you’re eager to continue where you’d left off from your earlier escapades in the Hall of Mirrors… but you’re also itching to talk about what’s going on between the two of you.
It’s nearly 10:30. You stuff a few pillows haphazardly under your comforter in the shape of a sleeping body, on the off-chance that one of your parents would check on you during the night. You turn off your lamp, and with a breath of courage, you heave open your bedroom window and creep onto the roof over the back porch. The summer night’s air had become slightly brisk, rife with adventure and youth and the residual smell of gunpowder from the fireworks at the fair. You carefully meander down the lattice wall above the garden and land with a gentle thud. Smiling to yourself, you make your way out the side gate, squinting down the quiet, suburban Hawkins street.
Right on time, a car pulls around the bend, flooding the street with its headlights. Steve’s BMW. You smile a bit nervously and saunter over to it.
As you approach, Steve steps out and leans on the driver’s side door, looking you over with excitement. And then, as if he’s come to some realization about your approach, he rushes over to the passenger door and opens it grandly. “Your chariot awaits,” he says with mock formality.
“Ah, so now it’s your ‘chariot’?” you call out. “Robin told me you always call it it your ‘Babe Mobile.’”
“Hey, watch your mouth,” Steve jests back, rubbing the burgundy exterior. “She’s a she, not an it. She’s sensitive. And besides, is Robin wrong? I mean, you’re a girl, and you’re about to get in the car, sooo…I’d say the Babe Mobile’s living up to her title.”
You laugh. Steve’s smile grows with yours. Witty banter, just like old times, back to normal. It’s as if the whole argument from earlier never happened.
“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle as you hop into his car. You’ve ridden in it a few times before, mostly during hangs with Robin to and from work or each other’s houses. You could never forget the first time you ever heard Steve’s god awful singing voice; it was at the beginning of the summer, and he had taken you and Robin out to pick up pizza and VHS movies after a long work week, and he had turned the radio on and started belting along with Don’t Stop Believin’ in a manner that more closely resembled a dying cow than a human voice. You remember the way you and Robin had groaned and laughed at him before joining in with your own voices. It was one of those summer memories that would last forever.
And looking over at him now, as he hops into the driver’s seat and gives you an easy smile, you wonder if this will be one of those forever summer memories, too.
“So you managed to sneak out without them noticing?” Steve asks as he shifts the car into drive and accelerates down the empty street.
You nod. “Not that they care enough about me to notice, anyway,” you replied lightly.
But Steve’s brow furrows a bit. “Oh, come on, I know your parents care about you.”
Knowing Steve’s rocky relationship with his parents, you realize you probably shouldn’t have exaggerated like that. “They do,” you amend, “but they’ve both been so busy lately that I’m probably the last thing on their mind. All that to say, we’re in the clear tonight.”
“Good,” he smiles as he drives. You notice he’d showered too, his hair still slightly wet, no longer perfectly styled in his usual way, although you decided you almost preferred seeing it damp and slicked back so casually like this. And he’d changed clothes from the attire he’d been wearing at the park. He’s wearing a new pair of jeans and a yellow crewneck sweatshirt that fits his torso perfectly. He smells like soap and linen and spice.
The radio’s on, softly playing Drive by The Cars—what a perfect song for this moment—and Steve’s got the windows rolled down so the summer breeze ripples through the car, bringing a slight chill to your arms.
“Where are we going?” you ask, realizing then that you hadn’t discussed a plan for where or what, just when he’d pick you up.
“You’ll see. I’ve got something fun we can do together.”
“Oh?” you ask with a suggestive tone.
Steve glances over at you and grins before drawing his eyes back to the road. And then he bites his bottom lip, and you can’t tell if it’s from excitement or nervousness. “Do you like surprises?” he asks.
“Sure,” you say apprehensively.
Steve chuckles at your tone. “Wow, what didn’t sound convincing at all.”
“I kind of hate surprises,” you admit.
“I figured,” he laughs. “Alright. Well, in that case, we’re going out into the woods. There’s this field I know—”
“The woods?” you interrupt him. “A field?”
“Don’t freak out,” he says. “I’m not going to, like, murder you or anything.”
“Oh, whew, that’s a relief,” you say sarcastically.
“It’ll be fun. I’ve got a buddy who works at the fireworks tent off of Randolph,” Steve explains. He gestures to a medium sized box in the backseat. You twist around in your seat to peer inside; it contains about a dozen assorted fireworks.
“I guess it is still the Fourth of July,” you muse. Setting off fireworks with Steve in the middle of the woods did, actually, kind of sound like fun.
“We gotta be pretty smart about it, though,” Steve admits as he pulls onto Cornwalis—one of Hawkins’ main road—and starts driving north. “The cops in this town are like hawks about fireworks this year. But I know a place where we won’t get caught.”
Won’t get caught… You wonder if his words have a double meaning.
“Alright, alright,” you drawl, deflecting from the sudden wave of awkwardness that washes over you. ”But if we get mauled by a bear in the middle of the woods and there’s no one around to hear us scream, I’ll kick your ass in the afterlife.”
Steve laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll fight it off any bears for you.”
You give him a level look. “You? Fighting off bears?”
He gives you a face like it’s obvious. “Uh, yeah. Easy peasy.”
“Oh, really? With what weapon?”
“Well…I’ve got a baseball bat spiked with nails in my trunk, so I think I’d probably use that,” he says.
You stare blankly. It had obviously been a joke up until now, but this didn’t sound made up. He’d answered too quickly. “You have a baseball bat spiked with nails in your trunk?”
“...You don’t wanna know.”
You let it go. “Alright, I guess that makes me feel a tad bit safer.”
“Good.” Steve’s hand that was resting on the gearshift inch has now inched across toward you. You notice now that his pinky is barely brushing against the denim on your thigh. You feel butterflies in your stomach. “You changed clothes,” he notes.
“Looks good,” he compliments.
You smile shyly, letting his compliment wash over your senses. “You changed, too,” you said. “I like it.”
He looked pretty good a few hours ago with his hair all messed up and his cum all over his hands, too, you think to yourself. But you suppose the yellow sweatshirt look would do, too.
“We were kind of a mess back there,” he says with a sheepish grin, almost as though he had read your mind.
“We were,” you agreed—both in the literal and the metaphorical sense. His acknowledgment of the incident brings back vivid memories of it. You crossed your legs and squeezed your thighs together absently.
There’s a lot more that you want to say, but you don’t really know how to say it or where to start, so you and Steve drive in a comfortable quietness down the road. Eventually, he passes all the establishments in the central part of town—the schools, the arcade, the library—and continues on into the woodsy north neighborhoods.
When I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner comes on the radio, Steve shifts his hand from the gearshift so it’s next to yours on the passenger seat. You flip your palm over in a silent invitation, and he takes it in his own, squeezing his fingers. The action feels overwhelmingly intimate and romantic. You realize you’d be content just holding his hand like this forever. His touch brings you a strange feeling of reassurance, despite the uncertainty of your relationship thus far.
Hawkins looks strange tonight, the trees taking on a carefree sort of quality beyond Steve’s headlights. Maybe it’s the excitement from the earlier festivities still resonating through the town. Maybe it’s the thrill of sneaking out, despite the fact that you’re an adult and graduated from high school. Or maybe it’s just your imagination, overactive from the adrenaline of being with Steve again. You stick your other hand out the open passenger window and flatten your palm against the wind, riding the wind with your hand like a surfer on a wave, just like you used to as a kid.
“Hey, Y/N?” Steve asks after a while.
“I just wanted to say… I’m, uh, I’m really sorry.”
You turn to observe his expression; his brows are furrowed as he glances between you and the road. “Why?”
“I’m just sorry for, uh, what happened back…there. I wish it hadn’t happened.”
Your heart thuds, and you fight to mask it. Did he mean the argument, or the hookup? When he hesitates to continue, you struggle to think of a response suitable for either meaning. “Things did get a bit, uh, heated, didn’t they…”
He squeezes your hand again. “I really shouldn’t have raised my voice at you,” he says. “Or said, like, half the things I said. I really wasn’t saying what I was meaning, like, at all.”
So he is talking about the argument. You squeeze his hand back before releasing it, and then you’re wringing your hands together in your lap. “You and me both, bud…but I’m sorry, too. I took things way out of proportion.”
“Well…” He combs his newly freed fingers through his hair. “I could see why you were mad at me.”
“I wasn’t mad at you—I’m not mad at all,” you reassure him. “It was just…the whole situation.”
The whole Steve-going-down-on-you-but-then-weirding-out-when-you-offer-him-a-blowjob situation. And the Steve-kissing-you-in-the-hallway-and-then-completely-avoiding-you thing. And then the Steve-never-got-over-Nancy-Wheeler bombshell that Robin had dropped. And then there was the whole Lisa-R-coming-onto-Steve-in-front-of-you ordeal.
Jesus, no wonder you had snapped back there.
“A lot had happened,” you continue, “and I was just…overwhelmed, I think. But I’m not mad at you, Steve.”
“Okay,” he says with relief.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask in turn.
“No, not at all.”
There’s a lot more you want to say but you can’t find the words to express your thoughts. Looking over at Steve, you imagine he’s feeling the same way. It means a lot to you that he apologized about the argument, but the whole thing still doesn’t sit right with you. You know a solid, honest conversation is in order for tonight…but it might take a few fireworks before either of you will be able to find the right words.
“I’m in the mood to light some shit on fire,” you say, segueing into a lighter topic.
“Oh, yeah, well, you know what they say,” Steve remarks. “When the goings get tough, the tough…light shit on fire.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely the saying,” you say sarcastically.
“I think we should get that printed on a shirt and everything.”
“ You’d definitely wear that shirt,” you jest.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “Unironically. That’d be a dope ass shirt.”
“Yeah, maybe for pyromaniacs.”
“Hey, you’re the one that said you’re in the mood to light shit on fire. So you started it.”
“It was your idea to bring fireworks in the first place, dingus.”
“Don’t call me that,” he groans. “I already hear ‘dingus’ enough from Robin. She’s rubbing off on you too much.”
“What else am I supposed to call you when you’re being a dingus, then?”
“Uh…how about, just ‘Steve’?”
“Okay, Just Steve, but I think we’re gonna need to get you a better nickname.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says with a mocking tone.
You pretend to ponder. “Hmmm…maybe doofus?”
“That’s literally the same thing as dingus,” he complains.
“No, it’s different.” You gaze at him with mock seriousness. “Doofus. Yeah. That works perfect.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling under his guise of annoyance. “You women and your nicknames.”
“Well, I can’t always call you baby, I gotta have some variety,” you giggle.
You’re referring, obviously, to the way you and Steve had called each other baby —at first, in your basement last week, and then most recently in the Hall of Mirrors. In both instances, the term of endearment had kind of just…slipped out. But it felt right, in those moments. But baby was just one of those nicknames reserved for cringey couples in love. And, on occasion, for the casual hookup. But only in that context and never outside the bedroom.
Or basement. Or Hall of Mirrors. Whatever.
Point is, you’re wondering when you and Steve would call each other baby again. And under which context…cringey couple, or casual hookup?
Right on cue, Steve’s expression changes, and he admits quietly, “I like it when you call me that.”
“Really? You do?”
“Yeah. Don’t get all weird about it, though” he says defensively. The pout on his face is so irresistible.
“Don’t worry, I won’t, baby,” you tease. He groans. You laugh at him. “Sorry, sorry.”
“No, I like it… Maybe a little too much.”
You can’t fathom the meaning of his words, but he doesn’t elaborate. You deflect the awkwardness again, shifting back to your teasing tone of voice. “I’ll use it sparingly, I promise. But doofus?” You shove his arm playfully. “I’ll be using that one a lot.”
“I really thought you were more original than that,” he taunts. “I mean, c’mon, stealing Robin’s M.O.? What a copout.”
“I’m sure Robin would be honored.”
Your conversation is halted by a police cruiser driving past in the other lane. Steve straightens behind the wheel, although the cruiser passes without a hitch. You snicker at him.
“Right here, he’s right here, cops!” you jeer. “The pyromaniac with the high-maintenance hair!”
He runs his hand through it self-consciously. “You love the hair,” he says conclusively.
You couldn’t lie. “Yeah, I do,” you sigh, taking a chance and running your own hand through it. His face softens and he leans into your touch. It’s becoming far too addicting to touch him. “Why do you think the police will care about us setting off fireworks, anyway? They set off a bunch at the fair.”
“Noise ordinance, I think,” he responds. “You know how the cops in this town are. They got nothing better to do. They’ll impose any rule to keep the ‘meddling kids’ off the streets,” he adds with air quotes.
“Well, if we’re gonna have to drive out the middle of nowhere, where no one can hear…I guess we’ll should just make the most of it, then, yeah?”
You didn’t intend to sound suggestive, but as the double meaning of your words settles between you, Steve fights a grin. You can’t help but smile, too, knowing full well that you and he are thinking of the same thing.
Steve pulls off the main road and onto a short residential street that ends in a col-de-sac, beyond which extends a dense-looking patch of woods. He parks along the curb at the end of the street and moves to get out until he sees that you’re frozen in your seat.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Just for a bit.”
“We’re hiking…through the woods…in the pitch black…at 10 pm…?”
“Don’t worry, I came prepared,” he grins, pulling out a flashlight and clicking it on. Even then, you still feel apprehensive. Steve touches your hand softly. “It’s not very far, I promise.”
“What is ‘it’, exactly?” you ask as you hesitantly exit the car. And then it hits you. “Oh my god,” you realize. “Please don’t tell me you’re taking me to Skull Rock.”
Skull Rock is this infamous makeout spot in the woods. In fact, rumor has it that Steve practically invented it. Gross. The idea that he would take you where he’d taken countless other girls makes you scowl at him.
But Steve just laughs. “No, no, we’re not going to Skull Rock. That’s in the other direction.”
“Wouldn’t you know,” you mutter.
He just gazes at you endearingly like he finds your anger adorable. “C’mon, trust me. There’s a huge clearing, just north of Lover’s Lake. It’s just a few minutes walk from here. Just follow me, okay? It’s really cool. You’ll see.”
He gives you a warm smile before locking the car. As soon as the car’s headlights go off, the scene around you and Steve becomes engulfed in darkness, save for the dim yellow streetlamp and the moon on the horizon. Steve hands you the flashlight since he’s holding the box of fireworks. You try to keep it steady as he leads the way into the woods, where the cacophony of summer insects and birds swells like a nocturnal symphony.
After a few moments—and at the sudden hoot of an owl that makes you jump—you finally say, “Steve, not to be dramatic, but who do you think will be speaking at our funerals when we inevitably die tonight from an angry bear?”
“We’re not going to die,” he reassures you with a laugh. “But…I guess if we did, Robin would probably do a pretty decent job at a commemorative speech. And Dustin. Probably your parents—”
“I didn’t need to hear that,” you groan, tightening your grip on the flashlight.
“I’m just saying, it’s not too late for us to turn around and grab that spiked baseball bat you were talking about.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “If anything comes for us, I’ll just show them my super slick ninja moves, and they’ll get scared and run away.” He attempts a really bad roundhouse kick on a nearby tree, muttering, “Ow.”
“Hey, there’s a new nickname.” He straightens and adjusts his grip on the box. “Wasn’t that hard being creative with it, huh?”
You know he’s trying to soothe your nerves about being in the forest at night, and it’s working, but only a little bit. “This better be worth it,” you mumble.
“You know me, would I ever take you somewhere that’s not guaranteed to be super cool?”
“There was that one time you made me and Robin meet you behind the mall to look at a satellite in the sky because you thought it was a UFO.”
“It was totally a UFO!” he retorts.
“...Fine, whatever, but what if it was a real UFO, and you and Robin missed out on it? Then you would have really been pissed off at yourselves.”
“Ooh, yeah, and maybe then the aliens would have abducted you and we would never have to hear you mope about working at Scoops Ahoy ever again.”
“Oh, come on, if I got abducted by aliens, you’d miss me and you know it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself too hard, Harrington.”
“Just stating the facts.”
At last, you can see a break in the trees ahead. Once you and Steve emerge, you realize you’ve reached the town’s power lines, a series of tall metal poles connected by soaring wires. The trees have been cut back width-wise from the power lines, leaving a huge clearing in the woods as far as the eyes can see in either direction. Above the huge poles, the moon is bright and almost full, washing everything below it in a pale blue light.
“This way,” Steve says as he leads you under the lines and across the clearing. You keep right behind him for another few minutes as he follows the path of the power lines. After a few minutes, you see a large divet of clearing out to the right, where the trees have been cut back even further. As you near, you realize it’s a wide field, perhaps an old patch of farmland, beyond the horizon of electrical wiring. The field is about a football field across in length and width, with no poles or trees to obstruct it. Peculiarly, at the other end of the field is an old flatbed truck.
“Wow,” you note, looking around with your flashlight. “How did you know this field was here?”
“Tommy and I found it a few summers ago,” Steve replies. “We used to skip school and come out here to smoke, drink, hit golf balls in the woods, do stupid shit like that.” He leads you across the field to the old pickup truck.
“Do I even want to know how this got here?” you laughed.
“It’s Tommy’s uncle’s,” he explains, slapping the roof of the truck with a metallic thud. “Basically just scrap metal at this point. It doesn’t run anymore. But” —he grins at you as he sets his box on the truck’s bed— “This is where we’ll sit to watch the show. Best seat in the house.”
You try once and fail to hoist yourself up onto the open truck bed, which just gives Steve an excuse to help you up onto it with his hands on your waist. His close proximity means that you can smell the cologne on his neck. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes as he lifts your hips onto the truck, and you think to yourself that it should be illegal for a boy to make you feel this delirious.
Steve doesn’t remove his hands from your waist right away when you’re finally sat on the truck bed. He keeps his hands there, his fingers pressing curiously into your skin through your shirt as he situates himself between your legs, which are now dangling on either side of his body. He looks so good from below you, his body outlined by the dim flashlight, his teeth glistening, the slightly nervous expression on his face. Oh my god , you think as he suddenly leans in, and you fear—fear?—he’s going to kiss your lips. But he’s much too far down for that, so instead he kisses the top of your thigh. First the right one, then the left. And then, casual as ever, he backs away, grabs a firework and a lighter from the box, and says, “Time to light shit on fire, baby.”
Your mind still spinning, you just choke out, “Okay.”
He trots out into the open field with his supplies. You follow his path with the flashlight, and when he realizes where you’re shining the light, he turns to you with a playful expression and places his hands on his backside. “Don’t look at my ass!”
“How could I not? It’s right there.”
He tries covering it with the firework in his hand and you snicker. Once he reaches about fifteen paces away from the truck, he turns toward you, gives you a cheeky grin, and sets the firework in the ground. Once he has it lit, he sprints back and launches himself like an energetic child onto the truck bed beside you. You giggle even more.
The firework launches into the air and bursts into golden stars. The whish-boom is so loud that the birds and crickets stop for a second.
“Cool,” you whisper.
“Another one!” Steve announces. He repeats the process, trotting out to the field with a firework, lighting it, and then speeding back to the truck to propel himself onto it beside you. You and he both look up to watch it in the sky.
“You know,” you say after the boom of the firework—red and green this time— “you don’t have to sprint back over here every time.”
“But I wanna sit next to you to watch them go off,” Steve says.
Your heart swells, and because you don’t know what else to say, you respond, “Okay, fine, doofus.”
He nudges your shoulder with his before hopping down to repeat the process again. He lights firework after firework, coming back each time to sit right next to you to watch it explode in the sky together. It’s really quite endearing of him, even though he’s starting to pant with the exertion of running back and forth. You’ve not seen this side of Steve before tonight—so silly, free-natured, smiley, with almost a boyish sort of energy. But you love it.
Some of the fireworks are the typical ones that launch into the air like a rocket and explode in a circle; some crackle like a massive sparkler, illuminating the field in rivulets of golden light. One firework even launches a multitude of glowing stars that spiral into the air and dissolve. You and Steve make conversation about them, commenting on your favorite colors and patterns, making jokes with each other. Before you know it, he’s down to the last two fireworks in the box.
“Okay, so this one’s me… And this one’s you,” he says, designating one of the cylinders for each of you—red for him, blue for you.
“Are you gonna light them both at the same time?” you guess.
“Yeah, and whoever’s goes higher, wins.”
You scoff. “Oh, it’s on.”
“That’s exactly what a loser would say.”
“Wait,” you say, scowling at him. “How will I know you’re not cheating by lighting mine after yours?”
“Because…” —he pulls out a second lighter from his picket and waggles his brows— ��You’re gonna light it yourself, at the same time as me.”
“Hmm. Seems fair. And what does the winner get to do?”
“Oh, by winner, you must be referring to me.”
“Don’t get so cocky, Harrington. You’ll regret it.”
“When I win,” he says, leaning in threateningly toward your face, “I get free chocolate chip cookies for a month from you at work.”
“I already give you free chocolate chip cookies,” you complain. “And you already give me free ice cream. That’s a stupid reward.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Steve admits, tapping his chin. “…How about…” His gaze grows devilish. “Loser has to take off their shirt.”
You look around wildly. “In the middle of the woods?!”
He shrugs. “Not like there’s anyone out here to see.”
“That’s so not fair. You’re a guy . It’s completely different when you take off your shirt.”
“Hmm, sounds to me like something someone who’s scared of losing would say. Are you scared? Is that it?”
“No,” you huff with a competitive smile, rubbing your arms. You think but don’t say aloud that you’d tear your shirt off for him right here right now if it means you’d continue where you’d left off in the Hall of Mirrors…but now you’re determined not to lose this game. “I’m not scared. You’re going down, Harrington.”
He looked smug. “Hmm, we’ll just have to see about that, you dork…”
You follow Steve out to the middle of the field, the two of you shoving each other with playful competitiveness. You crouch down side by side, and Steve counts down from three. When he reaches one, you hold the lighter up to the fuse at the exact same time as Steve, and the two of you fall back, wringing your hands with anticipation.
The fireworks shoot off together, in two broad arcs that at first seem to repel each other before arching back and crossing paths. The red explodes first, followed by the blue, which soars high into the air before bursting.
“Ha!” you cheer, jumping up and down. “You lose!”
Steve clenches his fist and sighs, “Shit.”
“You know what that means, Stevie boy…”
You mime taking off your shirt with a suggestive face. Steve huffs a dejected sigh and pulls off his yellow sweatshirt and the white tee he’s wearing underneath in one swift movement. He looks good, of course, but mostly he looks absolutely pitiful with his bare shoulders sagging and the look of sheer defeat on his face. You can’t help but giggle at the way his plan had backfired.
You jump up on the truck bed again, this time helping Steve up by giving him a hand for leverage. The fireworks show had served their purpose at dissolving whatever residual awkwardness had still remained from your argument with Steve earlier at the fair. You feel elated, now, even as the echo from the thunderous fireworks has subsided and the quiet stillness of the night has returned in full force. And as Steve situates himself beside you—even as he balls his sweatshirt up in petulance and throws it at your face like a child—you wish you could bottle this feeling up forever.
“Gotta say, ‘Loser’ looks pretty good on you,” you jest, giving him a once-over with your eyes. The light from the flashlight, which you had propped against the side of the truck bed, was enough to illuminate the details of his torso. His chest hair, the hollow of his throat, the trail on his tummy, his lean shoulders.
“That was actually my plan all along, so joke’s on you,” he pretends to boast.
But the bravado of your earlier banter seems to fade like the smoke from the fireworks in the evening breeze. What is left between the two of you is a strange, mutual sort of buzzing…the hyper-awareness of his body next to yours, his familiar clean fragrance, the way his leg dangles off the truck bed so close that you can feel it brush against your skin. He’s utterly alluring. And something in his eyes indicates that he feels the same about you.
You switch off the flashlight and sit in comfortable silence beside Steve for a few moments. The sounds of the forest resume their serenade, and the afterimages of light in your eyes from the fireworks start to fade. As you adjust to the dark, a new source of light catches your attention.
“The stars,” you exclaim quietly, gazing up.
Steve follows your gaze, and the two of you watch in awe for a long time. There seems to be a million times more stars out tonight than any other old night in Hawkins, despite the moon on the horizon. Perhaps it was just that you’ve finally become aware of the stars again long enough to sit and observe them. Perhaps it was a message from the universe or something cheesy like that. But for whatever reason, the sky is truly dazzling tonight.
“Do you wanna know a secret?” Steve says after a while. You nod your head, and he continues. “I…used to be a Boy Scout.”
“Yeah. For a few years.”
“Why’d you quit?” you wondered.
Steve shrugged. “My parents got busy, so they couldn’t take me to meetings anymore.”
“It’s whatever.” Steve lies on his back on the truck bed, heaving a sigh. “I didn’t really like it much anyway. But I did get my Astronomy Badge before I quit.”
“Please tell me you’re not about to point out the constellations right now for me like we’re in some cheesy John Hughes movie.”
“What? No.” He smiles. “Ew. No. I would never do something that sappy.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
A breath of silence. “But, let’s just say,” he says, “for the sake of the argument…that we actually are in a John Hughes movie…”
“And if we were… I’d probably lean in close, like this…” He leans his head closer to yours and points to the sky. “And I would show you the star Vega…and there’s Altair…”
“Oh my god, Stevie, so romantic,” you say in a mocking voice.
“Here—” he takes your hand in his and manipulates your fingers so you’re pointing now. And he shuffles himself closer to your head so you could share his line of view. “So there’s the Big Dipper…and if you follow the star right here on the corner and draw a line…you’ll find the North Star.” He tilts his head towards you and smiles. “But it would all just be a ploy, a plot device.”
“A plot device for what?”
“For the boy to get close enough to the girl so he could kiss her.”
Out of nowhere, he leans in toward you, still smiling, and plants a single kiss on your lips. Although your mind reels, you manage to keep your composure at the feel of his warm lips.
“Or something like that,” he whispers. “I dunno. John Hughes movies are kinda cheesy, aren’t they.”
“Kinda?” you echo, giggling. “That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done.”
“You loved it though, didn’t you.”
You did love it. “Steve Harrington, you are such a cliché,” you joke.
But the joke doesn’t go over very well, it seems. He hesitates, and then the energy changes a bit. He lets his hand fall with yours but doesn’t let go of it. “Do you think that, for real?”
“That I’m a cliché.”
You blink at him in the darkness. “I was just joking, I promise,” you reassure him.
“I know, it’s just… Someone told me that before, a long time ago. And I’ve thought about it ever since.”
“Someone told you that you’re a cliche?”
“Well, granted, I kinda was , back then.” He scratches his head.
You ponder that. “Was it…was it Nancy?” you guess.
Steve nods. “Yeah—how’d you know?”
“Just a guess,” you say. Steve and Nancy had been an unlikely pair when they had first gotten together. Nancy was always quiet and kind, smart, never dreamed of stepping out of line. Steve was always loud, brazen, handsome, dripping with charm and wealth, too cool for school—and too cool to give most people the time of day. Of course, though, they both seem to have changed drastically since those days.
You’re curious to know more, but you decide against asking him. It isn’t your place. Instead, you say, “I don’t think you’re a cliché, Steve. Anything but, really. I think you’re pretty…extraordinary, to be honest.” You squeeze his hand and look over at him, before gesturing up to the sky. “And I actually really like hearing about the stars from you, jokes aside. Every girl secretly loves the cheesy romantic stuff, deep down.”
It’s probably the most candid you’ve ever been about your feelings toward him. And it felt good to say it aloud, but you feel shaky with adrenaline now.
“I knew you couldn’t resist a good ol’ romantic stargazing moment,” Steve grins.
“You got me.”
Steve sighs deeply again. “I don’t really wanna be that person anymore…the person Nance said was a cliché. I’m…” —he shifts uncomfortably— “...I’m not proud of a lot of things I did back then.”
You wonder what he meant by that. “That was a while ago,” you reassure him. “You can get a fresh start now that high school’s over.”
“Yeah, there’s just a lot of things I wish I had done differently, though.”
“With…Nancy?” you ask softly.
You can’t see it, but you can tell by his voice that he’s frowning. “Yeah, but just…overall. I was kind of a dickhead… And with Nance, I felt like a better man when I was with her. But I was still… I guess I get why she broke up with me, is all. She definitely deserved better than me.”
“I feel like you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” you respond with genuineness. “I mean, there was a reason you stayed together for almost a whole year, right? Relationships are…they’re two-way streets. And I’m willing to bet you were probably a really good boyfriend to her.”
“I got better, I think…” Steve seems to come to his senses, then, as if he realizes who he’s talking to and what he’s been talking about. “God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. That was really shitty of me—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise.”
He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You’d almost forgotten he still isn’t wearing a shirt; his bare skin feels warm against your hand. There’s a reinstated moment of silence between you two, and yet, a thousand thoughts swim around in your brain.
Carefully, you break the silence again. “I’m glad we’re talking about it.”
“Yeah, but I just know how it feels when you have to listen to someone complain to you about their ex.” He laughs humorlessly. “I mean, at this point, I’m just being pitiful. It was six months ago, and she’s moved on, and I’ve moved on, too. I mean…” He rubs your hand with his thumb. “I mean, I wanna move on.”
“Listen,” you say. “I can tell you really cared about her, Steve. And that you still do. And…I can tell it still hurts. And that you’re still grieving it.” You roll over so you’re on your stomach, propping yourself up with your elbows so you can look at him in the moonlight. “And I want to be here for you. But I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“But Y/N…” Steve brushes your hair out of your face. “I like you. A lot. I really, really like you.”
It’s the first time you’ve heard him say anything so definitive. Your face heats and you smile to yourself. “Really?”
“For a while I really wasn’t sure that you did,” you admit.
“You’re a doofus. Of course I fucking like you.”
“Well, I don’t know! I mean…god, I was so confused, Steve. I thought that you did, but then you, like, ignored me for a whole week.”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Things just got really… real for me all the sudden, last week.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you knew this or not, but I…hadn’t really been with anyone since Nancy. Not seriously. Not until…you.”
So Robin had been right. Of course she had. Was Robin ever really wrong about anything? You need to start giving your mutual friend some more credit, you realize.
“You haven’t?” you ask.
“Nope. That’s why I freaked out in your basement last week…and ignored you for a week…and then blamed it on you. Wow. I really fucked this up already, and it hasn’t even started yet.”
You lean down to kiss his arm gently. “You didn’t fuck anything up.” Steve shivers at your touch; you realize then that the temperature has dropped. “You can put your shirt back on if you want,” you giggle.
“Thanks,” he whispers and sits upright to pull his tee shirt back on. Not the sweatshirt, though. “Do you wanna wear this?” He offers it to you.
“That’s okay,” you decline, although the night air has brought goosebumps to your arms.
“Don’t be silly, your hands are freezing.” He nudges you with the sweatshirt until you give in and pull it on over your head. It smells so deliciously good. “It looks good on you,” he compliments.
“Thank you, Steve.” You shimmy next to him again; he stretches out his arm like a pillow for your head. Being this close to him feels like heaven.
“I should be the one thanking you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been nothing but patient and forgiving to me, even if I don’t deserve it.”
“You deserve it, dummy. And for the record, I really like you too.”
He shivers again, and you snuggle closer to him. With the arm that’s nestled under your neck, he plays with your hair absently. “I don’t want you to think that the stuff with Nancy changes anything between us.”
You don’t say anything at first.
He stirs beside you. “Y/N?” he prompts.
“What…exactly… is between us?” you ask him.
You’re thinking back to the stupid rules you and Steve had set for each other back in the basement last week. Rule Number Two, stay friends no matter what. There’s nothing you fear more than losing Steve as a friend. Which is why the idea of being more than friends terrifies you as much as it excites you.
“I don’t know,” Steve replies with a smirk, “but I’m down to play it by ear if you are.”
Play it by ear. “That doesn’t sound half bad. But…Steve?”
“I get the feeling that it’s not really just about Nancy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean… All summer, you always joked about how you’re a washed-up version of the Steve Harrington you used to be. I don’t think you’re washed up… I think you’re pretty amazing as is. But I don’t think you really think you’re washed up either. I think you’ve come a long way from who you used to be. And you should be proud of that. But I also get the sense you feel a little lost…like you don’t know who you are if you’re not the same Steve Harrington you used to be.”
There’s a breath of silence as Steve shifts beside you. “Damn, alright, Sigmund Freud.”
Yikes. You probably shouldn’t have said that much. “I’m sorry… That was really out of line for me to say, wasn’t it.”
“No, I mean…you’re not wrong. I guess I don’t really know who I am anymore.”
“There’s no rush to figure out who you are.”
“But, like, I don’t even know what I like, or what I’m good at.”
“I could tell you one thing that you like and that you’re good at,” you say suggestively. “...Sorry, bad joke.”
But he laughs and kisses you again, out of the blue. It’s a shallow, almost chaste kiss that still manages to steal your breath away, but before you know it, he’s trying to roll on top of you, planting kiss after sweet kiss on your parted lips.
“Hey,” you laugh. “We were…having…a conversation.”
“It can wait.” Steve pins you against the truck bed with his body, attacking you over and over again with his lips. Oh, how you’ve longed to feel his body weight atop yours like this. Each kiss brings a feeling of indescribable lightness, like the feeling of a giggle bubbling up from your belly, like the drop of a roller coaster, like gravity has gone away.
As much as his pecks bring you joy, you long for that heavy feeling you got in the back hallway of the mall when he kissed you as if his entire life depended on it. So, right when he’s no longer expecting it, you push Steve’s shoulders off of you and roll on top of him, trading places. His eyes are wide in the moonlight, and you plan a kiss above each one, on each of his eyelids.
“Kiss me like you mean it,” you command.
“I do mean it.”
“Then prove it.”
Steve snakes his arms around your back and holds you securely as he pulls you down to kiss him deeply. Fireworks, just like the ones from earlier, seem to pop off between your bodies, and you’ve never felt so irrevocably his until this very moment.
“See, I told you, you are good at something,” you murmur when he finally breaks away.
“How can I make a career out of this?” Steve feels up and down your body with open palms and an expression of sheer reverence.
You laugh and brush his hair from his face. “There are plenty of careers you could have,” you say seriously.
The conversation from earlier resumes. “Yeah, but…” Steve’s lips purse in thought. “It just feels like, while everyone else was figuring out who they were in high school, I was stuck trying to be what everyone else thought I should be, and I didn’t let myself explore who I wanted to be.”
“Well…What were some things you were good at in high school?”
“Nothing,” he insists. “I sucked at every subject.”
“Did you suck, or did you just not try?”
“...Okay, fine. I didn’t try. But I didn’t really care about school anyway. It never interested me. Still doesn’t, really. Like, I am not looking forward to community college.”
“Okay, well, what were some things that you did find interesting?”
“I mean, we can work with that. You’re a people person, Steve. You like people. And you’re good with them. And from what Robin told me, you’re good with the kids, too,” you add with a jab to his side. He twists away and scowls.
“Yeah, I know, my only friends for the last part of high school were a gang of middle schoolers. Tell me that’s not the most uncool thing you’ve ever heard.”
“Actually, it’s not. You’ve got a heart for the youngins; so what?”
“Okay, I’ve got a good direction for you.”
“What is it?”
“...Little league coach.”
“Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It was either that, or ‘Stay-At-Home Dad.’”
“...That doesn’t sound too bad, either.”
You laugh and kiss both corners of his mouth. “I don’t really know what I want to do either, for the record.”
“Yeah, but you were at least good at school. Like, weren’t you telling me that you got into Purdue?”
You did get into Purdue, but there was a distinct reason why you weren’t going in the fall…that reason being money, primarily. “I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, though,” you insist.
“Is it bad if I say I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving for college in August?” he smiles shyly. “We get to spend more time together.”
“No. Not bad. I’m glad, too.” You had deferred your acceptance to community college so you could work full-time for half a year. And the idea of spending as much time as possible with Steve during that time was more than a little exciting. You kiss his lips once more before rolling off of him, resuming your position in the crook of his arm. “I’m just saying, you and I have time. There’s no rush.”
“To figure out what we’re doing with our lives, or to figure out what we are?” Steve asks.
“You’re right.” Steve kisses your head beside him. “Hey.”
“...I know what happened back there at the fair was kind of a lot… Really sexy, don’t get me wrong...”
“Really sexy,” you agree with a giggle.
“But is it okay if we take things a bit…slow?” he asks. “Maybe, like…warm up to the rest?”
You nod understandingly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “Good. Maybe in the meantime…we could go on a date. Like a real date.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Steve Harrington?”
“Hell yeah I am,” he says. “We’ll do the whole shebang. The fancy dinner, the movie. I’ll get you some roses and shit.”
“Now that’s cliché,” you laugh. “But I kinda love the idea.”
“Pick me up at 7?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gazes down at you. “But…is it okay if I kiss you again?”
“I’d be upset if you didn’t.”
And so he does The novelty of the feeling of his kisses is starting to fade, but the bubbly feeling inside your stomach remains. You could kiss Steve Harrington like this all night long—nothing more, just kisses, laughing with each other, and the stars. Simple as that.
And that’s exactly what you do.
A/N: Helloooo! Yayyy, they finally had an honest conversation LMFAO. I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!
Much love ❤︎ from Juniper
about me | tags | AO3
fanfic masterlist | buy me a ko-fi?
Stranger Things fics taglist (if I'd added you by mistake, you'd like to be removed, or you'd liked to be added, please lmk via ask!):
@rexorangecouny @k-k0129 @piecsesrising @cutesy-creep @whereintheworldisspencerreid @thingfromlove @hellfirebloodhound @buginksworld @wtfsteveharrington @yellowharrington @theangryjuniper @o-holynight @chestharrington @sexytholland @hoedameronsworld @floralcyanide @likexthexplanet @thatsonezesty13 @misaamaneswifey @undeniableadrenaline @bobo-bush @sojibug @hazzarights @touchmetouchmetouchme @homeskilletbiscuit22 @dullsocietyy @kirbursoot @lelenikki @keepingitlokiii @hoedameronsworld @xh-josii @sexytholland @theblairwaldorf2
@laurapalmersghxst @usuallyunlikelyfox @secretsicanthideanymore @fujiihime @thingfromlove @parker-natasha @thestevehairyington @outer-bnks @totally-bogus-timelady @tooearlyforthis @mustbeaweasleyginger @wicked-remarks @steveharringtonarchives
hey 🥺 I luv your writing !!
sorry if this has been requested before but i was having thots about kissing an innocent, helmetless din and when things get hot and heavy, he finishes before all clothing are even taken off 🤭
AN | This concept just makes my brain go dumb. My brain is all Din all the time lbr 🥰
Warnings | Language, Spice Light (but still spice so 18+ only!)
Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader
Word Count | 1.3k
Masterlist | Din, Main
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
He’d been gone for days. He’d said he would be gone for two at most, and you’d believed him. Why you didn’t know better by now was beyond you. Probably because you hoped he’d be back as soon as possible. You didn’t like being without him; not that you were worried about your safety or afraid that something would happen but because you missed him. What a concept that was; when you’d first met him you were sure that you’d never even get along with him, let alone fall in love with him. But then again, things rarely made sense these days so it shouldn't have surprised you in the slightest. Yet Din Djarin managed to surprise you constantly.
A tired sigh escaped your lips as you climbed into bed - alone - with a heavy heart. It was dark, but the stars cast some light into the small room, seeming to illuminate his side of the bed more than anything. You pulled the covers up to your chin and squeezed your eyes shut, keeping your back to the side he normally occupied as if that would help ease your heart. It didn’t.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You were roused out of a deep sleep but a shifting of weight next to you, and your senses immediately went on high alert. Once you were done struggling, you heard a warm chuckle reach your ears and you immediately realized it was him. Your Mandalorian was home.
“Din,” suddenly everything felt right again and your heart was at ease. You found him looking at you with a soft, tired smile on his face, his dark curls rogue as ever, “you’re home.”
“Mesh’la,” he reached over and gently touched your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he studied you, “my beautiful girl. Sorry it took so long.”
“All that matters is that you’re home and safe,” you took his hand in yours and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, causing him to sigh softly, “besides, I’d miss you even if you were gone for just a few hours.”
Before he could stop himself, his large, warm hands found your face and he brushed his lips against yours in what he had intended on being a single, soft little kiss. But as soon as he got a taste of your sweet lips, he couldn’t stop him and kissed you until you were breathless and dizzy. You were leaning into him and almost fell off the bed as you chased his lips with your own.
“Din,” his name tumbled from your lips like the sweetest golden honey and he practically groaned at the sound, “I see you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed you.”
You tugged on the collar of his shirt and pulled back down to your lips, moving back so he could get in next to you. He refused to break the kiss, falling into bed next to you, hastily pulling you into his lap. You laughed lightly at his eagerness, nudging his nose with yours, “fuck. I’ve missed you, gorgeous girl. Need you so bad.”
“You have me, cyar'ika,” you whispered in his ear, so softly it was only audible to him. The sweetness of your voice rushed straight to his cock and you could feel how hard he already was under you, “take what you need, Din. I’m all yours.”
His hands found purchase on your waist, splaying over your delicate skin as you gently rutted against him. He ghosted his fingers over your soft, supple flesh before impatiently tugged your shirt (his shirt) over your head and tossed it to the side. His name was a soft little gasp off your lips as he dipped his head to kiss along your shoulder before trailing warm, wet kisses to your collarbones. You leaned into him as much as possible, pressing your breasts against his chest, needing some sort of friction.
"So beautiful," he rasped against your skin, bringing one of his large hands to your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple while he took the other in his mouth. You made soft sounds, the sweetest sounds to his ears, as you carded a hand through his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. You hadn't realized just how much you missed his touch, everything, all of him.
"Din," you closed your eyes, moving your hips lightly to get some sort of friction between your legs. You could feel how wet you were, your cunt begging to be touched by him. For the moment you settled on gently rocking in his lap, grinding yourself against his erection, "fuck, fuck, fuck, please don't stop."
"Never going to stay away from you this long again," he dragged his tongue in between your breasts, tasting delicious sweet saltiness of your skin, "so fucking perfect. Use me, good girl, I want you to cum without me even touching you."
You made a small noise in his ear, somewhere between a whine and a whimper and he could feel his cock straining against his pants. He hadn't been this hard in a long time and the sensitivity only increased with each little movement of your hips. He kissed every inch of your skin that he could reach, gently nipping and sucking at your tender, delicate skin.
You reached for his hands and placed them back on your breasts, having him play with them as you kissed him, rubbing on him harder and harder. You felt that familiar warmth bloom and blossom in your belly, slowly radiating out to every part of your body.
"Din," you whined as he kissed you with a needy hunger, "'m so close."
"Good girl," he praised softly, his hands sliding to your hips as he forced down on him, bringing you hurtling towards your release with each little movement. He loved you like this - he loved you always - but there was something about you in his lap, looking so ethereal that caused his brain to go haywire. You leaned in towards him, seeking his lips out with your own as you kissed him deeply. All you could think about was his touch, his taste, and how tightly the coil in your belly was wound, threatening to snap at any moment.
“I love you,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you let yourself succumb to his touch and let go, your release washing over you in waves. Your arms looped around his neck as you tried to pull him into you, burying your face into the crook of his neck, “‘so good.”
“Fuck,” you could feel him shifting under you, his hips still moving to meet yours as you feel his whole body shudder. A string of quiet curses left his lips as his chest rose and fell rapidly. He moved you back and looked at his lap. Even in the pale starlight, you could see the mess you’d made on him through the thin material of your panties and…the mess he’d made too, “dank farrik. Haven’t done that in a long time. I love you too, mesh’la.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you grinned, biting your lip in the way that drove him crazy before he kissed you again, “glad I know I have that much power over you, cyar'ika. But I do have one problem.”
“Oh?” his breath hitched in his throat as you reached for the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on it. He smirked as he lifted his arms up so you could slowly strip him, admiring his freckled, golden skin.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” you kissed his chest before pushing him to lie down on the bed, “it is late…we should go to bed and get some sleep. Unless you have any other suggestions…”
“I am far from done with you,” he growled in your ear as you wasted no time in reaching for the waistband of his pants, “that was just a warm up, mesh’la. Going to make sure to fill you up next time.”
Hello, 🐍 here! Could I possibly get nsfw headcanons for Philza, Eret, and Wilbur (all separate), where the male reader has been teasing all day, and the guys snap and rail the reader? And could all three include a height kink? (I'm vibing at 5'3 until I die). Thank you!
Love a short king, especially you 🐍, plus I’m a short queen too c: I made it Vilbur btw cause he's hot. Everything I had Eret say I pictured in the voice, ya know. Also! Forewarning that Schlatt does appear in the Wilbur one, just in case anyone needs it. These ended up turning out so fucking long lol. Oopsie daisy :3
-Phil had been busy all week.
-With being out gathering supplies, training with Techno, and just planning out builds.
-He sadly didn't really have time for you.
-You were a little over not getting attention, it's not your fault that you're needy.
-To your credit you had tried just simply being near him, even while he was working.
-Sure that worked for a little bit but eventually you got bored, and that was early in the day too.
-You left to do other things to distract yourself and you weren’t sure Phil even noticed you left.
-Busying yourself with chores only lasted for so long before you were out of things to do.
-Still frustrated and wanting attention you decided to have some fun with it at least.
-Maybe it could help you feel better, and just maybe you could get something out of it.
-It started out with you just coming in and checking on him or bringing him something.
-You’d lightly run your hands over his arms or his shoulders.
-You ramped it up with each visit.
-Placing teasing kisses on his neck, near his ear, even going as far as to bite at him.
-You’d have to try harder.
-You decided to change into something you knew he’d like.
-It wasn’t overly lewd or promiscuous, just something you could wear around the house that you knew would get his attention.
-Much to your dismay it didn’t affect him, he barely even really noticed.
-After practically a whole day of being ignored and getting nowhere you were understandably frustrated.
-Tired of waiting and not getting help you decided to deal with it yourself.
-You made your way to your shared bedroom and readied yourself on the bed.
-It took no effort to work you up, you had been pretty much half hard all day.
-Within little to no time you were becoming a mess.
-Of course you weren’t trying to be quiet either, if anything you were being louder than normal.
-Just for that extra push.
-So there you laid fucking yourself with a toy that in all reality paled in comparison to what you really wanted.
-It didn't take long for you to become a noisy whining mess and honestly you didn’t think Phil would ever notice.
-You knew that if he were to come in he would love the way you looked, all spread out practically begging for him.
-It would seem the Gods do have a sense of humor, much to your surprise and dismay.
-You practically jumped when Phil came barging into the room.
-“Listen I know I haven’t been spending much time with you, but you really think this is the way to get my attention?”
-As shocked as you were, you recovered quick.
-All you could do was smile at him all cheeky like.
-“Well it worked didn’t it?”
-Phil did not like that at all.
-You weren’t one to disobey that kind of order, especially when it was said like that.
-You expected him to force you onto your knees or something.
-Instead he wasted no time shoving you against the wall.
-Your tiny frame was boxed in by Phil’s taller figure and his wings only helped you feel even smaller.
-Before you could say anything or even try to apologize you heard Phil undressing.
-“You probably thought I didn’t notice, dove. Probably thought that you weren’t affecting me.”
-There was no chance to respond as you felt him press up against you, pushing you further against the wall.
-“Is this proof enough for you that you do affect me?”
-The feeling of being trapped by just his size alone with his dick pressed against your ass had you unable to respond.
-All you could do was nod and whimper.
-The resulting low chuckle from Phil immediately went to your core.
-“That’s right, you remember your place don’t you, dove.”
-You felt one of his hands snake around and run along your body but still not touching you where you needed.
-Just as you were about to complain you felt his hot breath fan over your ear.
-“Oh? Do you not like the taste of your own medicine?”
-Another chuckle rumbled through his chest and you felt his tip press against you.
-“Lucky for us you already prepared yourself, just for me.”
-Despite being prepped you still hoped he would take it slow, even though you wanted him oh so badly.
-You would not get that wish fulfilled, as Phil wasted no time pushing in and bottoming out.
-That and Phil’s groan in your ear were all it took to push you over the edge.
-You were desperate to grab on to anything just for support whether it was the wall in front of you or Phil’s arm next to your head.
-“Fuckkkk~ pretty boy, you came just from that?”
-All you could do was whimper in response as your orgasm shook through your body.
-Phil kept a significantly slow pace while you worked through your high, he didn’t want to overstimulate you.
-Your body was absolutely buzzing and your heart was pounding in your ears so loud you didn’t hear the little moans and whines you were making.
-You collapsed your full weight into the wall in front of you, exhausted from the force of your orgasm.
-“Oh? Did you think we were done, dove?”
-You meekly looked back at him only for the lewdest moan to fall from your lips as Phil picked up one of your legs to get a better angle.
-With your leg pulled up to your side he was able to hit so much deeper.
-The grin on his face said all you needed to know as he instantly set a brutal pace.
-Your moans that punctuated each one of his trusts only spurred him on to go faster.
-“Phil please, please, please, please.”
-Your begging and whining made Phil lean in and place a sweet kiss to your cheek.
-“Please what, baby. Please make you feel even better? Oh I can do that.”
-Before you could even answer, his pace somehow increased even more.
-All you could manage were an endless stream of moans, whimpers, and whines as Phil fucked you silly.
-It didn’t take long for your brain to go completely blank, only thoughts of Phil and how good he was making you feel danced in your head.
-As much as he wanted to just use you till his heart's content as punishment for the teasing, he couldn’t help but praise you still.
-“So good baby. You’re such a good boy for me. Taking me so well, making me feel so good.”
-You didn’t think it was possible for you to come again so soon.
-And yet here you were, coming undone against the wall all over again, and the praise is what pushed you to your edge.
-Phil’s rhythmic thrusts turned broken and shaky with no particular pattern as your orgasm pulled him to his own.
-“Fuck dove, gonna fill you up so good.”
-Phil was never one to break a promise, and he delivered on this one.
-He let your leg drop so he could wrap his arms around you as his hips snapped against yours before going still.
-You could feel him twitching and filling you up, and you moaned in response.
-The two of you stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the other's presence and coming down from your highs.
-Once he recovered Phil carefully pulled out and left to get something to clean you up with.
-Lucky for you the wall was there for you to support yourself with, otherwise you would have collapsed to the floor.
-After you were all cleaned up Phil moved you to the bed for you to rest and so he could cuddle you.
-Before you could drift off into a satiated and happy sleep you had a thought.
-“Maybe I should tease you more often if this is how it ends up.”
-You may have been laughing but Phil was not.
-Eret was an excellent partner, you couldn’t really ask for better.
-He was always so attentive and aware of your needs.
-Typically whenever Eret was busy, be it with kingly duties or something else, he’d still let you be with him.
-Whether it was by sitting next to him, holding his hand, or sitting on his lap.
-Eret was never one to shy away from physical affection, especially when it made you happy.
-So it was odd when you hadn’t gotten any attention today, in fact you hadn’t even really seen Eret.
-Admittedly you were a little upset and frustrated over it.
-It took almost an hour of searching the castle to find him, and in that time period you had only become more flustered and pent up.
-You had found him in the courtyard doing paperwork, the last place you expected him to be.
-To be fair it was a nice day out and if he had to be stuck doing work he’d rather be outside.
-You sat down next to him and tried to cuddle up close to him.
-Normally whenever you were close to Eret he’d pull you close or hold your hand or something affectionate.
-So color you surprised when he hardly acknowledged that you were there.
-You tried to wrap your arms around his only for him to pull his arm out of your grasp.
-“Sorry dear, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
-He hadn’t even looked up from his work.
-You were a little hurt by it but at the same time you felt bad, he clearly had important work to do and you were trying to take his attention for selfish reasons.
-You gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before quietly getting up to leave him to his work.
-“I‘ll try to be done soon prince, I promise.”
-As sad as you were that you couldn’t have his attention you knew he needed to work.
-You tried to busy yourself to pass the time.
-You did chores around the castle like cleaning, restocking items you needed, and menial things like organizing.
-It only did so much to distract you and pass the time.
-So you drifted around the castle singing and humming various songs while you worked.
-After you ran out of things to clean and organize you decided it was finally time to bake.
-You were making multiple different types of cookies, breads, and two cakes.
-Of course some of the items were Erets favorites but the second cake you made was for Foolish.
-You owed Foolish for a favor, plus he was a good friend so why not make him a cake while you were at it.
-After hours of monitoring the bakes all that was left to do was decorate the cakes.
-It took no time to decorate the one for you and Eret, it was one you had made a hundred times before.
-You took more time with the one for Foolish cause it would be his first experience with your baking and you wanted it to be good.
-By the time you were done it was the afternoon and you were a bit of a sweaty mess.
-While you waited for everything to cool down and set, you went to take a shower.
-Since it was still day and Eret clearly wasn’t done with his work you figured you’d go and visit Foolish.
-You could bring him his cake and hangout and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see him.
-Both because you always enjoyed Foolish’s company and because at this point you were desperate for any attention you could get.
-So you went to go pack up the cake and some other goodies to take to Foolish.
-With everything packed and secured you got ready to leave, but first you popped in to let Eret know.
-“Hey, I’m gonna head over to Foolish’s, I should be home within the next few days.”
-He didn’t look up, you weren’t even sure he heard you.
-You were only a tiny bit sad as you made your way through the castle to leave.
-You stopped at the throne room and set down the basket you had, taking a moment to make sure you had everything.
-When you turned around Eret was right there barely a foot away from you.
-“Jesus, Eret you scared the shit out of me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
-Before you could say anything else Eret grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a kiss.
-You were needless to say surprised but still more than happy to kiss him back.
-“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
-He chuckled a little and moved his hand into your hair.
-“Do you know how badly I wanted you today? I had important work to do and yet you kept walking around the castle, cleaning and baking, teasing me.”
-Your face was immediately flushed, it wasn’t your intention to tease him, you didn’t think you’d affect him like that.
-“Eret I’m sorry, I didn’t-“
-He didn’t give you the opportunity to finish before he was kissing you again, though it was much more heated this time.
-You hadn’t noticed that he was walking the two of you backwards until the back of your legs bumped into the throne.
-“If you’re sorry, then get on the throne.”
-You didn’t hesitate, you knew to always listen to your king.
-Much to your surprise he placed his crown on your head and then sank to his knees in front of you.
-Slowly he snaked his hands up your legs until he got to the waistband of your pants.
-He did not wait for you to say anything, immediately he was pulling your pants and boxers down.
-He lifted one hand close to your mouth and held out two fingers for you to get wet.
-With no hesitation you took them into your mouth, keeping eye contact with him.
-At the same time Eret used his other hand to slowly and teasingly ghost over your dick.
-Once his fingers were sufficiently lubed up he pulled them away and teasingly pressed them to your hole.
-After enough prepping and teasing you, Eret thought you were finally ready.
-He stood back up and with you on the throne he towered over you even more than normal.
-“My little prince.”
-He purred and ran a hand over your jaw, tilting your face up so you were looking at him.
-The two of you held that eye contact as he lifted one of your legs so he could hook it over his hip.
-“You’re going to look so pretty, all ruined for me, my prince.”
-All you could do was whine at the statement as he kissed you again.
-You were so distracted by the kiss and Eret’s hands on you that you didn't hear him undo his pants.
-He made sure to keep you distracted as he bottomed out in one swift movement.
-You reached up to hold onto his arm that was both supporting him and keeping you boxed in.
-“I know you didn’t mean to, but teasing gets me very worked up. So, are you gonna fix the problem you caused?”
-There was no second thought or reluctance when you nodded rather excitedly.
-“That’s right, cause you’re my good boy. My handsome little prince.”
-After the name “prince” fell from his lips like honey from a hive he went from sitting still to a practically brutal pace.
-The hand that wasn’t resting next to your head was holding your leg up so he could hit even deeper.
-The sound of skin hitting skin, melodic grunts and groans, and your own whimpers and moans bounced off the walls of the large throne room.
-How scandalous it would be if someone were to walk in and see the king and you like this but neither of you cared.
-You were both too concerned with chasing both your own highs and the others' high.
-The feeling of being boxed in by Eret’s much taller figure against the throne only contributed to the fuzzy feeling in your chest.
-All you could hope and pray to do was hold onto the throne and Eret as he fucked into you at an ungodly speed.
-He made sure each thrust was punctuated with him pushing as deep as your bodies would allow.
-“Fuck, you’re so good for me. Always know how to make me feel good.”
-You whined as your body started to shake, the feeling of your orgasm building almost becoming overwhelming.
-Eret did not lessen the pace but he did make sure to hold you there right on the edge.
-The smirk that played on his lips as he watched you shake and beg for him was borderline dangerous.
-“Please what, pretty boy? You want to cum? You want to be my good boy? Go ahead, little prince.”
-His sultry voice praising you and telling you what to do was all that you needed to push you over the edge.
-You held onto Eret and spasmed as overwhelming pleasure engulfed you, making everything warm and fuzzy.
-Eret was close behind you, his rhythm stuttering as he got pulled closer and closer to the edge.
-He took the time to pull you into a passionate kiss before reaching his climax, his hips pressed hard against yours.
-Once he pulled away you collapsed against the throne and tried to catch your breath.
-“Head up my prince, you don’t want to drop your crown do you?”
-Eret used his hand to both lift your head and readjust the crown still sat atop.
-You smiled sweetly as he helped both of you collect yourselves.
-“I’m sorry again for teasing you, it wasn’t my intention.”
-Eret’s laugh helped to pull you back and made you focus on him.
-“Well you can still make it up to me then. It is your problem to fix after all.”
-The smirk dancing on his lips had you feeling excited as he picked you up to take you back to your chambers.
-Your baked goods for Foolish were left long forgotten on the floor.
-Wilbur was a busy man.
-What with trying to retake his country which happened to turn into planning to destroy it.
-Lucky for Wil he had a boyfriend who was loyal and just as passionate as him.
-You helped him. You went to meetings, helped him plan, and were always by his side.
-You were his partner in crime, his everything.
-Even when he lost l’manburg, when he lost everything he worked towards, he never lost you.
-You stayed by him no matter what, the pair of you were deathly loyal to each other.
-Even through the immensely boring meetings Wil was having today.
-It was only midday and he was already on his third meeting with more to come.
-As much as you loved him, you would be the first to admit that you were bored out of your mind.
-The only thing keeping you even vaguely interested was the fact that you were meeting with Schlatt next.
-The man was nothing more than a lying, sneaky bastard and inadequate president.
-But you would be lying if you said you didn’t find him both intriguing and entertaining.
-Pulling yourself back to reality you saw Wilbur pacing in the back of the room, his brow furrowed in clear frustration.
-You wanted to say something, try to comfort him maybe, but the look he shot you immediately shut you down.
-You could understand that he was frustrated and stressed, but at the same time all you wanted to do was help.
-Contrasting the previous placid boredom, you could feel frustration blooming in your chest, one that mirrored Wil’s own.
-“Would you just let me-“
-“I said not now, Y/n.”
-The sword sheathed at Wil’s side would hurt less than the way he snapped at you.
-You could feel the remaining boredom and growing frustration shift into something akin to the fires you were accustomed to.
-That tight suffocating heat spread through your chest like wildfire threatening to swallow you whole.
-Yet there Wilbur was, completely unaware of the ticking of the bomb mere feet away from him.
-But just as fast as the fire started it turned to leaden ice in your veins.
-So you let him do whatever he pleased as you moved to take the only seat other than Schlatt’s own.
-Wilbur likely wouldn’t sit during the meeting anyways, given his current state.
-As if summoned by your own thoughts the devil himself swung open the door and walked in like he owned the place.
-To be fair, he did indeed own the place.
-Everything about him screamed of his narcissism, his confidence rolling off him in waves.
-First his gaze landed on the still wired Wilbur and his cocky smirk twisted into something sinister.
-Then as if in slow motion Schlatt’s gaze slid over to you and with the way he’s looking at you, well you wished he’d go back to the cocky smirk.
-“Well to what do I owe the pleasure?”
-Schlatt’s voice was a near purr as he plopped down in his seat that happened to eerily look like a throne.
-His tone took on a sour note as his gaze shifted back to Wilbur.
-Before you could respond Wilbur stepped up to the desk and slammed his hands down.
-“You know why we’re here, prick. You were fucking late.”
-Even you couldn’t help but look slightly horrified at how Wil was acting.
-Schlatt had exiled him out before, what was stopping him from doing worse?
-“Wil, maybe calm down and take a breather. I’m sure Schlatt had something important to do.”
-“More important than meeting with me about my country and exile?”
-You were hurt, it was everyone’s country and you were here with him through all the meetings.
-What was the point of you coming if it wasn’t a meeting with the both of you.
-“Wilbur you lost the election, it was a fair voting process. It’s not your country anymore.”
-This was the first time that you had disagreed with him about this and both of you were shocked.
-“You know Wilbur, maybe you should listen to the pretty boy, he seems to know more than you.”
-A look of surprise flashed across Wil’s face before turning into rage.
-“Fine, whatever, I’ll take a breather.”
-With that he stormed out of the office leaving you alone with Schlatt.
-“I don’t remember him always being that pleasant.”
-You couldn’t help but laugh, you didn’t even think it was that funny it just caught you off guard.
-“Well losing everything you had will do that to you.”
-“He still has you, so he hasn’t lost everything.”
-Whether it was a simple compliment or he was flirting with you, you were unsure.
-Nonetheless you were taken aback by it.
-The two of you continued to converse while waiting for Wil to return.
-You found it odd how surprisingly easy it was to get along with Schlatt.
-By the time Wil had calmed down and come back you and Schlatt were getting along as if you were long time friends.
-You offered Wil a soft smile and tried to give him your seat.
-Wilbur instead opted to stand behind you with his hands resting on the back of the chair.
-The rest of the meeting went smoothly, it was like you were a part of it.
-You did an excellent job of keeping things civil between the two men and keeping Wilbur calm.
-And you had some new insights into the matters they were discussing.
-Overall you would say this is probably the best any of these meetings had gone.
-You had fallen into such a comfortable place with Schlatt that you hadn’t even noticed that the two of you had been flirting.
-It wasn’t until the end of the meeting when Schlatt asked you to go out with him sometime that you noticed.
-Not wanting to seem impolite after such a good meeting, you said you’d think about it.
-“Well this has been fun, I’ll think about what you said Wilbur, but I’ve got important things to do.”
-With that Schlatt once again left the two of you in his office.
-As soon as you stood up Wilbur had your smaller figure caged against Schlatt’s desk.
-The look in his eyes sent shivers down your spine, it was practically predatory.
-He didn’t respond which only added to your unease.
-Instead he had his lips on yours in seconds, his callused hands digging into your hips.
-As he hoisted you up onto the desk a moan escaped right into Wil’s mouth.
-He pulled back only to start fussing with your clothes.
-“Wil what’s gotten into you?”
-In an instant his dark fiery eyes shifted up to yours with a twisted look.
-“You think you can make me jealous? You think I wouldn’t notice you flirting?”
-You were confused, you hadn’t been trying to- oh no.
-Looking back on it, you had been furious with Wil before the meeting.
-You figured you had just been oddly getting along with Schlatt.
-But thinking about it now, you think you had been trying to make him jealous.
-“Wil I didn’t mean to, I- I just was-“
-“I don’t care. I don’t care if there is a damn reason or not.”
-In an almost violent motion Wilbur captured your lips again, his teeth scraping against your lips.
-With a growl that rocked you to your core he tore your pants off while still keeping them intact.
-“You’re mine. All mine. Get it?”
-All you could do was nod as he swiftly flipped you over.
-You could feel the desperation, anger, and anxiety radiating off of him.
-He bent you over the desk and immediately pressed his hips hard against your exposed ass.
-It was an assertive growl but it was almost like he was reassuring himself.
-Wil gave you no time to even think about responding before he was pressing two wet digits to your ass.
-With his desperation there was little time for prep, but he wasn’t going to hurt you, not like that at least.
-After getting you thoroughly worked up and ready he didn’t hesitate to completely bury himself in you.
-The sudden fullness and his nails digging into your hips made you moan.
-“Wil, what if Schlatt comes back.”
-“Let him. He can watch, that’s all he’s good for.”
-Wilbur punctuated his sentence with a snap of his hips against yours.
-He set a brutal pace, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass and your legs hitting the desk bounced off the walls.
-It took everything in you to not cry out his name as you gripped onto the desk for dear life.
-Wil reached forward to firmly wrap a hand around your neck, but not hard enough to cause any pain or discomfort.
-At the same time he angled his hips to hit that sweet spot the both of you loved so much.
-Your hands flew up to grip Wil’s as a wonton moan ripped its way through your throat.
-He pulled you up so your back was pressed to his chest and you could’ve sworn he purred.
-“That’s right, firefly. Let them know who you belong to.”
-The way he fucked you was ruthless as if he was letting everything out.
-This was more for him than you but you didn’t care.
-There was something completely intoxicating about being fucked on Schlatt’s desk.
-The risk of being caught, the pure danger of it, you loved it.
-“Mine, all fucking mine.”
-Wil’s growl in your ear pulled you right to the edge.
-“Fuck. Yours, all yours.”’
-It was as if something snapped inside of Wilbur when you said that.
-He became impossibly more rough and sporadic, his grip on your throat and hips tightening ever so slightly.
-“Say that again.”
-“I’m yours Wil. I’m all yours.”
-Wilbur’s whole body shuddered against you as a breathy, melodic, moan fell from his lips.
-He made it his goal in that instant to bring the both of you to bliss.
-“Come on my love, cum for me.”
-You turned your head to the side to be able to passionately kiss him.
-The two of you tumbled over the edge hand in hand, mouth on mouth.
-It was pure and absolute bliss.
-Neither of you could stop from moaning into the other's mouth.
-You collapsed across the desk sending papers and items askew as you caught your breath.
-Once the both of you had recovered Wil helped you to redress but neither of you bothered to fix Schlatt’s desk.
-You stopped Wil by grabbing his hand and pulling him down to kiss him.
-“I’m sorry for flirting with Schlatt. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
-Wil smiled softly at you before laughing a little bit.
-“It’s okay, I was just really worked up.”
-“Well if anything I learned how hot you are when you’re jealous.”
-You winked at him and put a hand to his chest causing him to laugh.
-“And I learned that you’re hot spread across my enemies desk.”
-Needless to say that you ended up being late to the next meeting.
hi hi! i love your series on twst characters in our world sm <33 could i request them realizing that this is what it felt like when you were sent to their world? and probably gaining (even more) respect for you? bc being sent to a new world is terrifying and kinda painful and really, really weird??? and the fact that mc just,,, went with it with only a little bit(?) of psychological damage is wild. there's not too much to say so it can be as short as you like :3!
What I’m hearing is that you want more angst and I am very happy to deliver. I’m two seconds from doing whumptober at this rate fkshdk
I ended up doing it in a oneshot format instead of regular headcanons, I hope that’s alright. This also wasn’t as angsty as anticipated but I might go back and do something similar that’s more angsty at a later date 🤍🤍🤍
The Wrong Side of Paradise
Characters: riddle, Trey, Leona, Ruggie, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Jamil, vil, rook, Idia, malleus, Lilia
Cw// mild angst, mental health issues, sad vibes, hurt/comfort, arguing, yelling, fighting
For people who crave order, it’s incredibly hard to let go of everything you know and be thrown into something different. For the fantastical, being trapped in the mundane is torture. For the optimistic, knowing there’s no way you can return home on your own dashes hopes like bitters in a drink.
It’s been a week since their arrival in this new world, and everyone had finally had their breakdowns. Some sooner than others, some slower. The group of (mostly) teenagers sat quietly in their friends living room, silent in contemplation as soft classical music played. Their TV had a fireplace screen saver, in an attempt to make them feel more at home, since they had no fireplace, and it only worked a little. The ambient noise was a comfort, but when one would catch the screen out of the corner of their eye, they could no longer delude themself into everything being fine.
“I miss Ortho.” Idia finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper but the silence made it carry.
Some turned to look at him, others forced their gaze to the ground.
“I miss Silver and Sebek,” Lilia lamented, leaning toward Idia where they sat on the ground.
“I miss my idiot freshman.” Riddle admitted, fidgeting with his hands. He would never dream of doing either under normal circumstances, but he was simply as far away from his rules and his mother as he could be. What was there to stop him?
Floyd sighed. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, with Jade sitting on the couch behind him and Azul beside Jade. Floyd leaned back against Jade’s legs, looking tired, “This discussion is a bummer. Can’t we talk about something better?”
“Better? We’re stranded in a world, money-less, homeless, magicless, and with no concept of what this world is like outside of this house. What could possibly be a more important discussion than talking about it?” Jamil snapped, eyes narrowed on Floyd.
“Are you lookin’ to get squeezed, sea snake? Cause I could use some stress relief~”
“Enough.” Leona said firmly, blinking an eye open to look between them, “They’re both right. There’s no point in moping around, we gotta do what it takes to survive.”
“Easy for you to say, Kingscholar. You never cared about your life before, and it’s not like your kingdom will notice the spare prince missing.” Vil spat, gaze icy and hard.
“Guys, we shouldn’t fight about this.” Trey tried, attempting to reason.
Leona and Vil began to argue loudly while Floyd began crawling his way over to Jamil, who was climbing higher and higher on the couch in an attempt to get away from the former eel.
Malleus coughed to get their attention. This failed, however Riddle did notice and took action as well.
“ENOUGH!” He shouted, all eyes now on him, “Malleus has something he’d like to say.”
“Malleus as something he’d like to say.” Leona mocked in a high pitched voice while rolling his eyes.
Malleus paid him no attention, “You know, it seems as though there is one person who may be able to understand this plight we’re in that we haven’t consulted.”
Everyone looked confused before Malleus sighed and pointed in the direction of Yuu’s room.
“The prefect? But-“ Kalim began before cutting himself off, “Oh…”
The room went back to silence as they all looked away from each other, faces burning with shame, “Is this how-“
“What’s going on?” Yuu asked, stumbling from their room while rubbing their eyes, “I heard shouting, is everyone okay?”
They looked the most tired of everyone, despite being the one person asleep at the time.
Riddle’s face went red with embarrassment, “I apologize, Prefect, it was an attempt to- ah, prevent a fight.”
“You guys are fighting?” Yuu asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Again, I apologize-“
Yuu began to laugh, looking delighted, “No, no, this is good. I’m glad.”
“You’re…glad? That they’re trying to kill each other?” Idia asked, looking very worried.
“Not the killing each other part but,” they took in a deep breath and let out a little sigh, “You all haven’t been acting right for a week. And fighting each other is kind of the NRC pastime, so in my book you guys fighting is a win.”
The group went silent for a minute. Ruggie began to laugh, then so did a few others.
“I guess you’re right, Herbivore.” Leona admitted, chuckling just a little.
“It’s how we show affection.” Floyd added, finally snagging Jamil’s ankle and pulling him to the ground. He put him in a headlock, laying half of his bodyweight on the poor vice housewarden, who struggled.
“Floyd, be gentle with Jamil, please.” Jade said, hiding a smile behind his hand, “you know how fragile humans can be.”
Malleus beaconed Yuu over, who sleepily grinned at him, “What can I do for you, Hornton?”
Malleus’s face fell for a quick moment at the mention of his horns, but returned when he remembered the nickname, “We we’re discussing how…difficult it is to adjust to living here. Without magic.” He said quietly, “I thought you may understand that issue best of us.”
Yuu looked soft, eyes melting into sympathy as they nodded, “Yeah, I do.” They said before turning back to everyone else, “I know exactly what it’s like. And I’m so sorry any of you have to go through this. Especially because of me…”
Kalim got up and pulled Yuu into a hug, “It’s worth it, Yuu. And besides, Crowley won’t leave us here forever. And even if we are…” he began, but let the thought die.
Everyone had an expression of pain or misery on their face. Most people were curled up with someone else. Vil and Rook were cuddled close on the couch, Leona and Ruggie were close to each other on the floor. Malleus and Lilia both sat right by the couch, leaning on it, while Azul, Jade, and Idia sat on it. Jamil and Floyd were forcibly cuddled on the floor, while Trey and Riddle sat together in an oversized armchair.
Yuu watched them from where their head rested on Kalim’s shoulder and smiled, “You won’t be stuck here. I promise. Even if I have to travel the world for a solution, I won’t keep you away from your homes.”
Lilia stood up, stretching his back for a moment before going over to the lamps and turning them off one by one, “I think it’s time we get some rest, my friends.”
The group let out a series of grumbles either for or against this notion, but Yuu merely laughed.
“Time to split up, I suppose. Whoever beats me to my room can have the bed tonight!” They announced, dashing for their room as the room began to darken.
Floyd, Jamil, Jade, and Ruggie all got up to run after Yuu, trying to beat them to the doorway.
In the end, the five that ran tugged the mattress to the floor and made a pillow fort, sharing it, while those in the living room did something similar with the couch cushions.
stability, reciprocity and a romance for the ages
Summary: Peter Parker seems to be made of sunlight and comfort, and she seems to know just how to love him. Both sides of him.
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns); fluff, romance, just so much sentimentality, happy ending.
Warnings: allusion to past abuse/abusive people, but no details are given, it’s not glamorized - there’s a focus on healing.
Peter feels like such a cliché, letting the thought of the pretty girl who just moved in next door twist his attention and occupy his mind to the degree it does.
The degree in question being mortal danger coming much closer than usual to finally putting a nail in his coffin.
He finds it hard to stomach, while staggering home, that he was almost disemboweled by a crane hook while thinking of the cinnamon rolls she left on his doormat that evening.
He isn't nineteen anymore, and he isn't even among the most youthful twenty-somethings. At twenty-seven, with everything he's seen, being so distracted by her makes him feel like a hormonal teenager, and he doesn't long for those days at all.
If anything, Peter Parker keeps dreaming of stability in every aspect of life, but especially where romance is concerned. He's grown tired of the thought of going on dates with strangers, even if he's realistically only done it three times in three years, all of them single dates. As in, he met them once and then never again.
He wonders, and often, if he's just too picky, but whenever he finds it in himself to be brutally honest, he knows he's a sucker for pretty eyes and kindness.
He likes intelligence, of course, but he recognizes that he needs a good level of differences between himself and a potential partner. So far, the only people he's found attractive who also happened to be nerds, well, they all had their lives together. At this point in life, people were aggressively competing on the corporate ladder, fighting over research grants or taking the tech world by storm with some innovation or other.
Peter is a journalist on his best day. His biggest professional accomplishment to date was getting a full-time job at the Bugle after nearly eight years of independent contractor work, and Jameson still has him occasionally investigating the top ten patriotic recipes for the 4th of July.
Yeah, Spider-Man definitely made sure Peter Parker would always take a backseat to his own life.
He's proud of all he's done as his alter ego, but he'd also like to crash into someone's arms when he comes home. Have his significant other run a hand through his hair. Maybe a forehead kiss wouldn't hurt, either.
Peter is lonely, and those warm cinnamon rolls help immensely as he scarfs them down straight out of the pan. He keeps thinking he should go over to say thank you in between bites, but the exhaustion keeps erasing his mind like a goldfish every few seconds, and the cream cheese frosting certainly doesn't help.
So he passes out on the couch, still in his suit, crumbs all over his chest and her little note grasped in his right hand.
'I hope this isn't too forward of me, but I wanted to say hello properly. Hopefully you like these and you're not offended, but if you are, I'm sorry.'
He hopes she's not offended that he dreams about her that night.
The next week, he's wallowing in shame.
He still hasn't said thank you, and with each passing day, he feels like he's left it too long to still be viable. He knows it's ridiculous, but the solution he finds is returning the clean pan with a thank you note of his own, sticking it to her door with the tiniest bit of webbing, enough that you wouldn't be able to tell what it is.
And then he realizes it looks suspiciously gross, so he tears it off and uses a sticky note like a normal person.
'The only thing offensive about these is how quickly they disappeared. I wanted to say thank you in person, but I chickened out after day 4. Welcome to the neighborhood, Ms. Baker.'
He goes about his day before he can cringe at himself too much, and when he turns in for the night at 2 a.m., the note on her door is gone and his is sporting a new one.
'You're always welcome to stop by, with or without chickens. Sorry, that was terrible. If you can handle more lackluster jokes, my door is always open. Thank you for the welcome, Peter.
P.S.: Mrs. Dalton from 18b told me your name, I promise I'm not a stalker.'
He smiles when he sees that his roundabout way of finding out her name worked, as she signed it at the bottom.
He doesn't know what comes over him two days later when he shows up at her door, rotisserie chicken in hand that Dean & DeLuca charged him an arm and a leg for, but her laugh and brilliant smile are definitely worth the hole in his pocket and attempt at avantgarde humor.
He feels comfortable inside her home, and her demeanor encourages him to relax. She makes fries to go with the chicken, and they eat more messily than either would in the presence of a stranger.
He volunteers a world of information he normally wouldn't, and his heart is soothed by her reciprocation. He learns that she's not just new to the neighborhood, but the city, and chokes very casually when she offhandedly mentions the resident superhero.
Apparently, she feels safer just knowing Spider-Man exists, and Peter doesn't like the feeling in his chest when her eyes avoid his, but he doesn't press the question.
Later, when she offers him blueberry pie, he smiles like a doofus at her confession of having come to New York to open a bakery someday, and pledges his patronage with equal parts mirth and seriousness.
He drags his departure and she allows it - or maybe it's the other way around. All he knows is he doesn't want to go back to his empty apartment, much less back to the dark streets of the city, but he's reassured by the promise to hang out again.
She thanks him for his company, promising to cook next time, and they exchange numbers just for… reasons. Who knows when you need to let a neighbor know some vital piece of information. Yeah. That was why.
That night Peter has a pep in his step, and even the feral cat he rescues from inside a lead pipe can't ruin his mood, even if it does leave a nasty scratch on his temple - so far, the only villain this week who managed to draw blood.
She spots him when leaving for work the next morning, and though the scratch looks much better, she frowns upon seeing it, retrieving a band-aid from her messenger bag.
They're both too old to have a favorite cartoon, but what is even more ridiculous, is that they share one.
He wears the Pingu band-aid for far longer than necessary.
After that, it's all about sporadic encounters around the neighborhood, and sometimes even randomly around the city. Peter is surprised by the amount of times they seem to bump into each other serendipitously. His favorite one happens at the supermarket, where they proceed to shop together and she chastises him for the amount of sugary snacks in his cart.
"Oh, I'm sorry, mom, I'll put them back right now.", he mocks with a shit-eating grin.
She scoffs, insulted, before tilting her head in defiance.
"Do you know how much insulin costs in this country, Mr. Parker?", she counters with a light tone, playing into his game.
"Is it a gazillion dollars?", he ponders innocently.
"And 99 cents, yes. So maybe, it's not a good idea to buy, hmm… let's see: 8 packs of M&M's, 5 boxes of Starbursts, 5 bags of chips and… didn't peg you for a Nerds kinda guy."
"Peg me? You were thinking about pegging me?", he says all-too-seriously and entirely too loudly.
Her eyes widen, and in an instant, her hand is over his mouth, but it does little to stifle his laughter.
"Shh! You can't say that in public!", she whisper-shouts.
"But I can say it in private? Good to know!", he manages through her fingers.
"No! Peter, shut up!", she pleads, but soon, even she can't contain her laugh.
They giggle like teenagers in the corner of the snack aisle, shushing each other with little success and completely ignorant of the dirty looks from some disgruntled shoppers.
The rest of the shopping trip is spent in easy companionship, Peter teasing lightly when he sees her pouting at the empty fish tank, and in a stellar move (if he says so himself), seizes the opportunity to invite her to the NY Aquarium at Coney Island.
Is it a date? He doesn't mention it, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or play his hand too early, but when she accepts with a soft smile and an 'I'd love to', he dares to hope.
A conversation on favorite foods runs in the background of their journey back home, and Peter's stomach is already growling just from her waxing poetic about her love of soup.
He laughs copiously when she refuses to let him carry any of her grocery bags up the stairs, despite the fact that they clearly require two trips. She mutters something about needing to learn her lesson, and how she never will if she gets handsome men to haul her spoils of war up to the tower of greed.
At the top of the stairs, Peter's stomach growls once more, this time embarrassingly loudly, and he tries to hide his warm face by pretending to unlock his door, but she's already ahead of him.
"Hey, so… since I bought an ungodly amount of food… I was thinking maybe I could cook for us tonight, if you'd like?", she asks timidly, pretending to shuffle some of the bags around to avoid looking at him directly.
Peter's sold the moment she says it, eager to spend more time with her and this feeling of walking on air, so he puts his groceries away in his own apartment and wonders if he should change before heading over to hers.
He wonders, and ponders and turns in a stupid little circle before deciding to play it cool. He puts on a green hoodie, and it isn't because he's been told it brings out his eyes, no. It's just to be comfortable.
He rummages around his cabinets for something, anything he could bring so he doesn't show up empty handed, and he remembers the bottle of wine he received as a congratulatory gift for the full-time job at the Bugle.
He pops open the fridge and retrieves it, hoping it's at least half-decent, and mutters a small prayer to whoever would listen that he doesn't put his foot in his mouth tonight.
With that, he heads over, and when she opens the door to reveal an outfit change of her own, Peter suddenly gains an appreciation of polka dot dresses.
Easy laughs and life anecdotes fill the rest of the night, but it all comes to a screeching halt when Peter drops a glass he'd meant to place on the counter. This was why he never drank wine, or any alcohol really - despite his metabolism, it appeared Spider-Man was a lightweight.
Before he can apologize, however, he hears her short gasps from the table, and he turns his back to the counter to look at her.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Still seated, she holds a hand on the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip, and the other she keeps on the side of her neck, breaths coming in haphazardly.
It takes her some time to gather herself, and Peter remains where he is, knowing instinctively that her reaction couldn't be explained away as an ordinary scare.
Shaking her head, she takes one more deep breath before speaking, but she doesn't look at him.
"I'm sorry, it's… That's just how I am sometimes. I don't really like it when…", she begins, yet can't find the words to explain, to justify what he just saw.
She's already thinking of the worst things, and can't really believe that that's all it takes for her composure to falter: just some broken glass.
"Can I come over?", he surprises her by asking, and it's enough to bring her gaze to him.
He's slouching all of a sudden when she's never seen him do that before, and his hands are in the pockets of his hoodie. His gaze is on her, but it flickers every couple of seconds or so, and it's enough to make her realize that he knows.
It's why he's making himself look small and inoffensive, and it's why his words are almost whispered.
Peter Parker is more precious than she gives him credit for, and if the affection she carries for him was abundant before, it's overflowing now.
She nods before she can change her mind, but holding the tears at bay is another story entirely. He approaches slowly, crouching down in front of her so they're at the same level.
"Hey there…", he murmurs and offers his hand, palm up.
She takes it with her shaking one and grips it tightly, the tears that have gathered in her eyes unable to be restrained any longer. She hesitates, but ultimately can't deny herself the safety he offers. When she looks up at him, seeing brown eyes clouded over with sadness and moisture, that's when her head drops onto his shoulder and the little sobs begin.
They sit there, at her kitchen table, no words spoken other than soothing reassurances and blurred apologies.
Later in the night, small, broken confessions make their way past her lips, but she reveals only a part - only enough to make him understand, or perhaps to justify herself somehow. It's an effort he meets with a calming embrace, wishing more than anything to transfer some of the strength he's been graced with to her.
Alas, he cannot, but he tries nonetheless. A gentle kiss pressed to her forehead while they're burrowed into the couch, two arms creating a shield around her frame over the blanket - these are the ways Peter Parker imbues the atmosphere with comfort and security.
Vulnerable words spoken with a calm heart are how she lets him know he's doing a good job.
Most of all, they're clearing out a spot in each other's souls and setting it aglow.
It won't be tonight, or even many nights from now, but they'll find their footing around growing tenderness.
They've progressed to something unfamiliar and delicate, and Peter, well… he promises himself to bestow it every effort until it blooms into what they both admit craving: stability and reciprocity, and perhaps a romance for the ages.
Leaving provokes a gnawing sensation, but they are both equal parts exhausted and mollified, so sleep beckons irresistibly.
She presses a lingering kiss into his cheek at the door, thanking him in a hushed tone, and inspiration, or genius, or madness seems to strike, because he feels he could reinvent the world just looking into her eyes.
They sleep dreamlessly that night, and he awakens to a good morning text that has him springing to work like Jameson has just made him editor-in-chief.
Weeks and weeks pass by in a comfortable dance, and he's beginning to forget what cold sandwiches and tv dinners taste like. Frankly, he's also starting to find it just a little bit tricky to pull together enough willpower to never spend the night over.
They're not ready for that, and he knows it, but he's also giving consideration to his other job - the one with flexible work hours. He doesn't know when to approach the subject, much less how, but it is non-negotiable in his mind that it's done. A life lived with a partner, the kind of life he wants, isn't one he can build out of a lie, even one of omission.
Peter isn't naïve anymore, and he isn't cynical either. He's been done pretending to be the brooding hero for a while now, and he also understands he won't be doing this forever.
He needs to know that when he's done his duty and can give the city no more, there will be someone at home who can love both sides of him.
The first time she encounters Spider-Man is not, as Peter imagined, in one of their apartments as part of his confession, but under much more horrible circumstances.
It was one of his only daytime sessions behind the mask, since Jameson gave him the afternoon off; or, should he say, was forced to evacuate the building due to a bug infestation on the first 5 floors.
He's in lower Manhattan, having just barely changed into his suit, when his hair stands on end. His heightened senses direct him where to look, and when he sees it, his heart pauses for just one tenth of a second.
There's a kid in the street running after a toy.
There's a truck without a driver going downhill.
And he is too far away.
He knows it, even if his body springs into action immediately. He pushes himself as hard as he's ever done, and it isn't enough, until a running figure enters his sight, and he wishes it weren't whom he knows it is.
He pulls on web after web with brute force; he grunts and feels a pain blossoming in his spleen when it still isn't enough.
The kid disappears from view once the truck gets close. He can't find his breath anymore as he lands in the street a second too late, several cars screeching to a halt at his sudden presence.
It's all over in a long moment.
He moves frantically as the truck crashes into a line of parked cars on the right side of the road, but he can't see anything.
There's nothing. There's -
There's a cry, coming from a small boy. The street seems to have come to a standstill, but the cry continues, and he knows where it's coming from, but it's as though he can't coordinate his limbs yet.
Then, a soothing reassurance, but from a different voice; one he knows. It puts him back in motion and sends a strength running through him that he seldom feels.
He plants himself horizontal to the ground right next to the truck, thanking every deity for what he sees.
The small boy, at most five years old, is cradled protectively in the arms of his girlfriend, and they are both extremely shaken, but he can't see any major injuries.
"Hey, hey, you're ok. I'm gonna get you out of there, alright? I need you to stay very still for me, can you do that?", he says.
The little boy whimpers his name and huddles further into her arms, but she nods, unable to speak quite yet.
Peter keeps talking to them while he assesses the situation quickly, and decides it's unsafe for them to crawl out, as the crash has made parts of the truck protrude through the bottom and other jagged pieces explode all over on the ground around it.
As though it weighs nothing, especially with how high his adrenaline is, Peter grabs and lifts the truck, making sure his grip is structurally sound. Clearing them completely, he moves it aside and drops it down as gently as he can to not spook them further.
When he turns back around, they've barely sat up, and he can't help hugging them both.
Checking them over for wounds, he releases a rushed breath when he sees the boy is unscathed.
Only, he skips the next one when his eyes land on her bloodied clothes.
"Am- Ambulance. We're getting you -", he begins, but is cut off.
"No… no, I'm - I'm fine. I'm fine, it's - it's just a scrape. It's just my - knees and elbows. Maybe my side.", she stumbles around her words, voice shaken and grip still on the boy in her arms, who's now burrowing even further into the crook of her neck.
Peter's listening, but he's surely not understanding.
"Ma'am, we gotta get you to a hospital, alright? A doctor has to look at you. There might be more than that, you don't know.", he reasons, struggling to find his words as well.
Commotion from the other side of the street interrupts her response, and Peter tears his eyes away from her to see what's going on.
A few people have gathered around a woman lying on the ground. They're trying to help her in hushed whispers, while others are calling EMS and the police.
It takes Peter only a second to deduce that that must be the boy's mother, and he can't imagine a more natural reaction to seeing your child in mortal danger when you know you can't do anything to save him.
Just like he couldn't.
Someone else had to.
The woman he -
The guilt would have to be pushed aside, because he had to make this right, as much as he could.
"Listen, ma'am, you both need to get looked at. Please. Let me take you to the hospital.", he tries again, and sees the resolve in her eyes dwindle.
When she sighs, he mirrors the action almost subconsciously.
"I just need to get some… gauze on these and I'll be ok. They can do that in the ambulance.", she concedes.
He knows he can't fault her for refusing to go to the hospital. After all, he got bit by a radioactive spider and decided to sleep it off, so this would be a pot-kettle situation if he insisted any further.
And so, he waits there for the police and ambulance to show, during which time the little boy - Matthew, he learns - asks to be taken to his mom, and he obliges when he wants to be carried by Spider-Man, even if he doesn't want to leave her side.
It only takes a couple of minutes for the police to show up, and a couple more for the ambulance, as New York has definitely upped its game in the past few years when it comes to emergency responses.
The mom comes to, and her son is returned to her in the arms of Spider-Man, and she can barely find the words to thank him, when he stops her.
"I wasn't the one who saved your son. I'm sorry."
He motions behind him, where his girl, all of a sudden extremely shy, shakes her head discreetly, but it's too late.
The mother goes over to her, Matthew secure in her embrace. With tears in her eyes, she hugs the young woman and whispers a heartfelt 'thank you' upon letting go.
"Thank you miss!", Matthew adds sweetly, much in the way young kids do when they copy their parents' manners.
Unable to say much in response, she nods with a watery smile and wishes them both well, reassured by Matthew's hushed promise to his mom to never run after a toy again.
When her eyes leave them, she notices Spider-Man is staring at her without much motion in his body, but she has little time to dwell on it before a paramedic asks to see her.
They're both in agreement that she needs some hydrogen peroxide and bandages she ought to change every day, but when she is asked some basic questions like name and age, she struggles, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
Vigilant and difficult to deceive, the medic performs more checks, and when she squints uncomfortably and can't perform basic math, the diagnosis is unavoidable.
"Miss, you have a moderate concussion. If you still don't want to come with us, you should have someone take you home.", the older woman says - more of an order than a suggestion.
"I can do that!", Spider-Man calls from a nearby light pole, from where he resolved to keep careful watch to avoid suspicion. Dropping down near the back of the open ambulance, he stands still as though waiting to be handed over his girlfriend in ceremony. The medic is unimpressed.
"You're going to swing my concussed patient around the city, young man?", she asks with a raised brow.
"Mmhm, that's what I thought. You're walking her home."
"That's really not necessary…", the young woman tries, but she's ignored by both parties.
"If she can't stand straight, you bring her to us, you understand?", the medic continues.
"I'm really ok, just a little dizzy.", she tries again, and this time the older woman fixes her with a look.
"You're just a little dizzy, yes, alright. Who was the 3rd President of the United States?"
Point proven, the medic once again stresses the importance of remaining on the ground to Spider-Man, gives her patient a list of things to do to care for herself at home, and bids them both goodbye.
As soon as the ambulance drives off, she tries once more to convince the masked hero that she can find her way home just fine on her own, but he declines gently.
"I really can't do that. If that nice lady finds out I let you walk home alone, I'm gonna get in trouble."
She regards him for a few seconds, before heaving the biggest sigh and making him chuckle.
"Hey, come on, I promise I'm not bad company.", he says in amusement.
"Could we at least… you know… what's that thing you do? You know, when you thwip the web?"
Peter tries not to laugh. It's not funny, because she's injured, but it is funny, because…
"You can remember 'thwip' but not 'swing'? Then we're definitely not swinging.", he says, shaking his head.
"Please? I promise I won't vomit on you."
He wasn't going to give in, no. He really wasn't planning on it.
But then, she pouted, and he felt cornered. Pretty girl he's head over heels for, bandages on her arms and knees, looking at him dazed and pouting?
Yeah - he ends up swinging her home and she keeps her promise to not throw up on him, but only barely.
When he drops her directly on her fire escape, she doesn't even question it, and Peter thanks his lucky stars that she's too out of it to notice his fuck up.
She never even gave him her address, let alone her floor or apartment number, but if she suspects anything, she doesn't mention it.
Once safely inside, she thanks him sweetly and absently waves goodbye before he's even finished talking, but he knocks on the window before she can leave. She turns back around quickly and nearly falls over in the process while Peter's eyes nearly bug out of his head.
He definitely couldn't leave her to take care of herself until Peter Parker made it home tonight.
"Ma'am, you should really call someone and have them come over. You don't seem fine.", he insists gently but firmly.
She appears to ponder his words, before letting out a small 'oh', but not moving any further.
"Do you have someone who could come over?", he asks again, trying not to sound too desperately obvious.
"I think so."
"You think so?"
Has he not - is the concussion making her believe she can't rely on him, or is that what she usually thinks? Because he's gonna have to remedy either option immediately.
It's the only thing she says before she plops onto the floor and starts rummaging through her bag, and Peter can't help but stare, incredulous. Maybe he should've taken her to the hospital like the scary doctor lady said, because this is starting to freak him -
His phone rings.
He realizes too late what she was doing, and when the sound of his phone reaches her ears, she looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Peter panics, but her words knock the wind right out of him in a way he doesn't expect.
"I didn't know Spider-Man has a phone."
He can't help the laugh that's forced out of him, but it's more horrified than genuine.
"Well, I think you should take that. It might be important. It might be… hero stuff.", she says, waving her hand whenever she has trouble settling on a word.
With a big sigh, she looks back down at her phone and ends the call, not noticing that Spider-Man's phone stops ringing at the same time.
Peter is downright frozen in place, brain a little bit broken by his own ineptitude. He should've taken her to the hospital.
"He's probably busy. I never call him at work.", she sighs again.
"Who?", he asks with a slight cringe. This whole thing was getting old. He had to come clean soon.
"Peter. He's my…", she trails off, staring at her hands.
"Your boyfriend?", he says helpfully.
What the hell did she mean, no?
"Peter isn't your boyfriend?", he asks, trying his absolute hardest not to sound offended. Or heartbroken.
"He's uh… what do you say when you think you want to spend the rest of your life with someone? Not a boyfriend, but a…"
Just like that, she ends him with one sentence.
This girl would put his heart in an early grave.
"It's… it's soulmate, ma'am.", he stammers, mouth suddenly dry and eyes suspiciously moist.
When she lights up with a smile, he mirrors it.
"Yes, that's it! I mean, he's probably also my boyfriend, but it's weird to call him that. Is it weird that it's weird?"
He needs to leave before she says anything more that has the potential to demolish him where he stands, so he urges her to call Peter, her soulmate, again, because he's sure a soulmate would like to know that she was just injured in an accident.
She hesitates briefly but ultimately agrees, and he leaves before she can ring him again while he's right there.
He says goodbye as Spider-Man, and hello again as Peter Parker half an hour later, which was the most he could pretend to wait in his apartment before knocking on her door.
He finds a half-assed excuse that he was given the afternoon off, which is technically true while not being wholly sincere, and that's how he was able to make it home so fast when she called. She explains her afternoon with some gaps in the course of events, and he's able to hug her properly for the first time since everything happened.
He asks to see the instructions sheet the paramedic left her with, and she pouts for the second time that day when he confines her to the couch for the rest of the evening.
"I'm sorry, baby. Doctor's orders. You go lie down, keep your head elevated, and I'll make us something to eat, alright?", he says gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Mm… alright. Don't burn down my kitchen, I don't think I can afford the… the - what's the thing?"
"What? No! It's the…"
"Peter…", she whines.
"The damages baby. You can't afford the damages, and I can't believe the - frankly, offensive - insinuation that I'm such a bad cook I'd burn down the kitchen."
"Pete, I can smell the Chef Boyardee coming from your apartment sometimes.", she says so softly and slowly that it brings a laugh to the surface. It reminds him of the honesty of children who don't yet understand why you sometimes lie to people to spare their feelings.
This lack of filter was turning out to be both emotional and entertaining.
Should he talk to her about the soulmate thing? Or should he wait until his throat doesn't close up anymore just at the thought of it?
The thing is, he feels like such a small person, letting his fear of ending up alone keep him from being truly honest with her. He wants to trust in her love for him entirely, and he wants to believe she'd accept him for all he is, mask included, but it's a simple fact of his being that Peter fears lack of reciprocity more than most things.
He fears filling someone's hands with all his heart and then his own being forever empty.
He does feel somewhat… emboldened by her earlier confession, however unreliable it should be considered.
'Soulmates', he thinks. It's a serious thing to say, but it's an even more serious thing to keep private as she has. If she hasn't told him yet, it must be because it's an intimate feeling.
He wasn't a stranger to keeping his innermost thoughts hidden, even from someone whom he knew he could trust to keep them safe.
He remembers, while rinsing some basmati rice, her first mention of Spider-Man. He remembers how she said she felt safer just knowing he exists in the same city, and an ugly feeling makes its way to the surface when he realizes today has just proved her wrong.
She has no reason to feel safer, given that she almost died this afternoon.
His previous worries of confessing grow exponentially, as the guilt paints the red and blue suit in a different light entirely. What could he say to her now? What would she think of him?
He wallows in his thoughts, appetite nearly lost as he gets close to the final steps of meal prep, when her voice cuts through the silence.
He moves instinctively at her call, slowing his stirring of the chicken and turning to catch a glimpse of her on the couch, but with little success. He never knows how she manages to entertain a conversation while cooking when she can't see him, because Peter is, above all, a very physical being. He needs to share some kind of tenderness with every word, or it's like it isn't spoken sincerely.
Needless to say, he isn't happy with this arrangement.
"Spider-Man brought me home today!", she informs happily, and while Peter's relieved she sounds more like herself, he can feel a layer of sweat starting to form.
She has this uncanny ability to synchronize her thoughts with his at times, and it has never once worked out in Peter's favor.
"Really? You left that out earlier.", he probes, trying to keep the conversation steady.
She derails that hope with a well-placed reply.
"I was trying to figure out how he knew where I lived, because I never told him."
Peter's eyes close momentarily as he bites his lip so hard it splits instantly. He curses under his breath, but his brain is not up to the task of diffusing the situation. He finds nothing to say. The anxiety of seeing the rice start to turn brown in the pan further exacerbates the problem. He can't multitask in the kitchen, he knows this. He shouldn't have ventured outside the realm of sandwiches, or perhaps grilled cheese. If he hadn't, he'd now have more brain power to allocate to everything going on. He can smell the burning spices.
"Do you think he can read minds?"
She has to be kidding.
He just about entered panic mode, thinking this would be how his secret finally comes to light, and she hits him with that?
'Mind-reading. Your girl thinks you're a mind reader, Parker. Better make it count', he thinks.
"Uhh, I don't know. Maybe he can?", he finally says.
"Can you imagine how hard that must be? Makes me respect him ever more…", she replies, and he must've missed when she got up and came over, because she's much closer all of a sudden.
He's really riled up now, so he keeps his back to her and pretends to focus on salvaging the food.
"You respect him even more? How?", he asks, trying not to let his feelings through in his voice.
He can feel her coming even closer, until she's right behind him, and there's a brief pause before her arms envelop his midsection, clasping together over his stomach in a loose hold. Her forehead comes to rest between his shoulder blades a few seconds later, and it's enough to make him melt.
"Is this ok?", her quiet voice asks, and his heart follows swift.
He wants to turn around and reassure her with a million kisses, but he stays put, knowing how important this is for both of them.
"It's more than ok. I'm yours, you know? Anytime you want me, you can have me.", he murmurs.
She's been trying more things like this lately, and he's immensely proud of her. Crossing boundaries that were placed there by another person, and doing it of her own accord - Peter understands that each and every time is difficult and special, but he can't help his sadness occasionally. The thought of her struggling to offer affection, thinking it unwanted or worse, punished, is enough to put a lump in his throat that takes his breath away.
She tightens her embrace in response, placing a small kiss at the nape of his neck.
They spend the remaining couple of minutes like that, and Peter has forgotten what they were even talking about before. He shuts the stove off and turns in her arms, searching her eyes briefly before leaning in.
He's equal parts surprised and happy when she seems to be on the same wavelength as him, parting her lips almost immediately to deepen the kiss. Peter often holds back the intensity of his feelings for her sake, letting her meet him halfway at her own pace.
His heart swells with pride, both in her and in himself, when he sees her become more comfortable with intimacy. When she nibbles his top lip and runs her tongue over it to soothe the sting, suddenly it's him who needs to slow this down.
Hands on both sides of her neck, he pulls away gently, but when she seeks his lips again, he leans his forehead against her own, lightly brushing his nose against hers.
"Peter…", she murmurs wistfully, making the air flee his lungs.
He tries to keep himself in check, keep his body from responding the way it wants to when she says his name like that, but his self-control goes out the window with a little bit of his soul at her next words.
"I think I'm ready."
He really is going into an early grave.
"Baby… you have no idea how happy that makes me, but we… can't. Not tonight, we can't.", he says, although her breath hitting his face derails his train of thought every few seconds.
Her sweet pout doesn't help much, either.
"Hmm… but do you want to?", she asks quietly.
"Do I - Yes. God, yes. But I also want you to enjoy our first time, and right now you're hurt."
He makes a point of lightly tracing a finger over the bandage on her right elbow, and she understands when even a fleeting touch makes it sting. She just sort of… forgot about those. He always has that aura, that pull about him that makes her head swim in fog and sentimentality.
"And you're concussed, so you could be throwing yourself at me right now and I'd still have to say no.", he adds humorously for both their sakes. He needed to cut through the palpable tension before it got to a point where he had to cool off on the balcony.
She chuckles lightly against his lips, placing just one more kiss on the corner of his mouth before putting some distance between them without leaving his arms.
"That's a very respectable statement, Mr. Parker.", she teases, looking into his brown eyes with nothing but adoration.
Before Peter can say anything in response however, her own eyes light up in remembrance.
"Oh! You asked me how come I respect Spider-Man more now, right?"
Peter almost groans at how swiftly the moment is ruined, even though he knows it's only a problem because he still hasn't come clean. Every mention of his suited up self is like kryptonite, especially after today.
He busies himself with serving the food before it gets cold, and she clears her small kitchen table and grabs drinks from the fridge while she talks.
"I just think it must be hard to do what he does, but especially - and this is a theory - if he can read minds. Just hearing all the horrible things people think, can you imagine that?"
He doesn't have to. Peter has heard and seen the horrible things people say and do, and reading minds wouldn't provide much more insight into the lives of New York's underbelly.
He doesn't know why she zoned in on that specifically, or why it would raise him up in her eyes, and he says as much.
"Well, even if he could, he's probably used to it. Not really praise worthy, right?", he attempts, bringing their plates over and setting them on the table.
She doesn't say anything back for a long enough time that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he searches for her expression, but it's hidden by her hair as she washes her hands in the sink.
"I think it is. I think… it takes a lot to see cruelty all the time and turn it into kindness. I've known people who can do the opposite. It's comforting to… to know he exists."
There's nothing he can do.
The force with which those words knock the air out of him can't be fought or resisted.
He simply has to sit there in silence and take it in.
He tries to understand how he can feel so reassured with such few words, but the rush of affection is turning his brain inside out.
There he was, wondering and questioning and running his mind into the ground with scenarios and consequences that he thought inescapable.
And there she is, unknowingly taking away his worries and replacing them with steadfast resolve, turning all the insecurity he's amassed about his identity over the years into a silly-seeming thing.
Her perspective was so uniquely personal, so intimate to her experience, that it touched him to the bone.
What she found good about Spider-Man was entwined with her need to believe, her need for proof that cruelty and kindness alike are nothing more than individual choices.
He realizes this, and the knowledge carves a spot inside his heart where it will dwell for the rest of his days.
It was only himself he didn't trust, not her, and it entices long-lost confidence to come to the surface.
The confidence that he will be loved, that he is lovable.
That she will know how to love him.
On a shaky breath, he sees her coming over to sit down, taking her hand gently when she's close.
With the tears that have gathered in his eyes, he isn't surprised when her brows pull together in concern.
"Peter? What is it, baby?"
"I need to tell you something. Please. And you… you need to let me explain. I need to do this right.", he confides, high on emotion he can feel in his trembling voice.
"Anything. Peter, you can tell me anything. I'm right here.", she coos, soothing the creases above his left brow with her thumb.
"I love you. You're my person. You are. And I should've done this sooner, but I was scared of… losing a good thing. The best thing. But you… you have this way about you, you know? You say things sometimes that knock me on my ass and you don't even know that you do. So when I say what I'm about to say, I need you to hold onto me, yeah? Just hold on."
Unable to speak, she nods, wiping a tear from his eye first, and then her own.
"I'm the one who brought you home today."
There's only silence, and a tiny escaped breath.
She doesn't finish, because she doesn't have to. The turmoil pulling at his features, the watery eyes, his soft-spoken plea - they are enough.
He brought her home today.
Spider-Man cannot read minds, because he knows where her home is.
When she called her soulmate, Spider-Man's phone rang, though she was too out of it to notice.
When she spoke to him of the accident, he wouldn't meet her eyes.
He knew about the list the paramedic gave her, when she never mentioned it.
All these things that she would have noticed, had she been more alert, but here they are, flooding back.
Her Peter brought her home today.
"You're Spider-Man…", she whispers in wonder, brushing her fingers through his hair.
She isn't sure what this revelation means for the future, but she can't even fathom being anywhere other than right here, making sure he knows there's nothing to be scared of. All she wants is to chase the unease from his eyes.
"I've got you. I promise… I love you, Peter. All of you."
His intake of breath is muffled into her shoulder, arms searching aimlessly across the expanse of her back, molding her to him but unable to stay still. She finds it difficult as well, only it's her lips that can't help gracing every spot she can reach. Whispers of reassurance fill his ears and settle the rhythm of his chest, sobs winding down. He returns to himself, guided by the safety she provides.
It feels good to be seen and known, at last, for all he is, but he worries there are things she isn't telling him.
"Are we ok?", he finds the words to ask, and they're said so faintly she nearly misses them.
"Yes. 'Course we're ok.", she responds, punctuating it with another kiss to his cheek.
"You don't wanna… ask me anything?"
She smiles at the uncertainty in his voice and raises an eyebrow.
"I have nothing but questions for you, Spider-Man. But I'm saving them for later, you know, when I'm a little sharper up top.", she motions to her temple.
"Oh, you're gonna quiz me. Got it, got it. I'm gonna get my story straight.", he says seriously, drawing an incredulous laugh from her.
"Then you better start with what today was all about. You know, with the whole… 'Who's Peter' on the fire escape earlier."
Peter blanks, then gets immediately defensive to a comical degree.
"Well if I have to explain that, you have to explain the whole soulmate thing! Because that - why have you never told me that?"
The question isn't accusatory, but the embarrassment is immediate. She tries to squirm away half-heartedly, but Peter doesn't let up, trying to get her to look at him, placing teasing kisses all along her neck and jaw, knowing exactly what her reaction will be.
Small, suppressed and wrapping around his heart like icing around a cake.
"See? That - right there. My favorite sound."
"Peter!", she exclaims in a half-laugh, half-moan.
Tilting her head back when his lips find a sensitive spot right at her pulse point, she decides to give him what he wants. If he was honest with her, showing unprecedented vulnerability, then she could meet him halfway.
"I said that because that's how I feel. I know that maybe… it's early. I know we haven't known each other that long, and we haven't faced that many things together, but that's not how I decided… that I - it's not why I - pff… I can't say it."
"Just say it how you wanna say it. However you feel like saying it."
"I know how to say it, it's just really corny."
"It's soppy. It's disgusting, actually."
"The worse, the better.", he encourages.
"I'm serious too. Just tell me!"
"Ok fine! I don't have to wait… until I know everything about you, to know how I feel. I just look at you sometimes, and I see… a whole life with you. You know… everything: our own place, our own traditions, maybe a dog, maybe…", she trails off, losing courage and avoiding his eyes, but he leans his forehead against hers, and she has to look.
Though her face feels like it's on fire, she nods timidly, unable to tear her eyes away. She'd remember the way he's looking at her for a long time.
"Sweetheart… Kiss me.", he pleads.
With a final look that imprints this moment in their shared history, their lips meet in a searing kiss, and Peter remembers all he's ever wanted as a manifestation of the present: stability, reciprocity and a romance for the ages.
A/N: I welcome any and all feedback, even if it’s just a keysmash!