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joeloverture · 3 months

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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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strangersmunsons · 3 months

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Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 2 Prompt: Chocolates 🍫 ~ 2,000 words Eddie's grumpy until he sees a familiar face in the candy aisle.

“This is a fake holiday,” mumbles Eddie as he pushes the cart past the pink and red aisle of Bradley’s Big Buy.

His uncle chuckles. “When you have someone to spend it with, you’ll feel differently.”

“Wayne,” Eddie deadpans, “this is just some bullshit that Hallmark made up so they could take more of our money.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to go all commercial,” Wayne clarifies. “I just mean that when there’s someone special in your life, boy, you might be in a better mood during this month.”

Eddie’s mouth sets bitterly. He’d rather not get the ‘you’ll find someone someday’ talk right now — the last thing he needs is another reminder of how lonely he is.

Wayne senses his nephew’s reluctance to discuss the matter, and so bites his tongue. Instead, he points at a row of cans on the shelf beside them. “Do you need more tomato soup, or are you set for a while?”

Back at home, Eddie lays on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, okay, maybe Wayne had a point. Maybe he’d hate all this stupid cutesy shit less if he didn’t have to watch everyone around him enjoy it while he spent yet another Valentine’s Day alone in his uncle’s trailer, with no one to keep him company, save for a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The worst part of it is — and Eddie would rather die than admit this — that deep down, he thinks he really could be…romantic.

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He tends to be prickly, wary of others’ intentions, but it’s necessary in order for him to survive in Hawkins. The Munson name was already notorious, and his reputation preceded him; the incident with poor Chrissy Cunningham three years prior, despite his innocence, had sealed his fate as the town pariah.

But if someone could just give him a chance, a real chance, he thinks that he could make that person really happy.

He’d help around the house. Cleaning, laundry, anything you — whoever you are — needed a hand with. He’d learn to cook better so he could keep you eatin’ good. He’d plan fun dates. He’d play your favorite songs on guitar, maybe write you new ones, if he was feeling inspired…anytime you needed him, he’d be there. He’d be the most reliable, affectionate, loving —

“Ed?” There’s a light knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls back.

Wayne pokes his head into the room. “I’ve got to head to the plant in a few,” he says. “While I’m gone, can you do me a favor?”

Eddie sits halfway up, propped on his elbows. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wayne fidgets, looking apologetic. “I know we were just there, but d’you mind going back to the Big Buy to pick up some candy? It’s Mrs. Johnson’s first Valentine’s Day since her husband passed, and I meant to get her something sweet, but I forgot.”

Eddie hauls himself up off the floor. “No problem. Want anything specific?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Don’t need nothin’ fancy, just get whatever’s cheapest that still looks nice.”

“That’s the Munson way,” Eddie muses, smiling in spite of himself.

Eddie reluctantly makes a turn down the seasonal aisle he had so pointedly avoided earlier, feeling depressed. Cherubs and teddy bears seem to mock him from where they sit, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

His eyes roam the line of cards, plush toys, endless boxes of chocolates and candies, when they finally land on you, also perusing the rows of heart-shaped packages.

Recognition flickers instantly. Eddie suddenly finds that his heart is beating very quickly in his chest.

You.

You had still been a year behind him when he finally graduated, and though he didn’t really know you-know you, he was friends with people who did. You weren’t bullied like he and the guys were, but you weren’t exactly popular, either — and so more often than not, you ran in similar circles. Gareth and Harry used to swear up and down that you were the nicest girl in Hawkins.

Because of them, he had spent brief moments with you from time to time. He thought you had been very pretty, in your own unique way, but you were also rather shy. Your exchanges were always polite and charming, even if they never broke deeper than surface-level; overall, he’d found you incredibly endearing.

He never kept in touch, but as the years went by, he had often wondered about you.

Back then, it was hard to see past his own preoccupations: he was so focused on not failing his classes, Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, his dealing gig with Rick. But in retrospect, it always seemed to him like he had missed out on something special in not taking the time to properly befriend you.

Now, against all odds, you’re right here in front of him. And he had found you attractive back then, but now? Holy shit. You’re striking to look at.

As he studies your side profile, he thinks, it’s not that your appearance has really changed much, but rather the way you seem to be holding yourself.

You used to walk quickly through the hallways with your shoulders hunched and your head down, like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. But now your posture is relaxed, your stance casual; your head is held high and a slight smile turns up the corners of your lips. And your clothes seem different too, like maybe you’d finally found your personal style, and were dressing in the way that you truly liked.

Is this what they call kismet? Fate, destiny, whatever, maybe Eddie’s fantasy-oriented brain was jumping to conclusions, but he thinks of the floor-misery he’d been wallowing in not even an hour ago — had his internal bitching been an unintentional prayer, which was now being answered?

He takes a few cautious steps forward, trying to act natural.

You glance at him when he comes nearer and offer him a quick smile before turning back to the sweet assortment before you.

Eddie stands next to you awkwardly, pretending to browse, hoping to see you make some gesture of familiarity, any confirmation that you might remember him as well as he remembers you.

But nothing. The seconds tick by.

You reach for a box of chocolates and Eddie’s overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He starts sweating. Any second now, you would pluck a shiny, ribbon-adorned package and twirl away from him, vanishing into thin air, and the moment would be gone. His opportunity would be over, and he’d never, ever see you again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. His face turns crimson, but he blunders on anyway. “I don’t wanna bother you, but did you graduate from Hawkins High in ‘87?”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, one arm still outstretched. A breathy laugh escapes you. “Yeah, I did.” You give him the tiniest wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

He could almost cry in relief. You do remember him.

“Hi.” He returns your wave, dopey grin unfurling on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you just now. I didn’t think you would remember me,” you explain apologetically.

Forget you? Absurd. “Of course I remember you. How’ve you been?”

Your voice is bright, cheerful. “I’ve been good! Busy with school.”

College, of course. You had definitely been an honor roll kid. “If you’re in school, then you don’t still live in town, do you?”

“Nah, my university’s too far. I got a place near campus, but I come home every now and then.” You smile, and motion towards yourself. “Obviously.”

“Oh. Nice.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs nervously. “Are your classes going good?”

“For the most part. They’re stressful sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you’re super smart. I’m sure you’re killin’ it up there.”

“I’m trying my best,” you reply with a modest shrug. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” You look at him with genuine interest, like you’re truly eager to hear about how he’s doing.

Oh, what to say. He opts for simplicity. “Bartending. At the moment I’m between The Hideout and The Attic. Although, I’m thinkin’ about trying to get a job at the garage instead.”

“You should!” Your voice is sincere, full of warmth. “I bet you’d be great there — I know you did a lot of work on your van.”

A bolt of pleasure runs through him. You didn’t just remember his name and face, but you recalled some minor details about him as well. He stands a little taller. “Thank you. We’ll see if it works out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief pause. Eddie moistens his chapped lips with his tongue. “Listen…”

Do it, you coward. If she says no, she says no, and you’ll get over it. Eventually.

“Um, if you’re ever home for the weekend, would you maybe wanna hang out? Grab a coffee or something?”

You look taken aback, but not displeased. Eddie counts that as a win.

“Sure. That would be really fun.”

He flashes you a grin. “Sick.” Then it occurs to him: you came home for Valentine’s Day weekend. Surely you’re in Hawkins because you have a date lined up with some former classmate who swooped in and asked you out after he had gone, and that’s who you were buying candy for and —

“I’m assuming you’re busy this weekend, though?” You point at the treats in front of you. “‘Cause I see you’re here to pick up the goods,” you tease him cheerfully.

“Oh, n-not really,” he stammers. “Wayne asked me to pick up something for our neighbor. I’m just an errand boy.” He swallows. “Do you have any big plans?”

“Nope,” you reply casually, lips popping the p-sound. You pull the candy you’d be aiming for before he interrupted, a pack of Hershey’s cream-filled chocolate hearts. You nod at him sagely. “I am my own Valentine this year.”

You don’t need to be. I’ll volunteer.

Eddie musters up all his courage, rocking slightly on his feet. “Actually, if you don’t have plans…like, if you’re not seeing anybody…would you wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Nerves get the better of him and he starts pouring out word-vomit, totally oblivious to the way your expression is getting softer and softer the longer he rambles. “I get that it’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t know if you think that’s really…weird for a first date, or…if you even wanna go on a date with me at all, which if you don’t, that’s totally fine and I understand —”

“I don’t think that would be weird at all,” you cut in, giving him a smile that could melt an iceberg. “Eddie, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He feels like he’s having a fever dream. This can’t be real. Is this what manifesting is?

From now on, when he wants something, he’s gonna go cry on his bedroom floor about it.

Painfully aware of how clumsy his proposition came out, Eddie tries to put at least one suave move on you. “Well, if we really have a date tomorrow,” he says, swiping the Hershey’s from you, “then there’s no reason for you to be buyin’ your own chocolates. Allow me.”

Ten minutes later, both of you armed with candies and a phone number apiece, Eddie escorts you across the icy parking lot to your car. You grip his arm tightly crossing over a slippery patch of asphalt, and his stomach flutters in a way it hasn’t in years.

Okay, okay.

Maybe there is something to be said for this stupid, fake holiday.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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seiwas · 1 month

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₊˚⊹｡ don't let go, okay? | gojo satoru

wc: 2.1k

summary: it has to be some sort of fate that you happen to be stuck with gojo on valentine's day.

contains: f!reader, slowburn, fluff, reader and gojo are 21, reader and gojo are ‘guardians’ to megumi and tsumiki but they are not romantically together, japanese valentine’s chocolate tradition, reader’s cursed technique (vaguely), kind of pining

a/n: in the 'conversations on love' universe but takes place before the main series (would be nice to read but not necessary to understand this). theme song for this is what love is by zimmer90.

part of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within 'conversations on love'. also included in how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

The night is crisp when you step into it, the clean cut of a cool breeze tickling your cheek; it sweeps past you in the edge of winter and spring.

You walk along the street.

A sort of faded, vintage hue paints Shimokitazawa, wooden boards with worn down signages holding names of antique shops in every corner. The night feels older here, retro lights tinging bars and pubs more maturely than those nearby in Shibuya. At the street across, the sign of a cafe is flipped the other way to formally open the speakeasy it transforms into.

You’ve only been here twice before: once with Nanami and Utahime years ago, while searching for old vinyl records the three of you had gotten into, and another with Tsumiki, some time last month because she’d mentioned wanting to check the thrift shops.

Who would have thought you’d be back so soon? With—

“Satoru,” you call out, half-giggling, “why are you sniffing?”

Gojo trails just a few inches behind you, body bent over closely to catch a whiff but not near enough to touch. Each inhale he takes is punctuated with the sound of whizzing air, condensing to fit through his nostrils.

“You smell like chocolate.”

Out of all the plans you’d anticipated on Valentine’s Day, being roped into a mission with Gojo at the last minute was definitely not one of them.

You shake your head knowingly, the corners of your lips curling; Gojo can smell sweets miles away, you could honestly mistake it for his cursed technique.

He pulls back, falling into step with you.

“Tsumiki asked me to help make some earlier.”

Heavy jazz floats through the air as you pass by a bar entrance, the music muffling as the doors fall shut a few seconds later. Your boots clack against the pavement.

“Oh?” Gojo perks up, voice turning an all-too-familiar hint of nosy as he teases, “What kind?”

You snort as you dig your hands further into your pockets. For someone who claims to be all-seeing and all-knowing, Gojo is a lot more inquisitive than he seems; his nonchalance is but an added security much like his infinity is, dissipating only in company he’s comfortable sharing that side of him with.

It’s been a while since Gojo’s been ��home’ in the past week, so you don’t blame him for wondering.

“Tomo mostly,” your gaze shifts to the side, waiting for his reaction, “though I did notice her sneaking a few honmei ones when I wasn’t looking.”

There’s a slight stagger to his step as his shoulders tense up, his sunglasses shifting higher as his ears push back. You bite down your laugh.

For as clueless as both you and Gojo are when it comes to being guardians to Megumi and Tsumiki, you think Gojo’s grown an odd mix of semi-brotherly-kind of-fatherly-mostly-guardianly protectiveness over the both of them—to Tsumiki especially. You can tell because his reminders to Megumi are always sealed with some form of ensuring Tsumiki makes it home safely.

‘Home’, which is where the kids stay, but it’s neither yours nor his—just a place nearby that keeps them protected and comfortable. You’re with them most days, Gojo staying when he can, but with the higher-ups assigning him on missions left and right, there’s hardly any time for him to drop by. Hell, you haven’t seen much of him either, besides the rare instances of bumping into him along the halls of Jujutsu Tech, a whine almost always drawn from his throat.

You see his curiosity as an effort to check in.

He only hums, hollower than his usual responses. The sound of his footsteps fill the gaps of what would typically be a seamless back-and-forth with you; you try not to comment on it.

Indinstinct chatter brings the street to life, smooth beats cascading warmth against the chilly breeze. Despite the noise, Gojo’s silence feels unsettling—as if there are words forming at the tip of his tongue, withheld for reasons you can’t quite get a read on just yet.

So, you wait, learning more and more that he usually comes around when—

“Did you?”

The question is half-murmured, part of it lost to the night.

Did you what? Notice Tsumiki?

“Hm?” you tilt your head towards him, tucking strands of hair behind your ear in an attempt to hear him better.

He doesn’t answer.

You stop walking.

“Did I what?” you adjust your coat before turning towards him, catching the slightest of his gaze before he looks away quickly.

(“Did you make honmei chocolate?” he means.)

Still, no answer.

The tips of Gojo’s ears dust pink, and you try not to comment on that too.

His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, slipping free before his Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing.

“Wanna see something cool?” he changes the subject, removing his sunglasses and turning back to you as if none of it happened. As if he didn’t ask you anything, as if you didn’t ask what he meant—as if you didn’t just catch him at the tail end of a wistful stare.

The shift in his tone happens so suddenly, it feels disjointed. Unnatural. But you’ve gotten used to moments like this from knowing him for so long; Gojo always says less of what he truly means.

You focus on his face, yellow and red retro lights dancing on clear blue. He looks almost freakish this way, otherworldly—a crazed look you’ve gotten familiar with. His hands are stuffed inside his pockets when he stops, gangly long legs outstretched by the shadow beneath him.

There’s really no time to be doing this right now, the both of you just 10 minutes away from the mission’s location—an abandoned building housing a special grade curse that lures people in with fabricated memories. Around you, the neighbourhood’s nightlife has dwindled, your walk thus far having brought you farther from the heart of the place and closer to somewhere more quieter, more secluded.

Gojo looks too excited, eyes beaming wonder and mischief along with something else you can’t quite figure out yet. You purse your lips in thought.

“C’mon, it’ll be quick.” he smirks, the dimple on his cheek deepening as he shrugs, “I’ve finally perfected it.”

A beat—skipped before your heart races.

You wonder if he knows, if he’s using this to his advantage, because—

—when have you ever denied him when he looks at you this way?

The higher-ups should have known better than to pair you together for a mission. Your instructions were merely ‘to assist’, but you hardly believe it considering Gojo almost always handles these things on his own. It’s more babysitting, you know, to keep the damages of his technique to a minimum.

They shouldn’t have called on you, of all people—you’re on Gojo’s side. Always.

A smile threatens to escape your lips, warmth spreading within your cheeks; you roll your eyes jokingly, stifling a giggle before relenting.

“Fine.”

He guides you forward, chest bumping against your shoulder blade as he picks up pace. It’s a clear road ahead of you, the streets emptying out to more greenery; your senses are filled with the smell of the earth mixed in with the faint cotton of Gojo’s cologne.

This is bad for your feelings.

(Being this close to you feels like the ticklish drag of fingernails just right before it creates indents in his chest.)

There’s something brewing between you and Gojo, neither of you have just addressed it yet. He pulls away when the moment is too close but still looks for you first after missions, an almost automatic question to either Shoko or Ijichi about your whereabouts.

You’ve been catching his stares too, almost always at the split-second before he turns away—a reaction on impulse. The silence between you feels fuller lately, as if there are words he wants to say but is choosing to withhold.

When the space is vacant enough, he steps a few inches to your right, left hand stuffed inside his pocket as he shakes his arm hesitantly, almost awkwardly.

“You have to hold on to me,” he instructs you.

Your eyes widen, equally surprised and shy as you slowly take your hand out of your coat and slip it into the empty space, resting it on the crook of his elbow. Gojo freezes very slightly.

He shakes it off just as quickly, “You might be sensitive to my domain because of your technique, so stay close just to be safe.”

Then, his head tilts towards you, a little closer than you’re both used to. This near, his eyes hold a perfect morning sky, eyelashes hanging like wispy clouds on a clear day.

Your gazes meet and you blink twice, goosebumps littering your skin.

“Don’t let go, okay?”

Another beat—followed by another, and another, the sound of it growing louder.

You almost miss the way he says it gentler than normal, how sincere it feels with his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay,” your fingers curl around his arm tighter.

He lifts his other hand up, crossing his fingers as he recites the mantra to his domain. In an instant, the greenery around you disappears, stark white taking its place.

“What do you think?” Gojo asks almost immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Your fingers stay curled onto the crook of his elbow, sandwiched between his forearm and bicep; his other hand rests a few centimeters away from yours, nearly touching.

You scan the space, examining its vastness. Minimalist. A blank sheet—

“It’s…” you try to find the right words, “... empty?”

He gasps exaggeratedly, “Hey!” then pouts in fake offense, “I made it porcelain white at least. This isn’t pure white you know.”

You eye him from the side.

He chuckles, breaking his act, “You should be honored.”

A pause—his tone shifting to something softer, more vulnerable.

“You’re the first person I’m bringing in here.”

His admission is unexpected, but it feels relevant, makes you feel like it, too.

You’re touched, knowing how secretive he’s been on perfecting his domain since Toji and Geto; he only ever tells you and Ijichi about it. No one ever pressured him into achieving his perfect domain, but he feels like his existence necessitates it.

“It’s clean,” you finally say, playing along, “I like it.”

He eyes you this time, dimples deepening the more he attempts to poorly push down his smile.

“Shame I can’t really do much with it, would have wanted to spice up the interiors a bit.”

You snort, knowing full well that Gojo’s very much the type to pick one piece of furniture and anchor the entire place’s aesthetic off of that.

“Someday.” you catch his eyes again.

(It echoes in his ears, the quickening thump of his heartbeat—pink noise that can’t possibly be a product of your technique.

In the silence of his domain, all he hears is that sound and you.)

He hums before looking back to the empty space, “Acoustics would be good by then, we can try your technique in here.”

You nod, the corners of your lips curling; his pinky presses against yours so faintly you wonder if you just imagined it—if he had meant it or not.

The special grade is dealt with within a quarter of the time it took you to travel to here, but Gojo seems to bear the consequences with another one of his migraines—a mixture of fatigue from activating his domain earlier along with sensitivity from the increased bustle in Shimokitazawa’s night life as you exit the neighborhood.

You make a mental note to get him something that covers his eyes a little bit more than those circle frames he uses—an imbued blindfold maybe? You’ll have to think about it some more.

(When you both get ‘home’, you set up the couch, offering him the spare bedroom so he can sleep off the headache. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water when he catches a glimpse of it—a fully decorated box of honmei chocolate partially hidden at the corner of the counter.

The card has half of his name written in your handwriting.

You don’t end up giving it, but he does receive some chocolates from you, still. It’s a belated gift the next day, along with the ones you gift to Shoko, Yaga, and Ijichi—a tradition you’ve kept up since you were 16.

But, his box has an extra piece, and you even tailored each one to all his favorite flavors: sakura, strawberry, zunda, and anko; his card is the same one you left half-written, just now fully spelling ‘Satoru’.

So, he thinks his might be a bit more special, and he’s realizing that he likes it that way—he might prefer it much more, actually.)

a/n: haven't written col in a while but this is the official launch of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within the 'conversations of love' universe! there are lots of details that connect to some of the col works but this happens before all of the ones released so far (so you don't need to read the main series to understand this, but it would add to the full experience if you do!).

thank you notes: @augustinewrites love u my valentine, this fic wouldn't exist without you 🥹 + @stellamancer col couple is here!! with chocolates!! thank you for going over this for the first read 🥹 ily niku + @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat my cheerleaders!! thank you for the support always 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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yandere-writer-momo · 20 days

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Yandere Fairytale Series:

Rapunzel

Part 1 Part 2

Yandere Witch x Rapunzel Reader x Yandere Prince

For many, long years you had resided in an isolated tower deep in the forest with an elderly woman named Agnes and her daughter Hilda. The three of you had lived here together and created a nice home for yourselves in a place no man could ever harm you… or at least that’s what Agnes instilled in you and Hilda since you were children. Men were evil and couldn’t be trusted. They would lure you in with sweet words and promises, but then they’d swallow you whole like a beast.

Since you were ten, Hilda and Agnes never let you lift a finger nor did they let you outside. “It’s dangerous for you. You’re far too delicate for the forest. Leave it to us, (your name).” Agnes would always tell you before she took Hilda with her to forage and hunt.

Despite your years with the two of them, Agnes told you that you were not biologically her child. “Hilda and I found you in the forest one day. You were just a baby and we couldn’t leave you… so you can stay here with us, forever. You’re ours, my dear.”

They’d brush your hair as it slowly began to grow longer than the length of the tower. Your long hair was used to come and go after Agnes and Hilda sealed off the door to ‘keep you safe.’

Every time you’d ask to go out or inquire about what they’d see, Agnes would shut you down. “Curiosity killed the cat, dear. You just wait here, we will be back.”

The mother and daughter often took trips for supplies. Whether it was berries or necessities, their trips only took a few hours… sometimes they took a few days. It just depended on what they needed. The pair never let the supplies dwindle much. Agnes hated being irresponsible when it came to stock.

It was when you were over the age of twenty that Agnes’s health took a turn. Hilda would often weep with you as she held you close. You and Hilda had grown so close… Hilda swore she wouldn’t let her mother down. That’d she’d carry on her will. (A will you didn’t have a clue about)

When Agnes passed away, Hilda immediately took charge over the chores around the tower. The beautiful young woman often fretted over you as she made sure the two of you were cared for. She took over brushing your long locks and gathering supplies.

Sometimes Hilda would braid her long black hair with hers. So ‘the two of you were connected.’ It was always fun whenever Hilda would let you play with her hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back! I can bring you back your favorite berries.” Hilda would gave you a reassuring smile before she headed out into the forest. You watched her form until she disappeared into the trees.

So you’d get back to painting the walls with a hum. Your hair draped behind you like a waterfall as you sat on your homemade swing.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a loud clank on the side of your tower. What on earth was that?!

You jumped off your swing and ran to look at the balcony. A grappling hook was slung around the metal frame as a hooded figure began to scale the tower. Who we that?!

You went to shut the balcony door but ended up slipping on your own hair. Your back hit the floor as you whined in pain. Your eyes wide in terror at the knight that now stood in front of you as he quickly winded up the rope. The knight mumbled some curses before he shoved the grappling hook in his bag.

“W-who are-“ the knight pushed you further into the tower as he put a gloved hand over your mouth. Your body trembled when you looked into their lilac eyes. You’d never seen such pretty eyes before…

There was shouting below and the sound of hooves. Was this knight being pursued? You couldn’t tell since the knight held you firmly in their arms until the voices disappeared into the distance.

The knight breathed a sigh of relief before they released her. You quickly shoved the knight away from you as you scooted your body as far away from them as you could. You swore your heart was about to leap from your chest.

“Who are you?” You shakily asked but the knight gave you a small bow. Their hands slipped off the silver helmet on their head to reveal a rather striking individual with sharp features and long, lavender hair.

“I apologize for my intrusion. I’m Prince Vinicio of the Corcoran kingdom.” The knight’s voice was a lot deeper than she expected. How could a woman have such a deep voice?

“Prince? Don’t you mean princess?” You softly asked which made the knight erupt into laughter.

“No. Despite my rather feminine appearance, I’m male.”Vinicio smiled warmly at you. “I just noticed how long your hair is. Have you been growing it out for a long time-“

You jumped when he reached a hand out to you which made him frown. Vinicio’s mind began to wander as he glanced around your home. Did you live here all alone? This wilderness was not becoming of a lady, especially not one as stunning as you. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“P-please leave. I’m not supposed to talk to men.”

Vinicio frowned but gave you a small bow out of respect. You must be being held against your will in this lonely tower… he’d have to gain your trust to save you.

“I apologize, I’ll take my leave.” Vinicio put his helmet back on but turned to give you one last look. “But can I meet you again tomorrow? I can talk to you from below the tower. I won’t climb up here again.”

You bit your lip. Agnes had always warned you and Hilda about men but Vinicio didn’t seem dangerous… “Okay. But only if you promise to not climb.”

Vinicio smiled warmly at you. “I promise.”

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steddiealltheway · 9 months

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Steve cradles Eddie's face gently as he kisses him with a smile. "I missed you," he whispers between kisses.

"I missed you, too," Eddie says as he kisses a path across Steve's jaw.

Steve groans and thuds his head back against the wall of the Hawkins High School theater room. "Tell me again why we can't tell people yet."

Eddie laughs as he pulls away to look at him with a softness in his gaze. "You've already asked me this twice in the past five minutes."

"Because I want everyone to know about my amazing boyfriend. Robin's going to kill me when she finds out that I've been lying about my series of bad dates. And Dustin will kill both of us for keeping this a secret from him. You know how much he's been begging for us to hang out together."

Eddie sighs and hides his face in the crook of Steve's neck. "It's just not the right time yet." He lifts his head to meet Steves's gaze as he continues, "I just... I'm afraid Dustin or one of the guys will say something at school and accidentally out us. Plus, I want to tell everyone together. Not just you and not just me. Together, okay?"

Steve nods. He would do anything for Eddie. "Not even Robin? he asks.

"Not even Robin."

Steve sighs and nods. "Okay. I promise we'll tell everyone together."

Eddie smiles and leans in. "Seal it with a kiss?"

Steve laughs and wraps his arms around his shoulders. "One more then I have to drive Dustin home before he kills me."

One more kiss turns into two which turns into three until Steve finally breaks away with a big smile and says, "Okay, okay! I have to go!"

Eddie clings onto his hand as Steve tries to leave, and Steve can't help but linger a little longer. "When's your final campaign thing again?"

Eddie smiles. "Two weeks. Think you can make it that long without me?"

"No," Steve replies honestly and moves in closer to hug Eddie tightly. His heart thuds in his chest, and for some reason, he feels like this may be one of the last moments the two of them will get. He tries to shake away the feeling but Eddie must notice.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, concern heavy in his tone as he pulls Steve in closer.

Steve only squeezes him tighter.

"We'll tell them together eventually, okay? Not apart."

Steve nods and breaks the hug, kissing Eddie deeply before he steps back, fingers trailing down Eddie's arms to his hands until they slip away. "Together and not apart. Got it. And hey, two weeks."

"Two weeks," Eddie says with a big smile. "But you better call."

Steve scoffs, "You act like I wouldn't."

Eddie pulls his hair in front of his face, failing to hide the blush on his face. Steve finds it entirely adorable. He walks away and pushes the door slightly open, trying to ignore the sense of impending doom he feels. He pauses in the doorway and turns around. "You know I love you, right?"

Eddie freezes momentarily in confusion, only having heard the phrase a few times. He nods. "I love you, too," he replies a bit breathlessly.

Steve nods before walking out the door, waggling his fingers at Eddie in the way that always makes him laugh. "I'll call you later."

And he does call him later. In fact, Steve can't go a single night without hearing Eddie's voice before he goes to bed, which makes it worse when he doesn't hear from him two weeks later after Lucas's game and their brief fight about how Eddie should've changed the date of the final D&D session.

Only, Steve didn't realize there was more to Eddie missing his call other than their fight.

Things only continue to go downhill after that as the impending doom finally comes.

With the world coming to an end, Steve doesn't really get the chance to talk things through with Eddie, and they both know now is not the time to reveal their secret relationship.

Steve reluctantly agrees to the plan to face Vecna, separating him and Eddie temporarily, but it seems like the best choice to ensure Eddie will stay safe.

But when he hears Dustin's screams as they leave the Creel house, Steve knows that he thought wrong.

And as he drags Eddie's lifeless body out of the Upside Down, he tries as hard as he can to hold his tears back. Because his reaction wouldn't make sense to anyone. And he promised him. They would tell everyone about their relationship together, not apart.

So, Steve waits until everyone leaves him alone, none of them knowing that he's lost the love of his life, and he lets himself finally break. "Together and not apart," Steve sobs, "We were supposed to be together and never apart."

And Steve will never know that Eddie, with his dying breath, tried as hard as he could to tell Dustin that Steve could tell everyone, but he never got the words out.

#steddie #steddie angst #angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #I'm sorryyyyyy #school is stressful and this is the resulttttt #main character death

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torpublishinggroup · 8 months

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#1 NYT bestselling author V.E. Schwab returns to the dazzling worlds of Shades of Magic with a fantastical, perilous, and intrigue-tangled new series-starter: The Fragile Threads of Power,with commissioned artwork of Kell and Lila by lasq.draws.

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Once, the four worlds sat nestled like pages in a book, connected with fantastical power to a single city: London. But the magic pulsed. It grew too fast, and the doors between worlds were sealed in a desperate gamble at protection.

The few magicians able to open these doors grew rarer as time passed, and now only three are known in recent memory. Kell Maresh of Red London, Delilah Bard of Grey London, and Holland Vosijk of White London have hardly been glimpsed for the last seven years. A new magician rises to claim the throne of White London: She is Kosika, who burns with religious fervor and will feed her city with blood, including her own.

And back in Red London, King Rhy Maresh is threatened by a rising rebellion, one that promises to correct the power by razing the throne entirely.

These two royals from very different empires face mirror struggles: Keep their crowns. Keep their heads. And amidst a tapestry of old friends and new enemies, a girl with unusual magic comes into possession of a device that could change the fate of all four worlds.

Her name is Tes, and she will bring the worlds together, or unravel it all.

#tor books #v e schwab #ve schwab #fragile threads #the fragile threads of power #shades of magic #lasq.draws #urban fantasy #new books #booklr #tbr #kell #lila

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stylesharrys · 2 months

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All That You Are Masterlist [Mafiarry]

Welcome to the series masterlist of All That You Are. This series is completed but open to bonus chapters and blurbs in the future.

This series will include blood, violence, death, torture, arranged marriages, swearing, guns and other deathly weapons, unprotected and protected sex, oral, dirty talk, mentions of r*pe (nothing actually happens) and abuse, general Mafia things. If these topics make you feel uncomfortable, please do not read. Your mental health comes first!

🍒 indicates smut.

Prologue — An arranged marriage is set, and Y/N has no say in the matter. (1.1k)

Part One — Y/N is thrown into her new life as Harry’s wife, and Harry has to learn and prepare himself to take over the New York Famiglia. (19.5k)

Part Two 🍒 — The time has come for Harry’s initiation as Capo dei Capi, and Y/N has mixed feelings about the steps he has to take. (26.1k)

Part Three 🍒 — Maria’s fate is sealed, and Harry and Y/N need to talk about theirs. (17.5k)

Cheeck ins and Concepts

Series Playlist

Moodboards

#atya #harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

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biggameplayertrentaa · 5 months

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I. Trippin', Fallin'

word count: 3.1k

warning: smut 18+

summary: fwb!jude wants more while the reader just wants to protect her heart.

author’s note: this is a three-part series that will contain angst, smut, and fluff. above is/are the song (s) that coincide with this part! let me know what you think!

“No one knows I’m a whore though.”

Jude’s words were spoken into the clothed crevice of the pillow tucked between his forearm and chin, so his defensive whine came out muffled. The two of you had begun to bicker before he even had the chance to pull out of you. In an orgasmed-induced haze, Jude had finally confessed his desire to finally make you his girlfriend. Your reaction to this was to scoff and call him a whore, given his (well-concealed yet still notorious) playboy persona. Not exactly what he was hoping for, but it was exactly what he was expecting given your typical abrasive demeanor—a demeanor that had never waivered in his six months of knowing and fucking you. It was also typically a turn-on, but given the fact that he had just confessed his feelings for you (sorta), your attitude made him wish that the bed he was currently lying on would swallow him whole.

Jude was on his tummy, back bare, and showing off the red stripes that decorated its muscular surface—a testament to the steamy events that had just transpired between the two of you. What was not, was your current ice-cold attitude toward the twenty-year-old midfielder. Just a mere five minutes ago, you were moaning in his ear, telling him that your pussy was his as you pathetically begged him to let you cum around him. Now your back was to him as you hastily got ready, eyes trained on taming the mess that had formed at the top of your head. Jude’s eyes—practically heart-shaped and pulsating like that of an animated cartoon character—slithered over your frame admirably.

“I do, though." You state, fingers now moving to tackle the dark red marks that Jude had littered down the length of your neck. You hated that; you weren’t his to be marked, yet he did it every single time you found yourself entangled in his sheets. He swore it was just a habit, but you knew Jude better than that—he was claiming you. “Also, I would like to—once again—remind you that this was your idea, Jude.” You stated in a tone that made it difficult for him to form a quick rebuttal.

You got him there.

It was Jude’s idea to keep your arrangement completely sexual. In all honesty, when he had made this decision, the thought of making it anything more was incredibly frightening to him; Jude simply did not feel as if he was good enough for you. With your brilliant mind and dazzling personality, you were just as welcoming as you were intimidating to him. Dating you meant stepping up to a plate that was far too daunting for a twenty-year-old boy. This coupled with the limitless supply of women at his convenience and disposal due to his profession, propelled Jude to establish the boundary with you early—right before you even slept with him, in fact— to deter a possible messy situation.

Having just gotten out of a terrible long-term relationship, you accepted this agreement. A friends-with-benefits arrangement was safe for you; there was distance in the agreement, a barrier that would make it impossible for anyone to bring you back to the state you were in your previous relationship. Jude knew this and for a while, he understood it…until a particularly intimate night that went beyond the typical sex. It had started with a silly conversation on the couch that had suddenly transformed into a deep heart-to-heart. A heart-to-heart that exposed aspects of Jude he had always tried desperately to conceal from everyone. It took practically no effort for you to pull this out of him; Jude felt safe with you, whole. You had opened up too and just like that, the imaginary line that you both had established was crossed. That night truly sealed Jude’s fate and he’s been harboring feelings for you—silently for two months—ever since.

You heard the bed creak and moan as Jude moved to get off it. With his eyes never leaving yours in the reflection of the mirror, he finally settles behind, pressing his bare chest flush to your, now, jumper-covered back. Jude’s mouth parts, but it remains motionless and without sound. The proximity had caused a warm sensation to form in the pit of his stomach which left him confused—having never experienced it before—and ultimately mute. Your arms were still limp by your side, eyes attempting to settle on anything and everything except the ones boring into you via the reflection of the mirror. Determined to keep the armor around your heart secured and unfaltering, you slip out of his grasp and continue your efforts to get dressed. You hear Jude groan behind you, but you ignore him.

“What are you scared of?” Jude’s words are harsh, laced heavy with genuine hurt and confusion.

“I am not scared of anything,” You lie.

The only thing you had left to put on were your shoes. Thankfully, you had left them by the front door making your desperation to get away from Jude seem less haste and more natural. Jude trails behind, resembling a clingy puppy that couldn’t bear going five minutes without its owner.

“You said this is just sex. I give you just sex and you complain.” You’re breathless as you attempt to quickly slip on your sneakers. “You know, most guys would kill for this.”

“Well, I am not most guys.” Jude cringes the second the words leave his lips; so cliche, but still very true in this instance. With a final kiss to his cheek, you open his front door and step out into the bitter Madrid air. It wasn’t quite winter yet, but the autumn had matured, leaving the temperature crisp and the skies cloudy. The oversized jumper you currently adorned (courtesy of Jude) did a fantastic job of making the weather bearable though. Of course, Jude follows you out the door.

“You’re not like most guys.” It’s almost mocking the way you say it, but Jude only allows himself to dwell on the beautiful smile that accompanies the words. “Are you going to that thing tonight?” Asks Jude, referring to Real Madrid’s annual Christmas dinner. It was a pointless question; you worked in the communications department of the club, of course, you would be there, but Jude wanted to prolong your time together.

“Considering I work at the club, yes, I will be there Jude.” You roll your eyes, biting your lips to conceal the small smile that was threatening to reveal itself; Jude wasn’t slick in his efforts to keep you hostage. It was adorable, flattering even but you would rather braid blades of dry grass than admit that to the (already cocky) man in front of you. “Cool, me too.” He responds lamely, leaning against his front doorframe as his brain turns itself over in a desperate search for another question to keep you there with him.

But he isn’t quick enough.

With an amused glint in your eye, you curtly nod and turn on your heel. “Cool,” You parrot over your shoulder, “I’ll see you there, then.”

***

Five times.

Jude was referred to as “Belligol” five times tonight and he hadn’t even been at the dining hall for 20 minutes. Given his picture-perfect start at the Spanish club, Jude was a hot commodity that everyone on the club’s executive board wanted to make conversation with. They thought kissing his ass would flatter him, and if his mind wasn’t already occupied with thoughts of you, it would have. You were seated at the table directly across from him, taking occasional sips of the red wine in your hands. By your side was Alejandro, your coworker, and Jude’s arch-nemesis. Jude was convinced the man was in love with you, and would constantly try to indoctrinate you into believing his little conspiracy, but you weren’t having it. Alejandro was friendly and even if he did like you, you were uninterested.

Since Jude had arrived, Alejandro hadn’t left your side which frustrated him beyond words. He had come with a plan of sitting by you, pleading his case, and ending the night with you in his bed possessing the title of his girlfriend. But the fucking leech seated to your right made this incredibly difficult to execute. Jude clenches his jaw when he sees Alejandro lean into you and whisper something in your ear. It is an unbearable, nauseating sight that makes him see red and fantasize about doing something violent to the—otherwise innocent— man occupying the space beside you.

He hates that he feels this way— possessive. Jude knows that it is not right, let alone fair but it is difficult to suppress the nasty feeling Ms.jealousy tends to leave sitting on his chest and resting uncomfortably in his stomach when it comes to you.

He isn’t aware he is staring until your eyes finally meet his, and suddenly the abhorrent feeling he has is replaced with one of weightless warmth. Your left eye drops subtly into a wink and Jude can’t help but to attempt mirror you. He, of course, fails; both of his eyelids drop to form a singular blink. The toothy grin that plasters across your face makes Jude forget to be embarrassed. With Alejandro still in your ear, you softly nod toward the direction of the dining hall’s corridor with a quirked brow and a daring smile. Jude furrows his brow in mock confusion and tilts his chin slightly in the direction of the unsuspecting man beside you in a move that says, and what about him? You answer him by creating distance between you and Alejandro. With a triumphant smile, Jude watches as you hastily utter some sort of excuse to the poor man and your tablemates before making your way into the corridor. He waits, anxiously, for about two minutes before offering a lame excuse to his own table. When Jude is finally in the corridor, you are nowhere to be found. His eyes immediately scan the area, finally landing on the cracked storage room closet door just a few feet away from where he stood. Just as he had suspected, you were waiting for him in the closest, perched teasingly along the walls of the small space. You were looking at your watch-less wrist in mock annoyance.

“Took you long enough.”

Jude says nothing as he moves to stand in front of you, closing the door with his foot right before he does so. Trapping you between his chest and the wall, he cups your chin, forcing you to loll your head back to look up at him. You look absolutely stunning in your white sweater dress; the fabric hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating every curve and dip he had become so keenly acquainted with in the last six months. Jude leans in, breath fanning lightly over your face, but his eyes remain trained intently on yours. You immediately sink into his embrace, not only accustomed to his presence but also incredibly comfortable and familiar with it. Your breathing is strained and your heartbeat erratic as he brushes his nose against yours. His eyes flutter shut. Subtly licking the chap from his lips, he hovers them over your puckered ones for a split second before closing the slither of distance between the two of you.

Instinctively, you wrap your arm around his neck, pressing yourself to him as you attempt to deepen the kiss. Jude wasn’t having it. He didn’t care that his teammates and your coworkers would grow suspicious of your absence and maybe even go looking for the two of you. He finally had you exactly where he wanted you; he would be foolish to waste this moment with hasty, sloppy touches. So he keeps the kiss slow and loving, only allowing for his tongue to thrust past the barrier of your lips after you had seized in your attempts to take control of the kiss. You moan when his tongue strokes yours, the knot in your stomach only tightening as you anticipate his next touches. Jude smiles at the sound, bending down slightly to signal you to jump. You immediately oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist, not once separating yourself from his lips.

“What do you want?” He asks teasingly and embarrassingly breathless. You attempt to kiss him again, but Jude dodges you. You roll your eyes; he was going to be difficult tonight. “I said,” He begins, one of his fingers moving to the area between your thighs that was already wet and ready with anticipation. Jude moves your panties to the side expertly. He gatherers your arousal with his index and middle finger and bites his lip. “What do you want?” The words are spoken lowly into your ear. His two fingers are hovering just above your clit; if you moved even a centimeter you could brush up against them. You were throbbing and completely over the little game Jude was attempting to play. He was achingly hard, you could feel the outline of his dick on your thigh. No doubt, if you reached between the two of you and dipped a hand in his briefs, his tip would be wet with precum. The thought only intensified both of your heartbeats.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, not seeing the point in prolonging the back-and-forth bantered tango the two of you always engaged in before he fucked you. “You want me to fuck you yet you were flirting with Alejandro?” Jude quips, but he still chooses to move his two digits against you in tight, pressured circles. You suck in a breath, immediately laying your forehead on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t-” the words are strangled, labored, and breathless, “I wasn’t flirting. He was flirting.” You moan. Jude lets out a breathless laugh. “He was flirting and you did nothing to stop it?” His pace increases making it difficult for you to come up with a response. But Jude didn’t care, “I asked you a question.”

Your eyes snapped to his and if looks could kill, Jude would’ve dropped to his knees. “Why should I stop it?” You retort, brows still furrowed heavily in pleasure; you don’t care how good he was making you feel, you weren’t going to reward his audacious and entitled behavior. Jude says nothing. He instead removes his fingers from you and places you back on the ground. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips, and are already making moves to beg for him, deciding that your pride is not going to get in the way of a mindblowing orgasm. The toying of his belt is what silences you. In a few swift motions, Jude’s black trousers and briefs were pooled at his ankle on the floor. With your bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth, your eyes darted between his and his already hardened length. Just like you suspected, the very tip of it was dripping in a sticky clear substance. Your mouth watered, wanting nothing more than to revel in the way he tasted and sounded by getting on your knees for him.

As if he sensed this, Jude teasingly fists his shaft, slowly dragging up in a jerking motion. His eyes flutter shut at the contact, mouth parting to form a lazy O. You moan when he spreads his precum across his tip, knowing the lubrication only contributed to the pleasure he was surely already experiencing. Jude continues his game for only a minute more. You are completely conflicted, not sure if you were enjoying the show or jealous that you weren’t able to participate. Jude doesn’t allow you to dwell on the thought much longer before he has you trapped against the wall again, legs wrapped tightly around his hips. He pushes your underwear to the side again, lightly running his sensitive tip across your pulsating clit. You suck in a breath, bucking your hips in hopes of slipping him inside of you, but the grip he currently had on your waist made it nearly impossible. After what feels like an eternity, you finally feel him push into you. He’s practically still, only allowing a couple of inches of himself inside you at a time. He does this a couple of times—thrusts just his tip into you before pulling out—before he finally bottoms out, hips pressing flushed to yours. Jude swallows your moans, silencing you with a fiery kiss as he stroked into your heated, velvet walls. You wrapped around him in almost a glove-like manner, molding around him as if a higher power specifically made your pussy for him

Jude suddenly replaces his lips with his palm, “Why should you stop it?” Jude begins words spoken just inches away from your ear in a low tone. He was already close—the heated knot in the pit of his stomach and his wavering thrust was evidence of that–but he continued his relentless rhythm. He had a point to prove, “You should stop it because you know no one, especially not Alejandro–” his name is spoken between clenched teeth, “could fuck you the way I do.” He accompanies this statement with a particularly hard thrust that forces you to whimper against his hand. Jude moans at the sounds, completely obsessed and enamored with the way he and his dick could make you feel. You were clenching around him, walls contracting around him at a steady rhythm while you brought your hips to meet his.

“You should stop because you know that you are already mine, ” Jude moves from your ear so he can lock his eyes on yours, determined to make you feel them, “you’re just in denial.” Your legs are shaking now, pussy still quivering and Jude knew that it was only a matter of time before you came undone. “Right, baby?” He coos, still wanting to take full advantage of having you at his mercy, knowing that once you cum, the playing field will be immediately unleveled and favoring you.

“You’re mine, yea?” He continued to press, strokes now slowed so he could hit the deepest parts of you. Your eyes are brimming with euphoric laced tears as you attempt to ignore his questioning and focus on how he is currently making you feel. Your breathing had shallowed against his palm, fingers, and toes tingling as a wave of burning pleasure washed over you. Your ears were ringing but you could still faintly hear Jude’s possessive, yet sweet words of encouragement as he brought you to the edge.

You almost gave in.

With only a second away from finally tipping over, you wanted to scream out, “I’m yours!” as you came. But having trained your mind well, the only words that left your lips as your orgasm forcefully ripped through you was a very strangled, “If you want me, earn me!” These were the words that ultimately caused Jude to stumble into his own orgasm, for some reason. They resonated, echoing in his head as he rode out his high, eyes still heavily trained on yours.

Challenge accepted.

author’s final thots:

#Spotify #jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude:)#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagines

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moldspace · 2 years

Text

a pod of selkies

(ID courtesy of tumblr user night-dark-woods) ID. painted flat wood sculptures, one side is a reclining gray spotted seal and one side is a naked woman. there are three photos of the set, showing both sides of them, and then a series of gifs of them being flipped over. each selkie has a different skin tone and hair color in human form, and a different coat pattern as a seal. End ID.

#my art #art #sculpture #wood sculpture #woodworking #selkie #mythology #seals

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maya1525 · 10 months

Text

After-School Activities

18+ MDNI

Pairing✩࿐Fem!Reader X Satoru Gojo, Toge Inumaki, Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuta Okkotsu

WARNINGS✩࿐unprotected group sex in the classroom, Male Teacher x Female Student, overstimulation, teasing, praise, size difference, Fem! Receiving oral, anal, vaginal sex, cream pie, choking, tit-fucking, multiple Fem!Reader orgasms

BONUS✩࿐Reader gets fucked in a skirt

Word count✩࿐7.1K

Summary✩࿐This is part 2 to my jjk series (reading part 1 isn’t necessary, but it is appreciated) The school changed the living situation for the students and they have to live in shared apartments. The reader is living with Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuta Okkotsu, and Toge Inumaki. She is being shared among those three as their girlfriend. Satoru Gojo figures out what’s going on between the four students and (for his own selfish desires) decides to give them a lesson on how to please the Fem!Reader.

A/N✩࿐I made a few minor changes to this fic, I hope you like this updated version better. Not sure where my mind went when I wrote this… I hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing from multiple viewpoints.

“How long have you been standing there?” Questioned Megumi as Yuji leaned against the island casually.

“Oh, you know. Like ten minutes. I’m surprised none of you heard me come in. Yuuta was taking too long to grab his running shoes, so I came up to see what the hold-up was. Gotta say I’m impressed.” Yuji smiled, eying all of you with approval. “It was like I was watching a porno in real life!” Megumi let out an irritated groan at his friend's choice of words, while Yuuta face-palmed himself

“Shoot, I completely forgot you were waiting for us! Sorry man kinda got distracted.” Okkotsu flushed as he picked his t-shirt up off the floor. Toge pried you from Megumi’s lap and covered you up more efficiently with the blanket. Not liking the fact that Yuji eyed you with such lust. He pulled you into his arms protectively and led you upstairs to your bedrooms.

“Aww, so is that a ‘no’ then? It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone about your guys’ interesting relationship!” Called out Yuji from the kitchen, you let out a little giggle. To be honest, you never thought of Yuji in that way before. But if you were ever given the chance, would you let Yuji do you? You pushed the thought away as you shakily walked up the stairs, hanging on tight to Toge’s hand. Yuuta followed close behind with his hand on your lower back for support. Toge led you guys to his bedroom and personal bathroom. You’ve showered in his bathroom a couple of times before, typically after sleeping and having sex in his room. The smell of his sandalwood-scented candle always made you feel invited.

Inumaki got the bath ready for you, while Yuuta pulled you into him for a sweet hug, “You did so well taking all three of us for the first time.” You felt his smooth voice through his chest. He pulled away to smile down at you fondly, but then a shocked gasp left his lips. “Inumaki, look what you did to her!”

Toge brought his attention from the bath's temperature towards you, his expression changed to an excited one. He quickly got up and turned you to face the mirror. There on your face, you had his matching cursed speech markings.

This was a side effect of your cursed technique, which allows you to digest any curse user's DNA and mimic their abilities (to a lesser extent). Depending on how much DNA from someone you consume the effects of their techniques will vary.

Toge eyed you proudly and tilted your chin upward to his face. He opened your mouth to look at your tongue. He nodded as a gorgeous smile formed across his features, his viper seal was on your tongue just like his. He pulled you close to his lean porcelain-colored chest and gave you a gentle kiss.

Toge and Yuuta carefully removed the soft blanket from your naked body and led you to the nice warm bath. They took turns washing you as carefully as possible. They treated you as if you were a delicate doll. You felt so relaxed you snoozed off a bit in the bath. You groggily remember Toge carrying you to his bed afterward, and then Yuuta kissed your forehead before he left.

You woke up slightly when you felt Inumaki’s smooth hands run across your skin, as he rubbed lotion on you. Not a single part of your body was missed. His fingers ghosted over your nipples, across your stomach, and dipped down between your sensitive thighs, causing you to shiver.

“Toge, I’m cold. Cuddle me.” Your words melted his heart, he could never say no to you, especially the way your soft voice sounds extra cute when you’re sleepy. He covered you up in his dark gray comforter and pulled you into him. Snaking his arms around your waist, while resting his lips on the back of your neck.

Megumi felt guilty about how marked up your neck was from him, but secretly he couldn’t help but feel a flash of pride knowing he was the one who left them on you. He let you wear his uniform shirt to help hide the hickeys since it had a turtle neck. It was extremely baggy on you because of how petite your figure was. Your school uniform was a black button-down short-sleeve shirt paired skirt that fell midway down your thighs, along with black thigh-high socks. His turtle neck covered your face partially, but when you’d move slightly or speak, Toge’s curse speech marks would become noticeable. During class, you got a few curious glances from the girls, Satoru even flashed Toge and Megumi a proud and knowing smirk.

“And that’s it for our lesson today,” Gojo said clasping his hands together, everyone stood up and began to grab their belongings. You were about to head out of the door when Gojo spoke up once more, “Y/n you wouldn’t mind staying a little later to chat, would you?” You froze right in your tracks; Megumi, Toge, and Yuuta all shared shocked looks for a split second. “Don’t worry boys, she’s not in trouble,” Gojo smiled devilishly at their reaction.

“Uh- yeah, that's fine Sensei.” You said politely.

Once everyone else was gone and the door closed behind your boyfriends Gojo leaned back in his chair as he eyed you through his blindfold. “So, how are things going?” He said nonchalantly with the smirk on his face never faltering.

“Good.” You found yourself fiddling with the waistband of your skirt nervously.

“And your living situation? It looks like those three are treating you well.” His smooth voice rang out.

“Yes, they’re all very nice to me,” You sighed warmly.

Gojo let out a hearty chuckle, “Oh, no need to be so mousy.” He stood up from his chair and placed both of his hands on his desk, leaning towards you in a dominating manner, “Like I said you’re not in trouble... Do you have any idea why I asked to speak to you?”

“No-” You said shortly, but then changed your mind “Well, is it because of my... appearance?”

Satoru snickered once more, “Right on the nose!” He praised, “My first question is-“ He lifted his index finger to represent the number one, but then he hooked the Megumi’s collar at your neck. He pulled down the fabric to expose your neck covered in possessive love bites. Now Toge’s cursed speech marks on your cheeks were visible as well. You gasped in shock.

“Did Megumi leave those on you? Hmm?” You were appalled, he then gently gripped your jaw and tilted your head side to side as he inspected further. His presence was so overwhelming, that you felt too nervous to speak. A familiar feeling in your stomach began to stir up, arousal.

“Aww, cat got your tongue?” Gojo cooed with fake pity. “That’s ok, you don’t have to answer me. It’s written all over your pretty face. But please answer this next question; Toge emptied himself in your mouth, didn’t he?” His dirty words caused you to shudder.

You were beyond flustered, “Yes, he did.” You said defeatedly, and Gojo’s smug look increased.

“I’m guessing Yuuta’s involved too?” Satoru hummed as you felt a faint blush creep across your cheeks. You nodded shyly. With his grip still on your jaw he placed his middle and index fingers against your lips - they looked so kissable to him.

“Are you able to use your cursed technique through saliva? I’m curious to see how long it can last through a kiss-“ he cupped your face firmly and brought his hot lips to yours. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth for a split second. You were too shocked to move or believe that this was happening!

Your phone in your skirt went off, someone was calling you! You tried grabbing it but Satoru beat you to it. Your phone screen had said that Yuuta was calling, he slid to answer with his thumb as he kept his fingers on your lips.

“Hello?” He hummed smugly, bringing your phone close to his face and putting it on speaker for you to hear.

“Oh, uh- hey Gojo, I’m guessing that you and Y/n are still talking then?” Yuuta said in a confused tone.

“Yeah, we’re still talking,” Gojo said smoothly, with a wicked smirk. If he wasn’t wearing his blindfold he would’ve winked at you.

“Um, well are you guys almost done? Just wondering, since I’m outside waiting for her.” Yuuta explained.

“We’re just finishing up, don’t worry.” Gojo paused, “Are Megumi and Toge waiting out there as well?”

Yuuta went silent briefly, “Yeah, we are.”

“Perfect! Why don’t you three come back inside? There’s something important I need to teach you guys.”

Gojo had you shirtless in seconds, the younger men were baffled at how effectively he undressed you down to nothing but your school uniform skirt. Your bra was particularly flung off by the flick of his fingers. They watched captivated as the experienced man stripped you. It was as if he was a skilled magician showing off an elaborate trick right before their eyes. He’s clearly done this countless times before.

All of their mouths water for you. The energy in the room shifted immensely. You could feel their longing eyes staring you down as if you were a delectable meal.

You felt so vulnerable sitting on Gojo’s desk with nothing on but your skirt on. He had you bring your feet onto the edge of its hardwood surface, and he gently guided your torso back with his large suave hands. He had you leaning on your elbows. “I’m having her in this position, so you can all see clearly what I’m about to do.” Explained Gojo in a matter-of-fact tone, he had all three of them sit at desks up close to his. “Make sure you pay attention to her reactions and her facial expressions.“

Satoru stood behind you so he was facing his students, he placed both of his warm hands on your shoulders. He massaged them lightly, “no need to be so nervous,” He whispered down into your left ear, “Relax...”

You tried your best to ease your nerves, but you couldn’t help but feel anxious. Gojo’s magical hands made you melt to his touch within seconds. ”Good girl.” He uttered under his breath, his seductive scent filled your senses with how close he had gotten to you.

His hands then slid across your collar bones and then he ghosted them down to your perky breasts. Groping them gently from behind, you held back a quiet moan as he teased your nipples delicately.

“Don’t hide your cute sounds darling, let them hear you enjoy this.” Satoru purred.

He then gave your breasts a rough squeeze causing you to tense up in pain, “Did you guys just see that? She doesn’t like it when I’m rough with her tits, be gentle with them from now on.” He then caressed your breasts again but this time much gentler.

Gojo moved his torso closer to your shoulder as if he were a snake enveloping its prey. He lowered his head down to your collarbone to give it a fluttery kiss, causing ferocious shivers to wake in its place. He grazed his lips up to your hickey-covered neck to place another kiss. “Ahh…” You sighed at the feeling.

“Her neck is extremely sensitive, Megumi you took advantage of that. Good job.” Gojo praised his pupil against the crook of your neck. He tested the waters and licked up your neck slowly, earning another sigh to escape from you. He loved how reactive you were being to his touch. Your cute little moans made a tight feeling swell in his chest (and in his pants), oh he will take his time and savor you for sure.

With his hands still lightly teasing and caressing your bouncy breasts. He brought his lips to your right ear, licking the lobe ever so fluently, causing you to arch your back instinctively. A lazy smirk made itself known on Gojo’s handsome features. No one has ever done that to your ear before and the heat from his breath alone gave you goosebumps. Right before everyone’s eyes, your nipples grew even more pebbled. Satoru delicately kissed your ear making you squirm with bliss. You felt your voice get caught in your throat at this new sensation. The neediness between your thighs increased tremendously. He hasn’t even touched you down there, but you could feel the dampness in your underwear skyrocket. As if the feeling wasn’t exquisite enough Satoru amplified your emotions tenfold by whispering in a voice too soft for anyone else to hear. “I bet you’re a soaking mess right now. You want me to take of that?”

“Okaka.” You heard Toge growl under his breath. You flashed your attention over to see Inumaki sitting at his desk with his arms crossed, his hardened gaze staring directly at his teacher.

“Don’t worry Inumaki, I’m just giving her some words of encouragement.” Gojo sighed lightheartedly. “Words are just as crucial as actions when it comes to the art of… seduction.”

Satoru placed his hot mouth back to your ear once more, initiating you to arch my back without thinking. He then removed one of his hands from your nipples and brought his index and middle finger to your lips, “suck 'em.” He ordered.

You obediently parted your lips slightly, and his long fingers pried their way into your mouth. They immediately went down your throat, your breath remained calm as you gently sucked them with ease. Your gag reflex has improved tremendously, compared to the first time you deep-throated. It was with Yuuta’s dick. He was so sweet and patient when you got used to the feeling.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to suffocate yourself.” Yuuta gasped out as you choked on him, his fists tightened around the sheets as he tried to calm down at the new wonderful sensation he was experiencing. You were curious to see how far he could go down your throat, so you forced yourself deeper onto him. You felt happy to give him so much pleasure with your saturated mouth. A few tears escaped from your eyes, and then shortly after your nose began to run. Regardless, you loved the way Yuuta’s sweet dark eyes rolled to the back of his head and how his black hair fell messily in front of his face. “You feel so good…” he struggled to say while you slurped his rod.

Remembering that now while you sucked on Gojo’s fingers, caused your panties to dampen even more. You flickered your eyes over to your boyfriends. Making eye contact with Toge first; you could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted you. Megumi had a similar look on his face but was still curious to see what else Satoru planned on doing to you. While Yuuta had such a needy look on his face, he was turned on and fought the urge to run up to the desk and snatch you from his teacher's grasp.

Gojo’s words brought your attention back to him, “I’m impressed that they were able to corrupt an innocent beauty into such a little slut.” You naturally sucked on his fingers a little harder when he called you a slut. You’ve never been degraded before, but when he said that you felt even more turned on. Gojo chuckled, “Oh? Do you like being called a slut?” His voice sounded deeper than usual.

Satoru then moved to your other ear to tease you with his viper-like tongue. You pictured his tongue down between your legs and you couldn’t help but whine onto his fingers. Gojo was drunk with power at the moment, he got off to the thought of doing you right here and now in front of your boyfriends. His cocky smile not leaving his face throughout the whole ordeal.

He reluctantly removed his fingers from your mouth and got up from behind you. He kneeled at the front of the desk but still made sure everyone could see what he was doing. You felt his large hand sweetly touch your ankle. Then he ghosted his fingers up your shin and to your thigh, lifting your skirt to expose your drenched underwear.

“Aww you gotta little excited, didn’t you?” He announced, you felt so lewd when everyone’s lust-filled eyes stared directly at your wet panties.

To your disappointment Gojo didn’t even touch your underwear, you felt him place a hand on the inside of each of your plump thighs. He gave them a gentle squeeze causing you to gasp with delight.

“Yep, my suspicions are correct. Not only does your girl have an extra sensitive neck but her thighs are just as bad.” The way Satoru talked about you, reminded you of the way expert mechanics talk about cars. “Please tell me that at least one of you knew that?” He directed his attention to your three boyfriends.

“Shake-shake,” Toge spoke up, causing Megumi and Yuuta to whirl their heads in the cursed speech user’s direction. No one except you could notice the proud glint in Inumaki’s eyes.

“Oh? Do care to elaborate.” Satoru said to you as he gently rubbed your soft skin, erecting a sigh of delight to come from your lips.

“Toge likes to give me full body massages from time to time, which most of the time leads to…” your cheeks grew hot as if you weren’t already aroused.

Your thoughts drifted to when Inumaki discovered your sweet spots on the inner parts of your legs. You were on your tummy in his bed watching TV as he massaged your naked ass. He started with your neck and shoulders and worked his way down. You enjoyed the feeling of your ass being massaged by his slick lotion-covered hands. As soon as he slid a hand down onto your thighs a loud gasp of satisfaction came from you. Toge immediately pulled his hand away with the fear that he hurt you, “Takana?” His voice rang with concern as he brought his face in front of yours.

“It’s ok! You didn’t hurt me, it felt good but also sensitive at the same time.” You blushed.

The look in his eyes got what you meant, so he situated himself back behind you to rub your thighs again. He managed to make you whimper uncontrollably with his teasing hands. His curious fingers were delicate at first, but then increased pressure- which drove you wild. Your entire body twitched as you flung over to close your legs. You were greeted with a sly smile and a playful look in his gorgeous violet-colored eyes. “Inumaki, be nice.”

His reflexes were slightly faster compared to yours and managed to get a hold of your right leg pulling you into him, dragging your back across his sheets in the process. He flung your leg over his shoulder as his lips came crashing down on yours for a heated kiss.

Megumi fought the urge to fuck you on that damn desk himself. His pants felt unbearably tight as his dick grew harder for you. How did Gojo manage to get you so turned on when he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet? The desperate way you looked at him as Gojo teased your overly sensitive thighs, made him ache for you so badly. He knew that Satoru was experienced and was helping you guys unlock new ways to get their girlfriend rilled up, but he felt impatient watching him tease you so blatantly.

You became a squirming and whiny mess because of Satoru’s hands on your soft skin. You felt your walls crumbling from the inside, as you lost your self-control. You felt too hot, too turned on, and too empty. “I-I…” I want you to fuck me, anyone to fuck me. You couldn’t muster up those dirty words, so you babbled uncontrollably.

“Hmm? What is it dear?” Gojo’s lazy smile irritated you, he knew what he was doing but chose to keep you in this desperate state.

“You’re not- ahh,“ another wave of pleasure hit you hard, his damn hands were so close to your soaking core. “You’re not doing a good job.” You managed to say between gasps.

“Oh? Be more specific hun, what am I not doing a good job at? Is there something else you want me to do?” That bastard knew what he was doing.

Toge couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the blindfolded man. Yes, he did have good tricks that he planned on teaching them; but Inumaki wanted to be the one responsible for those cute gasps and moans coming from your mouth. While at the same time, he was intrigued at how unraveled you’ve become.

“I…” you trailed off once more, in your desperate state you still felt too shy to say it. His skilled hands were so close yet too damned far away. A sudden wave of bravery overcame you. You shifted your weight onto your right elbow and leaned forward with your left hand. You snatched one of Satoru’s hands and set it on your drenched panties. “Touch me here,” you begged.

Your beautiful pleading eyes and words melted Gojo’s heart, you sounded so adorably horny to him and he loved it. He ghosted his fingers along the line of your pussy lips causing you to grind your core onto his fingers for more friction. “You want me to touch you here?” You nodded, your voice caught in your throat with excitement. “Tell me that’s what you want.” Satoru taunted.

You glared at him when he pulled his hand away, “Please sensei.” You pouted, “Make me feel good.”

That’s all Gojo needed to hear, in one skilled motion he removed your saturated underwear. Yuuta’s mouth watered at the sight in front of him, it took all of his strength and willpower to remain seated and watch his teacher at work.

Your dripping cunt was now exposed for all to see. Gojo slid his fingers against your folds to gather some of your juice onto them. He brought his slick-covered fingers to his mouth to have a taste, as if he was trying a delicacy. “Heavenly.”

He then directed his attention to his students, “So when it comes to pussy worshipping there are three ways to go about it. Eating. Fingering. And fucking. I’ll demonstrate in that order.”

He placed his warm finger on your clit, prodding it gently, making you whimper with anticipation. His fingers suddenly swiveled around your bundle of nerves with such speed and pressure causing you to moan embarrassingly loud. All you could feel was a hot white pleasure, and you came immediately onto his fingers.

“Oh fuck.” Gojo groaned as he ripped his blindfold down around his neck and brought his handsome face down between your thighs to drink up your squirting liquids. You couldn’t believe you came that fast and that suddenly.

Megumi, Toge, and Yuuta watched astonished as you came onto Gojo’s fingers. They didn’t know you could finish that fast, they all wondered what else their teacher was capable of.

The feeling of Satoru’s skilled mouth drinking you up made you feel so hot. You never would have thought that something so lewd and inappropriate as this, would ever happen with him, which made you enjoy it more. He kept his sultry mouth on your pussy, expertly zigzagging his tongue over your wet folds. You saw his brilliant blue eyes look up at you friskily. His hands gently rubbed and gripped both of your thighs.

“Instead of directing your attention onto one part of her body at a time, it’s crucial to stimulate more than one area. This will make her a slutty mess for you.” He hummed against your slick privates, the vibration of his voice feeling so good you clenched your tight hole yearningly.

As if he knew your pussy craved attention, right on cue he plunged his tongue inside of you. “Mmh, Satoru!” Your cunt practically squeezed his tongue further into you, begging him to tongue fuck you. His skilled mouth sent you over the edge once again, you instinctively gyrated your hips as you rode out your second orgasm. His eager mouth enveloped your pulsating cunt as he drank from you again.

Yuuta was awestruck when he so you come undone again. He didn’t even know that it was possible for you to cum twice in such a short amount of time. He made sure to memorize the way his sensei moved his mouth on you.

Once Gojo finished drinking from you he reluctantly pulled his face away, revealing that the lower section of his face was glistening from your overly saturated cunt. He looked over towards his male students, they were all clearly turned on by how he made you so wet and ready. “All of you are going to eat Y/n out, Megumi you’ll go first.”

Megumi immediately got up from his desk with a starved look on his attractive features, he was more than willing to help contribute to making you feel good. His teacher scooted over and now Fushiguro was situated between your legs. “Show me what you know.” Satoru’s lustrous voice rang out into the quiet classroom.

Your boyfriend slid his tongue up your folds and onto your clit, erecting a sigh of bliss to come from your lips. He could grow addicted to the taste of your sweet arousal. He swiped his tongue over you again, but this time faster and with slightly more pressure. Fushiguro remembered how you became undone when Totality’s fast tongue slid across your clit so he copied that method. You squirmed underneath his hot mouth. Gojo smiled at how fast his young pupil was able to move his tongue on you. Without thinking Megumi brought two fingers up to your dripping cavern, but Gojo grabbed them with a knowing smirk, “Not yet, let’s give Yuuta a turn.” Megumi obeyed and unwillingly pulled his mouth away from you, as Yuuta hurried over, practically kicking his desk out of the way in the process.

“Fushiguro, why don’t you give your girlfriend some love while Yuuta eats her out?” Satoru purred as you felt his large hand stroke your thigh in a comforting manner.

Yuuta settled between your legs with a ravenous look in his dark eyes. Megumi leaned against the desk and kissed you passionately. You could taste yourself on his lips. The sudden feeling of pleasure woke through your body once more, as you felt Yuuta’s tongue swivel across your folds, in a manner similar to Gojo’s. “Mmm.” Your moan was swallowed by Megumi’s avid kisses.

Yuuta then lowered his mouth so he could tongue fuck you, while his slender fingers stroked your sensitive nub. Satoru was pleased that Okkotsu was focusing his attention in more than one spot, as he instructed. Yuuta burrowed his face between your legs as if he didn’t need air to breathe. Gojo was impressed by how enthusiastic Yuuta was about eating your pussy. The thought of teaching you to sit on his face while he ate you crossed his mind for another day of teaching.

“Let’s give Inumaki a turn before she cums Yuuta.” Satoru chimed while prying the dark-haired boy away from your soaking cunt. Okkotsu moved to the other side of the desk to kiss your neck, while Fushiguro and you frenched feverishly. Yuuta’s slick mouth trailed kisses up to your ear, making you writhe in ecstasy.

Inumaki unzipped his face covering and grabbed both of my thighs towards his face, similar to the way Yuuta did. You always loved it when Toge would eat you since the heavy amount of cursed energy coming from his mouth felt like static. He latched his lips onto your clit and sucked hard, “Inumaki!” You whined onto Fushiguro’s lips, the sensation was too much for you to handle.

You felt overstimulated; with Inumaki’s buzzing mouth down on you, Satoru’s eyes raking over your body, Megumi’s heated kisses, and Yuuta’s steamy mouth on your ear. All of which drove you to the edge completely. You arched your back and flung one of your hands into Toge’s platinum white locks, “Cum.” He mumbled against your sloppy cunt, you tried to clamp your legs down onto him from the intense feeling of your release but his strong grip on your thighs kept you in place. He drank from you as if we were a starved animal, his alluring face between your legs made you go weak in the knees.

After cumming three times now, you felt like a rag doll. They could all easily manhandle you if they wanted to, which you wouldn’t mind at all. Your exhausted gaze drifted downward to see that Satoru had the largest tent in his pants you’d ever seen. The thought of him squeezing his huge member inside of you made you shiver with anticipation and fear.

Satoru took the initiative and stuck his middle and index fingers inside your dripping entrance. “Ahh!” You moaned out enjoying the feeling entirely. Toge was still between your legs and began to lightly kiss and suck on your thighs, little did you know he was leaving hickeys all over them.

Gojo pumped his long fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm. He loved how your walls clamped down on him whenever he went a little too deep. He then arched his fingers so they were stroking your G-spot. He lifted his hand from his firm grip on your hip and announced “This is what I’m doing inside of your girl right now. That will make her cum for sure.” While his other hand in the air mimicked what he was doing inside of you so everyone could see.

It was all too much for you, and you couldn’t take it anymore. All this teasing and touching your overly sensitive body, “just fuck me already.” You whimpered quietly. Not sure if you directed your words to your teacher or one of your boyfriends. You were too overwhelmed to care who did the dead. As long as you could feel one of them fill you up. A dashing smirk came over Gojo’s face. While you sensed Megumi and Yuuta exchange a glance with one another.

Gojo’s fingers inside you went still at your lewd request. “Here Toge, take over.” Gojo took his fingers out of you and licked them clean as he walked to the other side of his desk. He stopped behind you, with his blue iridescent gaze looking down at you. “If you want me to fuck you, I’m going to need your mouth on my dick first.”

You felt Toge’s slender fingers begin to pump in and out of you, as he brought his mouth down to your clit. Megumi and Yuuta shifted their attention to your breasts, each licking and sucking your nipples as if they were a treat just for them. Gojo unzipped his pants and his massive dick sprung free, ready to play as ever. You gasped at his size but weren’t surprised because of how tall he was. Satoru adjusted your head so it dangled off the edge of his desk. Your mouth watered uncontrollably as he lightly guided his dick to your lips. You licked his velvety tip first and then his entire length. Making sure his entire penis was coated with your drool. You carefully took one of his balls into your mouth to suckle, he let out a little hiss of pleasure.

“You’re doing so good.” Gojo purred with approval as he placed both of his hands on your head. You mustered up as much bravery as you could to take him down your throat. Immediately, panic began to arise in your chest, due to the lack of air; but that was soon replaced by your dirty thoughts, enjoying the fact that this was happening. I bet this looks so hot to him. You thought, and you couldn’t be more right.

The sight before Satoru was a moment he will never forget. Your small throat squeezed him snuggly, causing his dick to twitch with pleasure. He was able to see the outline of his massive cock in your throat. The way your mouth salivated uncontrollably, along with your tongue beckoning him further down made him crave you even more. He’d be satisfied finishing your mouth right here and now, but the greedier side of his personality wants to claim your pussy as his. And that’s just what he’ll do.

Gojo then took himself out of your mouth, and a long strand of your drool connected your lips to the tip of his dick. “Which one of you would like to take her ass?” Gojo asked with a deep voice.

Toge mumbled “shake-shake” through your cunt as he ate you. He lifted his head out from between your thighs, his lips shining with your wetness.

“Perfect, coat your dick with her pussy juice before you shove it in. So it doesn’t hurt her as bad.” His wise teacher instructed. Toge slipped three of his fingers inside your sloppy pussy to gather as much wetness as possible (which was pretty easy). He wiggled around inside of you, causing you to whimper uncontrollably. While his other hand unzipped his pants. He removed his fingers from you, making you feel suddenly empty and needy.

His lust-filled eyes stared at you as he stroked his dick with his wet hand. You were more than ready to get filled up. Satoru had Toge take your place on his desk so he was laying on it. Gojo picked you up as if you were weightless and had you straddle Inumaki in reverse.

You gingerly settled yourself onto Toge’s sprung dick. You felt grateful he was slick with your wetness, otherwise, it would’ve been a bit more painful.

“Ahh.” You heard a small groan of satisfaction come from him. Inch by inch, you let gravity take you down further onto him until he was in you completely. Your skirt hid what was going on below you two. You felt Toge’s nails dig into your hips from his firm grip on you. You could tell he holding back the urge to pump into you wildly. To calm himself, he began to gently kiss the back of your neck and ears. Making you shiver in response, your nipples instantly become pebbled.

Satoru had unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his well-toned muscles, his pants draped to his thighs and his dick stuck out proudly. He settled between your legs, lifting up your skirt. He guided his massive member to your wet folds. The anticipation caused you to whimper as he slowly pushed the tip inside of you. Gojo clenched his jaw with concentration as he focused on not plowing into you just yet.

You became a mewling mess, “I don’t think you’re going to fit.” You cried as Satoru shoved himself another inch into your slippery pussy. You could already feel him rubbing against Toge’s penis lodged up your ass and he was not even halfway in yet.

“Don’t worry hun, I’ll make it fit. Megumi, put her mouth to use.” Gojo groaned as your walls clamped down on his extensive member. “Yuuta climb on top of her and fuck her tits.”

Megumi did as his teacher instructed, his dark blue eyes gleamed down at you as you opened your mouth for him. Sucking on him hungrily, you enjoyed the taste of his precum leaking into your mouth. Megumi loved how enthusiastic you were for him, “Ugh... you’re such a good girl.” He groaned out as he caressed your head gently.

Yuuta agilely maneuvered on top of your torso, he put his weight onto his knees being extra careful not to squish you. He unzipped his pants to set his elongated member free. He spit down onto himself and guided your hand up to his dick to stroke him. You enjoyed his warm smooth texture. Pumping him quickly, you earned a few gasps of pleasure to come from his lips.

Satoru couldn’t take it anymore, and plunged himself deep into you, instantly hitting your cervix. A cute and muted, “Ahh! Sensei....” came from your stuffed mouth at the sudden feeling, creaming onto him. Your pussy pulsated around his rod with delight.

“Shit. Your slutty little cunt can’t handle me.” Gojo hissed under his breath, loving the fact that your body cums so easily for him. He settled into a solid rhythm, pushing in and out of your petite body. He made a note to get you for himself sometime. He’d love for you to moan his name, and see your adorable face distorted in pleasure because of him.

Toge, felt your release drip down onto his thighs and penis, which helped lubricate him. With the extra wetness, he increased his speed. He rapidly pounded up inside you. He bit down onto your shoulder passionately, his hot breath initiating goosebumps to rise on your smooth skin. “Oh Toge...” you panted onto Megumi’s dick.

Yuuta began to rub himself onto your supple bouncy breasts, his penis felt hot and hard against your squishy skin. He was able to get a perfect view of your gorgeous face. He loved the way your pretty eyes watered as you deep-throated Fushiguro. Even though what you were doing was incredibly lewd, he knew that in his heart he would protect you. He would kill for you, and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. The thought of love crossed his mind, but was afraid to say that word too soon.

“Grip her neck Okkotsu.” Ordered Gojo from behind him, snapping him out of his ogling over you, “she’ll like it.” He heaved as he shoved himself into you once more.

Yuuta tentatively brought his lean vein-covered arm up, and his fingers went around your throat and gently squeezed. “Mmh.” You moaned out, enjoying the feeling of being at his mercy - especially from your shy and sensitive boy.

Hearing you whimper, awoke a dark urge inside of Okkotsu. The thought of fucking you with his hand around your throat made him pump his dick faster against your squishy and sensitive tits.

The way Yuuta’s dark eyes looked down at you with such dominance, caused you to clench your walls around Gojo and Toge suggestively. Erupting groans from both men inside of you. Gojo’s grand penis kept hitting your uterus with every stroke. He went in and out effortlessly because of how drenched he was from your soggy cunt. Satoru and Inumaki stimulated you simultaneously, their speed accelerated dramatically along with the power behind their hard thrusts. “You’re taking us so well hun.” Panted Gojo with approval.

Your legs began to tremble, you could feel your release building up again. You felt Satoru’s skilled fingers run against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs feverishly. The sensations they made you feel were too much for you to handle, and you came undone. Drenching Satoru in the process.

You whimpered onto Megumi’s dick as his hips began to move a bit rougher against your mouth. Yuuta’s movements against your breasts had increased in tempo as well. “Ahh.” Yuuta sighed with pleasure, as strands of his cum squirted all over your breasts, painting you like a picture. His grip on your throat tightened, causing you to clamp down a bit more on Megumi’s penis lodged inside. Earning a groan of pleasure to come from Fushiguro. He sprayed himself down your throat and you drank him eagerly.

“Shit, her pussy is too tight and wet. I’m gonna cum.” Gritted Satoru through his teeth. He cherished the way your petite body welcomed him in so easily. He was clearly much too big for you but got off to the sick thought of that at the same time. He gripped your little waist tightly as he shot his bountiful load of seed deep against your cervix, knowing it’d reach your uterus in no time. Toge came shortly after, you could feel him pulsate through your ass as he released himself deep inside of your bowels. A delicious groan escaped his lips as he bit down on the back of your neck.

Megumi gingerly pulled himself out of your mouth and leaned down to give you a sweet kiss. Yuuta carefully hopped off of the desk, as Satoru removed himself from your used sloppy hole. His cum spilled out of you like a waterfall. His gorgeous blue eyes raked over the mess he made in you. He helped you up and off of Toge. Your legs felt like jelly when you stood up, so you leaned against Yuuta for support. He tried to help you put your bra on, but couldn’t get the clasps figured out. So Satoru took over as he explained how the contraption worked.

You felt Inumaki’s and Gojo’s cum drip down your legs from underneath my skirt. All of your clothes were a disheveled mess, but at least the walk from class to the dorm building was a short one. Toge sneaked his way over to you to hug you from behind, you rested your head on his shoulder sweetly. Megumi came in front of you two to kiss you passionately, “You’re so perfect.” He gave you a heart-melting smile with a quick hug, sandwiching you between Toge and himself. Okkotsu approached you from the right and gave you a small peck on the forehead, while you felt his comforting touch on your cheek.

Satoru walked up to you with an affirming look in his eyes. He brought his face down to yours to kiss you tenderly, “You were exceptional dear.” He hummed against your lips. “If you ever need anything, ask me.”

Abruptly, the door to the classroom opened, “Here’s my late homework Gojo!” Said an all too familiar voice, Yuji Itadori stood in the doorway of the classroom with a can of soda in one hand and a packet of papers in the other.

“Uhh, it smells like sex in here!” As soon as the words left his mouth a knowing look flashed over his face. He realized how messed up everyone's clothes were. Noticeable strands of gooey liquid rolled down your legs. “Did you guys-?” He cut himself off with pure shock and then his expression changed to a hurt one, “without me...”

Gojo briefly walked up to Itadori and took the packet of papers from him with a smirk. “As a matter of fact,” Satoru sighed lightheartedly, “we were just performing some after-school activities.”

2K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 4 months

Text

dark 𓂃 ౨ৎ MASTERLIST

most of these works contain adult content; MDNI.

JEON JUNGKOOK

𓂃 ౨ৎ WINE SERIES — PART ONE: WINE both of you have a party to go to, but jungkook makes you needy again. — PART TWO: BANANA MILK when a p*rn video accidentally plays on his tv, jungkook makes sure you watch. — PART THREE: SOJU jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his c*m. — PART FOUR: LIQUID STARS to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your c*nt and your v*rg*n*ty. — DRABBLE: ROSÉ on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too h*rny to appreciate it. — DRABBLE: WHITE craving white wine, your boyfriend would do anything for you—even let you dom him.

𓂃 ౨ৎ OTHER WORKS — PRACTICE you make jungkook proud by practicing what he taught you. — METAMORPHOSE | discontinued his emotions are a cataclysmic storm approaching.

KIM NAMJOON

— BOOKWORMS namjoon thinks of you when he reads a sm*t scene in his book. — STORY yours and namjoon’s story is a bit more p*rv*rt*d than traditional.

JUNG HOSEOK

— tba.

MIN YOONGI

𓂃 ౨ৎ STEAM SERIES, ft. jjk — PART ONE: STEAM one video call awakens your neediness for two c*cks. — PART TWO: MIST one encounter with jungkook makes you forget about your boyfriend. — PART THREE: MURK one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend’s heart. — PART FOUR: BLUR one encounter with both of the males heals you enough that you don’t become anything but joy. — DRABBLE: VAPOR, pt I. yoongi never promised his healing time would be easy and when he hurts you enough that you need your other “boyfriend”, jungkook is quick to rescue you. — DRABBLE: VAPOR, pt II. hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn’t fail to give you his absolute best. — DRABBLE: VAPOR, pt III. the naughtiest of times bring about the greatest of healing. 𓂃 ౨ৎ NOTE: the drabbles are a continuation of the steam series.

PARK JIMIN

— tba.

KIM TAEHYUNG

— tba.

KIM SEOKJIN

— tba.

𓂃 ౨ৎ — #WIPS

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #bts masterlist #bts smut masterlist #bts smut #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #kpop masterlist #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts ot7

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ddejavvu · 11 months

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops.

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead, “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that.

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift.

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.”

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!”

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans.

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him.

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive.

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him.

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob.

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it.

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all, “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope.

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you.

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone.

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

2K notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months

Note

hellooo

are you accepting requests?

if so could you please write me one where reader is a journalist on the grid and basically everybody is flirting with her yk tryna bed her but shes only gonna let one of them do it

and shes like pretty assertive and dom, making the boys beg her to fuck them

you could pick who she fucks from lando, carlos or charles

sorry if this is too much i couldnt help it <33

Not really but I’m trying to do some while I finish the series I have on the go so I guess kind of??? My inbox is a gamble at the moment hahaha 💕

Say Please || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sub!lando, dom!reader, edging, overstim. WC: 1.6k

F1 Masterlist

Miami was really bringing the heat and every rising degree was only intensified by the black asphalt beneath your heels. You were in desperate need of shade as you wandered the pit lane to observe some of the teams but that would have to wait. There were people to interview and notes to write so you could have your editorial piece ready by the end of the weekend.

“Oh, there she is!”

Lando’s voice carried on the warm breeze and you tipped your head to the sound before turning in his direction. The driver was nearly tripping over himself and Carlos to reach you first, Charles following behind with an amused smile.

“Hi Lan,” you greeted the winner of the impromptu race as he skidded to a halt in front of you. “I didn’t see you when I made the rounds in McLaren.”

His smile turned to a disappointed frown at the news and he groaned. “Ah man, I missed you.”

“You haven’t come by Ferrari yet, have you?” Carlos asked, hope filling his face as he waited for your answer.

“Not yet.” His hand closed to a fist and he punched the air making you laugh. “I haven’t taken a break yet and I’m dying of thirst.”

Lando held up one finger to wait as he ran back to his garage and returned with a bottle of chilled water. “I can get you something else if you want…whatever you want.”

Carlos suddenly rushed off and came back with a plate of club sandwiches and, not to be outdone, Charles retrieved an umbrella to shield you from the sun.

“My heroes,” you praised, giving them each a kiss on the cheek and enjoying the way their skin turned a rosy shade of pink.

Lando was the one who gave a giddy giggle and cupped his face as the blush spread down his neck. “You can have my driver's room if you want to get out of the sun. You’re so hot. I mean, you must be hot.”

“Mine’s bigger,” Carlos said as he stood a little straighter and leaned his elbow on Lando’s shoulder. “Because size obviously matters.”

“Not to me,” you smirked. They three men watched as your fingers wrapped around the bottle, twisting the cap off before sealing your lips around the tip. The cool water was just what you needed to battle the heat and you moaned with satisfaction after swallowing it down. “Mmm, that’s better.”

“So, uh, what, um, what does matter to you?” Lando asked with a sheepish look on his face.

You stepped towards the three of them and curled a finger until you were all huddled close in a tight circle. “You want to know what makes me hotter than this place?”

A round of eager nods bobbed around you and they leaned on even closer so you could feel their breaths on your face.

Pushing your sunglasses up your head, you looked each of them in the eyes and smirked and one by one they broke away first and looked down. When their heads were almost bowed to you, you finally answered them. “Nothing gets me wet like seeing my little pet submitting to me, down on his knees, willing to do everything to please me, begging for my attention.”

Lando’s legs looked ready to collapse beneath him and you knew from the moment you met that he had such potential. He wanted to please, he wanted to serve and was always the first to race to be at your side like an excitable puppy.

“Just one?” Carlos asked after a sharp intake of air refilled his frozen lungs. At your nod he peered at his friends with an edge that promised a strong competition. Charles narrowed his eyes in return, promising it wouldn’t be an easy competition, but Lando just looked down in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you curled your finger beneath his chin to see his sad eyes.

Those pretty blue eyes flicked to the Ferrari drivers before returning to his feet. “They have more experience than me. I don’t have a chance.” You started to retreat with a sigh, feeling bad for putting such pressure on the man, but he caught your hand. “Please,” he begged, “just give me a chance, please?”

The warmth that radiated your body had nothing to do with Miami and everything to do with the needy desperation in Lando’s voice. It sent your heart racing and smiled sweetly as you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Good boy,” you praised. “All you had to do was say please.”

Lando’s eyes were screwed shut but it did nothing to stop the tears from leaking out as he bit his lip to hold back the whimper.

“Good pet, just a little longer,” you soothed as you wiped away the salty streaks down his cheeks. “You’re doing so well.”

His dark lashes fluttered before they opened to show you a glimpse of the ocean, the waves shimmering in his tears. “Please, I can’t…I’m gonna cum…”

“Hold it,” you ordered as your hands returned to his weeping cock, the head red and swollen from edging him for so long. The vibrating ring was tight around his thick base and the veins that ran along his shaft grew bolder with each passing second. “You have such a pretty cock, my pet.”

His hands twisted against the restraints tied to the headboard, his wrists just as red as his face as he forced himself to refrain from spilling his seed over his lap. The taut skin over his balls pulled even tighter as you licked the delicate seam between them and you heard him moan as you felt his cock twitch in your hand. The sight of him laid out before you was incredibly beautiful but the whimper that fell from his lips was the pinnacle of perfection and for that you just had to reward him.

“Go on, bub, you’ve been so good for me, you can come.”

His entire body shuddered with the permission you gave him and his back arched off the bed as he erupted. There was no other way to describe his release as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of cum spattered across his stomach that rose and fell with quick pants.

“Holy shit,” Lando moaned as he tried to regain his breath but you weren’t finished with him yet. Your thumbs milked every drop out of him, massaging him using his own cum to glide smoothly over his silken skin until he whimpered from the overstimulation.

“I knew you would be the one,” you praised as you reached up to pull the slip knot on the ropes, releasing his arms that fell slack across the pillows. “You are the perfect little pet for me.”

You kissed his forehead before peppering them down his cheeks and finally reaching his lips that parted for you with a heady mewl. Combing your fingers through his damp curls, you pulled away and fluffed up his pillows to make him comfortable while he came down from the high he had endured. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Lando nodded weakly, expended of all his energy, and you went to the bathroom to run a washcloth under the warm water. His deep hum of appreciation warmed your chest as you cleaned the mess from his hard abs before drying him off and dragging the blankets up the bed.

“Roll over, sweetie,” you coaxed him softly until he turned on his side and you climbed into the bed behind him. His head nestled onto one arm as your other draped over waist and you held him tight until the soft tremors of his strained muscles began to ease. “How was that for you?”

Lando’s small giggle made you smile and you kissed the beauty spot on his shoulder blade while you waited for an answer. When a few seconds passed and he hadn’t spoken you shifted closer so you could see his dopey smile.

“I need an answer, Lan,” you gently reminded him, “out loud.”

“It was…” he shook his head trying to clear the haze that clouded his thoughts so he could think of the word he was searching for. “Mind blowing. Overwhelming. Amazing.” He started to fall quiet and you watched as more feeling flitted across his face. “A little scary to start.”

You hid the frown that wanted to pinch your brow and kept the soft smile on your lips, not wanting to miss the opportunity to keep him open with his thoughts. “What can I do to make it better?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered. “I just didn’t know what to expect. It was one thing to talk about it but I guess I just…experiencing it was more. I liked it. I really liked it.”

“So you would do it again?” You didn’t even get all the words out before he was nodding eagerly and you chuckled as you pulled him tighter into your embrace, tutting when his hand started to run up your leg. “Get some rest first, bub. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

“But I want to make you feel good too.”

“You did,” you murmured as you nuzzled the back of his neck until you saw the goosebumps spread across his skin. “I enjoyed everything we did, and I will enjoy more of you later when you have rested.”

“Do you promise?”

You chuckled at the needy tone and drew small circles with your fingertips around his navel. “You’ll soon learn, my little pet, all you have to do is say please.”

Tagging: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @zendayabelova @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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chvoswxtch · 3 months

Text

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint.

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth.

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read.

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison.

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up.

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far.

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

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