#and my face Still hurts from laughing so dam hard)
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Simmer #4
CH4. 0800-Awkward | The Menu
[4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.
Eddie’s van was cleaner than you expected and it smelled like mint gum and coffee. There were sheets of paper on the passenger seat he cleared for you with quick hands, boyish scrawls of ink noting down recipes and ingredients, a page of music in between.
Music blared from the radio when Eddie turned on the engine and he scowled at the noise, bashing the button to turn it off so you were both squished between awkward silence instead. You put your hands on your lap, sitting up too straight, throat tight.
The quiet enveloped you both.
“Where am I takin’ you?” Eddie asked gruffly once he turned out of the parking lot. The rain was still bouncing off the roads, the sky dark and angry, navy coloured clouds blocking out all the light. “You live near Robin, right?”
You nodded, pulling at your knuckles until you gave in and picked at a nail, nervousness clawing at you like a persistent puppy. The boy beside you made your stomach tumble, and you weren’t quite sure why yet. “Yeah, just off fourth and Maple,” you told him. “But you can drop me off at the pharmacy, it’s only, like, a ten minute walk from there.”
Eddie scoffed at your suggestion, like he’d do no such thing, but he didn’t say anything else. So you spoke instead, your heart in your dry mouth, watching the boy’s profile, wondering how someone so pretty could be so damn mad all the time. Was it just you?
“So, uh, is Wayne your dad?”
Eddie didn’t take his eyes off the road, he just stepped on the accelerator a little too hard when the lights changed from amber to green. When the engine stopped yelling, he answered. “He’s my uncle.”
“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. Something told you that asking anything about Eddie’s father would result in a very quiet, very tense ride back to your apartment. “He’s real sweet— your uncle. He’s been super nice to me.”
“Wayne’s nice to everyone,” Eddie replied shortly and it hurt like a kick to the stomach.
The breath left you and you deflated, just a little. The skin around your thumb was becoming raw from your picking. You couldn’t help it, even if you muttered it as you looked out the window. “Clearly it’s not a family trait.”
“What?” Eddie’s voice was all surprise, even the van juddered as he pressed on the brakes a little too hard. You glanced over at him, chin ducked down, fingers torturing the ones on your other hand. Eddie was all raised brows and parted lips, an almost curl of amusement on them. “What did you say?”
It was a dare, a challenge. A ‘go on, say that again. Are you brave enough?’
You glared at him, just like he loved to do to you so often. “I said, clearly, it’s not a family trait.”
“What does that mean?” Eddie laughed, a rough bark that told you he didn’t actually find you funny at all.
You were a built up dam, spilling over the top with a new job, new friends, a new apartment in a new town. It was scary. It had been hard.
You burst.
“You’re so mean to me,” you told him hotly, “all the time! And then you apologise, only for it to last until the end of your shift. I know I’m not like, the best waitress— I mean, I’m hardly Nancy, but I’m trying! I— I haven’t done anything to you.” You sniffed, you wobbled. Tears threatened you both and your voice came out a little higher now. “Have I? If I have, I didn’t mean to.”
You dragged a hand over your face and when you looked back to the boy, Eddie looked horrified. He was pink in the face, eyes darting from you to the road and back again, his finger curling around the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip. He didn’t say anything.
“This is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to your lap and when Eddie slowed to the next stop sign, you flung a hand onto the door handle. “Just drop me here.”
The sound of the rain slapping the pavement only grew louder when you managed to open the door a crack and it seemed to spur Eddie into action. He leaned over you and grabbed at your hand, using it to pull the door shut again. It snapped back into place and Eddie was scowling when you swore at him in return. “Fucking Christ, woman,” he huffed. “I’m takin’ you home, alright? You’ll drown out there.”
“It’s a bit of rain, Eddie,” you snapped. “I lived in Chicago, I’ll survive some water.” Your ferocity was short lived, because you gave in with a huff, eyes watering once more as you pressed yourself against the seat and crossed your arms in defeat.
There was a voice in your head, someone from an old job, an old classmate in middle school, your mom. It didn’t matter who, they were all cruel. Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby.
“Can you just - fuck - can you just let me talk?”
You watched as Eddie licked his lips, maybe out of nerves and he gripped the steering wheel harder still. You thought he’d maybe yell at you, maybe he’d tell you exactly why he was so hot and cold with you, maybe he’d explain in detail why you’d managed to piss him off.
Instead, he asked, “why’d you leave Chicago?”
You stared at him. Was he joking? Was he playing some kind of weird joke? But Eddie waited, his face a pretty picture of sincerity and he glanced at you from the road as often as safety would let him.
“Uh, I didn’t like it,” you scrunched your face at the memory, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Too big, too loud. I don’t really—” you searched for the right word, one that wouldn’t make you sound weak and small. “I don’t enjoy big cities. They’re too much.”
Eddie nodded and suddenly, suddenly, you were having a conversation with him. “I get that. My mom moved to Philadelphia, I don’t see her much, but I used to visit when I was a kid. Hated that no matter what time of night it was, it was never quiet - or dark - fuckin’ lights everywhere.”
There was a silence before you pressed your lips together and hummed. “Yeah,” you agreed. “You could never see the stars in Chicago. I missed that.”
The rain was letting up now, nothing more than a horrible drizzle that you knew would still soak you to the bone, but it was quieter. Softer. The sky turned lilac, a hazy kind of purple blue as the sun tried to break through.
“Where did you grow up?” Eddie peered through his curls at you, his fingers unfurling from the death grip he had on the wheel. He turned down Main Street, one hand in his lap, his head leaning back against the chair. “I know it wasn’t here - would’ve remembered you.”
“Fortville,” you told him, wondering if you just kept talking, your heart would stop racing at what he’d just said to you. “With my parents. It was a tiny place, not much there, probably even smaller than Hawkins and we had chickens and a dog my mom rescued just before I was born. I liked it though, it was a nice place to grow up.”
“Why’d you leave?”
You shrugged, turned to look out the window at the spots of rain on the glass, the kaleidoscope of colours they made now the sun shone through them. “Dad left, found another family. Mom turned mean.” You didn’t elaborate more than that and Eddie noticed how your voice turned softer, even quieter.
“Fair enough,” Eddie answered and you couldn’t help but notice that when he wasn’t frowning, when the lines between his brows were gone, his eyes were the colour of dark chocolate, big and earnest looking. “I can, uh, relate. Kinda.”
A comfortable silence passed after that, one that came with the break of the clouds, dark shadows giving way to a late evening sunset, turning the wet sidewalks golden. You could feel Eddie stealing glances at you, quick flickers of his eyes that went from your face to where your fingers were picking at your nails on your lap.
“You haven’t— you haven’t done anything to me,” Eddie murmured. You looked up at the sound of his voice, nails forgotten about and you saw that flush on his cheeks rise over his nose, turning it pink. He licked his lips and you tracked the movement, feeling the nerves roll off of him and fill the space between you. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t, I didn’t mean to be… mean.”
Eddie parked the van and you blinked, not even realising that he’d stopped on your street. Your apartment building was just a little down the road, waiting.
“You lied to me when I came in that day,” you squinted at the boy, both of you cringing at the memory of Eddie pretending that he wasn’t who he was. That he wasn’t who you were looking for. “Why? Why did you do that?”
Eddie turned a deeper shade of pink, cheeks burning and he fumbled over his words before he swallowed harshly and turned towards you in his seat. He tugged at his curls, unsure what to do with his hands now he didn’t have the wheel to grip. “I’m, shit, I’m sorry ‘bout that. That was— that was just. Stupid.”
You nodded, looking at him with sad eyes that seemed to make his brow knit together in despair.
“I don’t, uh, I don’t do well with like, making friends?” Eddie offered an explanation that he didn’t seem to be able to admit easily. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to smile at you, tried to ease the feeling of guilt that was swarming him. “I get stuck in my ways, y’know? I just go to work, go home, go back to work— new things—” Eddie glanced over at you with those big eyes. “—new people, make me kinda, nervous. I guess.”
You let your gaze settle on his, watching as he took in a breath and blinked. He looked a little dizzy, his confession making the air a little lighter. But something else lingered. It felt like glitter, a sparkling, pretty thing that swirled in the front space of the van. It was hopeful.
“I get nervous too. Shy,” you admitted. You felt nervous now, tummy tumbling, a whole aviary loose inside. “About a lot of things.” About you, is what you didn’t say. “But I’m not a dick about it.”
Eddie snorted and the sound made your lip quirk up, an almost smile. Eddie nodded, like he was agreeing with your passive insult, his lips twisting as he looked you over once more. His gaze was warmer than you’d seen it before, no furrow between his brow to make you wonder if he was pissed at you. Now he just looked… interested.
“You’re right,” he announced. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry.”
“You said sorry earlier,” you reminded him. “With breakfast. But then you were a dick all over again. This hot and cold is making my head hurt.” You fiddled with the hem of your uniform dress, lifting powder blue away from your knee to pick at a loose thread.
“I did, didn’t I?” The boy let his head fall back onto the window, a dull thud, curls sticking to the glass that was all fogged up from you both sitting talking. The setting sun made him golden, peach coloured cheeks and honey eyes, all bronze shadows and inky lines over his arms, peeking out from his T-shirt. “Was it good? Your breakfast?”
You rolled your eyes and Eddie grinned, truly, he beamed at you. It was a flirtatious thing, a pretty thing - it made your heart pick up and your breath catch in your throat because it was so fucking unexpected.
“Yes, it was good,” you murmured, back to shy, back to dipping your chin and not really being able to look him in the eye. “But that’s not the point.”
“You’re right,” he said again. The boy seemed so much more agreeable out of his chef whites, without the heat and the noise and the constant sizzle of the kitchen. “I really am sorry - I hate, fuck, I hate that I didn’t make you feel welcome. That was shitty of me.”
You sniffed, pulled the thread loose and watched baby blue spring and curl around your finger. “It was.”
Eddie looked hopeful when you finally found the courage to meet his gaze again. He gave you a slow shrug, a half smile that still didn’t look fully sure. But he tried anyway.. “Can we start again?” He moved, shifting closer to you, close enough that the stick shift was pressing against the slight pudge of his tummy and you could smell his cologne, could see the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He held out his hand for you, silver rings and all. “Hi, I’m Eddie.”
He waited with wide eyes for you to reach out too, to slip your hand into his and curl your fingers around his palm. He did the same, engulfing you. His hands were much warmer, wider, bigger. Calloused and with silver scars, no doubt from too sharp knives.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
—————
You burst through the kitchen doors just as you broke. A burn in the corner of your eyes, a hollow thud in your chest as the adrenaline of being yelled at surged through you. A family with too many kids to keep track of, a plate of fries on the floor before you could bring out every meal, a stressed out mother who took out her frustration on you and the fact you’d forgotten the soda one of the small boys was yelling about. She was sharp about it, loud enough for the other customers to hear and you watched as Robin frowned from the booth she was serving.
She grabbed your elbow as you passed, feet threatening to stumble with how quick you moved, cheeks hot, throat tight. “I’ll get it,” she whispered. “Take a minute.”
But you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak before you could suck in a breath. “S’fine. It’s fine. I’ll fix it.”
So you let the kitchen door hit the wall as you almost ran in, eyes blinking back tears of embarrassment and the noise was enough for Eddie to look up from the grill where he was flipping burgers. He frowned at the sight of you, but this time, he looked concerned. You rushed past him to grab the glass of soda that was sitting forgotten on a tray - next to the extra basket of fries the woman had requested, fuck - and turned on your heel to go back out the way you came.
“Hey,” Eddie called after you, “what’s wrong?”
You brushed him away with a raised hand, the other holding the tray of missed items and you didn’t trust yourself to look back at the boy as you rushed back out the door. You sniffed and blinked before you put on a smile, approaching the woman who’d loudly berated you in front of the entire diner.
“I’m so sorry again,” you whispered as you placed the drink and fries on the messy table. One of the kids screamed and you flinched, trying your best to keep the smile on your face as the woman turned to you. “If there’s anything else I can get you, ju—”
“If there’s anything else I need, I’ll get it myself,” she scoffed meanly. Her voice was too sharp, still too loud, a biting thing that dug into your arm and wouldn’t let go. “You got a pretty face, honey, but that’s not gonna get you far. Can hear that empty space in that head from all the way over here.”
You blinked again, uncaring that a tear slipped out, a hot drip of water down one cheek. You kept smiling. In fact, you smiled all the way back into the kitchen before your breath stuttered and your face crumpled.
“Hey, hey, c’mon.” Eddie. At your side, a hand catching your elbow, fingertips grazing your skin like he was still too unsure to hold you fully. “C’mere. It’s fine.”
He led you through the kitchen, hand guiding you so your blurry eyes didn’t lead you into the corner of a station. There was something spicy cooking in a pan, garlic and chilli and soy that Argyle took over stirring as Eddie left it alone in favour of you. Jim must’ve heard the commotion in the dining room, ‘cause he made a rare appearance outside of his office, hand holding onto the door frame as he leaned out, frowning at what he saw.
“Chicago,” he called through the kitchen, voice booming over the radio, the sizzle of the grill, the drone of the vents. “You good? You wanna talk?”
You turned, bumping into Eddie’s side and shaking your head, all whilst trying to smile and appear like you were absolutely fine. Totally normal. Definitely not crying like a baby. You cringed, turning back around and ducking your chin to hide your glossy eyes, your wet cheeks.
“S’fine, Jim,” Eddie called back. “I’ve got her. Jus’ give us five minutes.”
“Munson, you got burgers on!” Your boss called back, you heard him sigh and Argyle told him that he’d manage.
“Five minutes!” Eddie said again, his voice sharper and louder than before and you were moving faster to the back door, bypassing the walk in altogether.
“If they burn, that’s too much money to get thrown in the trash, Eddie,” Hopper complained. “That’s prime fuckin’ beef from the Sinclairs, Eddie and I don’t got time to get Lucas back out for another delivery— hey! Are you listen—”
Eddie ushered you out of the fire exit, blue skies and too bright light making you squint, a rush of hot air that was heavier than the kitchen, muggy and smelling like cut grass and the smoke that came from the vent on the wall. The door snapped shut before Jim could finish talking.
The silence was a warm thing, cloying like the summer afternoon, the edge of a heatwave, the steam from the kitchen that lingered in the small alleyway out back. You brought the heels of your palms to your eyes, pushing there meanly as you sniffed a little wetly and tried to stop your bottom lip from trembling. If you faced the crumbling wall, maybe you could pretend Eddie wasn’t there, watching you.
“Hey, c’mon.”
You groaned.
“C’mon,” Eddie coaxed again, his hand pulling at your wrist, urging you to stop hiding. “You gotta stop letting customers get you all upset like this. ‘Specially the ones that are utter assholes.”
“You heard her?” You asked weakly, embarrassment crawling up your neck. You knew he would’ve, shit, Wayne probably heard it all the way down the street. Of course Eddie heard it from the kitchen. “God, that’s so—” you let out a small groan of anger, a soft wail that was tinged with a little shame.
“No, no, stop that,” Eddie frowned as you buried your face in your hands once more. He got you by your shoulders, palms and fingers curling over the bone there, impossibly wide, engulfing. You turned soft for him, letting him manhandle you until you were facing him, brows crinkled, your cheeks warm. “She was a bitch. You’re okay, it’s alright.”
You sucked in another breath, one of those awful ones that hitched and made your throat close up a little. It was hard to look into Eddie’s eyes. They were big and warm and earnest, crazily so, the colour of burnt honey and he was painfully close. The alleyway pushed you both together, space limited between the walls, the empty pallets, the stacked up crates.
“She was out of order, yeah?” Eddie continued softly, his thumb pushing softly into the meat of your shoulder, drawing circles through your uniform. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re all just human here, Chicago. It’s fine.”
You nodded, numb. Tears still stained your hot cheeks, salt gathering in the corners of your mouth and you felt embarrassed at the reaction, the white hot rush of anxiety that gripped the back of your neck as soon as someone raised their voice at you. You blinked again, feeling heavy, another fresh wave of tears making your vision turn into kaleidoscopes. You scrunched your face, annoyed with yourself, head tilting back to the strip of blue sky you could see between the buildings roofs.
“God, I’m so fucking lame,” you groaned. “So stupid.”
You brought your chin back down to just catch the boy smiling, a dopey, soft thing that made you think he was gonna laugh at you. He did, but it wasn’t mean. In fact, Eddie’s laugh was a damn pretty thing. Scratchy and raspy and warm, enough to make you stop screwing your face up and blink at him.
“You’re not lame,” he told you firmly. He dropped his hands from your shoulders now that you weren’t intent on hiding. You found you missed the weight of them on you, a grounding feeling that helped the tears subside. “Or stupid. Shit, kid, you gotta stop being so hard on yourself.”
“I’m always forgetting stuff though,” you argued. The sun was a blazing thing above you both, hot on your head, your shoulders, the back of your neck. Your uniform itched under the heat and you were backing away into the shadows along the line of the diner wall. Eddie followed, shoulder to shoulder as he leaned against the brick, lounging enough to bring him to the same height as you. “I’m messing up orders and I keep walking into the same stupid table - even though it’s always there! I got a bruise on my hip the size of a fucking peach,” you grumbled unhappily.
Eddie snorted at hearing you swear, a cannonball of a word coming out of your sweet mouth, usually talking softly and shyly at him and customers. He knocked your shoulder with his and tutted. “You’re still new,” he shrugged when you scoffed. You’d been at the diner for almost two months. “Get out of here with that, you are. You’re in a new town and a new job. Give yourself a break.”
“I’m just— god.” You bit down on your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m such a crybaby, I hate it. I must look like such a mess.” Your eyes felt sore, your cheeks puffy and warm, all too familiar and just as embarrassing as it was when you were ten, fifteen, twenty years old.
Eddie just shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his chef whites. He looked at your face, just for a second, before ducking his chin and studying the concrete below his feet. “Nah,” he said quietly, “you look pretty like always.”
It was quiet for a second or two, the surprise on your face morphing into a crooked smile, a quirk of one corner of your lips at the boy’s words. You sniffed and laughed a little watery, a shy sounding thing that made Eddie blink at you. “You’re being nice to me,” you told him.
He grinned like he couldn’t help himself, a sharp, sudden thing that made his face look even prettier. Curls spilled from his poorly tied bun and his cheeks went rose coloured, more blush than flushed from the heat. He knitted his brows together in faux confusion, tried to act too cool, too blasé. “I am, aren’t I?” He huffed. “Weird.”
You shoved at him in jest, your hand on his shoulder and he barely even budged. But you felt a thrill in touching him, your hand just by the muscles in his arm, where you knew a tattoo lay, curling around a bicep that you couldn’t see under his uniform. It was easy to joke like this, to smile and wipe your eyes one last time when Eddie was playing nice.
You felt like a teen with a crush, that lovesick, giddy type of softness settling in your chest and it purred when you looked at the boy. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Eddie got prettier when he smiled at you and when he reached out to straighten the pen that was about to call out of your chest pocket, you were done. A goner.
You wanted to ask if this made you friends.
Instead, you swallowed your embarrassment and hoped you hadn’t been staring. “Thank you,” you murmured shyly. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Eddie pulled open the fire exit and waited for you to enter first, holding open the door as the noise of the diner flooded back out to you. Kids yelling, the grill popping, the coffee machine whirring.
“Would you rather Jim gave you one of his famous three minute counselling sessions?” Eddie winced theatrically. “I haven’t had one myself, but rumour has it there’s a stress ball and some talk about toughening up and how the world just ain’t fair.”
You laughed, walking back into the kitchen with Eddie by your side. Your shoulder brushed against his arm and you shook your head, looking up at him with a heat in your cheeks you were sure he’d be able to notice. “No, m’glad it was you.”
You must’ve surprised the boy, because he blinked as he stopped at the grill. Argyle had flipped all the patties and left the spatula by the countertop but Eddie didn’t take his eyes off of you as he grasped it. You watched his brows lift a little, mouth parting before he closed it again and nodded, looking a little numb.
And then: “cool. Yeah, no, good. Come get me next time too.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson blurb#linecook!eddie
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For a few moments, all Adam could do was stare numbly as the crimson liquid traced a thin line down the side of his finger, forming small droplets on the edge of his knuckle.
Was that... blood? his brain wondered.
Not knowing what else to do, he licked it. Yep, definitely blood. But whose blood? Where did it come from? He was the only one in the kitchen, and he would have noticed if someone had started to bleed all over him.
So where did it...
The realisation hit him like a hammer to the gut. He felt his legs give way under him and next thing he knew he was on the floor, his bleeding finger still held up as if he was pointing an accusation at the sky.
Red blood. He knew what that meant. Everyone did. Angels' blood was golden, hellspawn bled black, and red was for - red was for -
'Demons'. The word echoed through his mind like a wicked laugh.
Adam suddenly felt old.
Just how many millennia had it been since Eden? Could he even remember? He scrunched up his eyes tight in concentration but he knew it was useless. He'd given up counting long ago.
How many of those years had been spent killing, he wondered. How many lives had ended at the edge of his blade? How much blood had he spilled? Sinners' blood. Red blood. Red like his.
He was one of them now. The first human, the once-proud leader of one of the mightiest forces in Heaven, was now just another cursed soul in a land bursting with them.
"Dammit!" he yelled, slamming a fist into the side of the counter he was sitting against.
The counter shook, there was a hum of something rolling across the top, and then with a thud it landed neatly in Adam's lap. It was a single, bright red apple.
Adam felt a smile begin to creep across his face and then, unable to help himself, he burst out laughing.
"Oh I see, is that how it is?" he said to the empty room.
With a grunt he pushed himself back up to his feet and waved the apple to the sky.
"Let me guess," he said, still laughing so hard his sides were beginning to hurt. "This is another one of your tests, huh?"
He was in absolute hysterics now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and blurring his vision.
"Just another test, right? This is some cryptic vision, or prophecy of the future, or... or part of your big, cosmic plan, that totally exists."
The laughter died down as suddenly as it arrived. In its place came anger, an anger so hot that it threatened to burn Adam from the inside out.
"Well you know what?" he hissed. "I am done playing your stupid fucking games."
He glared up at the ceiling, as if his anger was enough to pierce the heavens above.
"I did everything you asked, didn't I? I followed your rules, I looked after the garden, I did what you told me to."
A dam had been burst and now there was no stopping the words that raged out Adam's mouth.
"And don't bring up that fucking tree, you manipulative piece of shit. You knew we'd eat it eventually, didn't you? You don't dangle something like that in front of your kids and expect them not to try. No, you knew exactly what you were doing!"
He hurled the apple he was still holding against the wall as hard as he could, and grunted in satisfaction as it exploded in a pulpy mess.
"Oh but that wasn't enough for you was it, you sick freak? You then had to go and act all high and mighty, like you hadn't planned all of this from the beginning. You took everything from me, do you hear? Fucking everything!
"You took Lilith, you took Eve, you took our home, you even took my fucking kids! What else could you possibly want with me, huh? What else do I have to lose before it's enough?"
Silence.
"Well?" he yelled. "What's the matter? You too scared to even look me in the eye, you chickenshit?"
Silence.
"Answer me, you coward!"
Silence.
Adam fell to his knees once more and buried his head in his hands. Before long, the sound of muffled sobs could be heard through his fingers.
"Please," he begged. "Please, just tell me what you want. That's all I'm asking. Just tell me what I have to do."
Silence.
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Inspired by this comic by @rius-cave
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Okay I seen your prompts and I gotta request my boy Damian. A smut with Damian priest where the reader hadn’t had much experience with sex so can I request “Does this hurt?” And “let me look at you” with a soft smut with Damian Priest? Thank you love!!
damian priest x reader
reader is so me not gonna lie 💀💀💀 but here we areeeee
‼️ soft smut with this bae
Let me look at you
you’ve never had any sexual experience in the past. not because you didn’t want to, you just never met the right person.
boyfriends were something you never really cared. you wanted to have fun with your friends and achieve all your goals so you never cared if you had a boyfriend or not.
but growing old you saw your friends getting married and having kids and you were - there.
being the auntie of the group, being the funny and single friend and even you started hating it.
why couldn’t you find someone who loved you?
everything changed when you met damian. he was kind and patient with you, he was loving and affectionate and you couldn’t ask for more. he loved you for the way you were and when you told him that you still had you v-card, you thought he would make fun of you or that he would laugh about it but he respect you and never shamed you about it.
“are you sure baby you want to this?” he asked you while you were both laying in bed. you told him that you wanted to have sex with him and even if he got immediately hard he wanted to be sure you wanted this.
“i do damian…i love you so much and i trust you…i wanna do this please” you looked at him with your doe eyes and he was a goner before you could even speak again.
“fuck…” he whispered under his breath.
he immediately got on top of you, helping you laying down better over the pillows.
“let me know if you want to stop okay? we’ll do everything you want to do, im not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to…you just gotta let me know if something is making you uncomfortable, okay princesa?” he asked and you said yes.
everything started as slow and passionate as possible, nothing new to you. he was kissing you like you’ve always loved. his hands moving from your face to your body, making you shiver a little.
“can i remove your nightgown hermosa?” he asked and you said yes. it took everything in damian’s power to not bend you over and fuck you like a whore. when he saw you naked, he almost had a heart attack. all you were left in was your pair of white panties that were making damian’s head going crazy.
“mierda…” he whispered. he was how your nipples were reacting to cold air and seeing them growing hard was making damian lose all the control he had “you’re making me crazy baby…te amo” he whispered lowering his lips to kiss your neck and collarbone.
his lips moved lower and lower until he took one of your nipple into his mouth, making you gasp. everything that you were feeling was new and very pleasurable. nothing compared to when you did things by yourself.
his other hand moved to tease your other nipple, making you whimper a little more.
“i can’t wait to taste you baby…i bet you taste sweet” he said while his lips moved closer to your center. he was quick to remove your panties and throw his face between your legs.
it was like he already knew you because he knew what buttons to push. you were already a moaning mess but when he inserted his middle finger inside of you for the first time you felt like heaven.
“does it hurt baby?” he asked when he realised how tight you were.
“no…just go slow please”
“of course” he said before attaching his lips and tongue back to your clit while his finger was teasing your walls.
“oh fuck…” you moaned when he hit a certain spot inside of you.
“i love this but i want you to come on my cock hermosa…” he slowly removed his finger and licked all of your juice off of it “yup…it’s delicious” he said making you smile. he was quick to undress himself and in that moment you realised that it was actually happening.
“dam…” you called him.
“is everything okay?” he asked “we can stop if you want baby”
“no…i don’t want to stop…it’s just…will it hurt? i’ve heard that it hurts the first time…” you were a little scared.
“probably…you will feel like a burning sensation but i’ll go away..i’ll make sure you won’t be in pain okay?” he said kissing your cheek.
“okay…can you go slow? please…” you were scared now.
“absolutely baby and if it hurts to much i’ll stop…i want you to feel good not in pain…” he was comforting you and you were so happy to have found someone like him.
he slowly dragged his cock between your wet folds to get him wet so it would slide in more easily. he lined up and slowly pushed in, making you feel everything. it was burning and damian saw the way you were feeling from the way you closed your eyes. once he was all in he waited for your signal to start to move.
“are you okay mi amor? let me look at you…” he said and you slowly opened your eyes.
“it’s okay…burning a little bit…please go slow…”
“i will i promise” he said and so he did.
he moved slowly and deep inside of you. his hands found yours and he was holding them like his life depended from it. his lips were never leaving your face, whether it was your cheek or your lips. he was making you feel loved and that was enough to bring you over the edge.
you came hard squeezing his dick and once you were calm again he slowly removed his dick from you just to cum all over your chest.
he was amazing afterwards. cleaning you up, making sure you weren’t in pain and making sure you were hydrated. he gave you your favorite drink and your favorite snack. he helped you change into something a little comfier than a nightgown and he scooped you over his lap when you picked the movie you wanted to see.
he was everything you wanted and more.
#wwe#wwe x reader#wwe imagine#wwe x you#wwe imagines#wwe judgement day#wwe oneshot#wwe one shot#wwe x original character#wwe x oc#wwe and reader#wwe story#damian priest oneshot#damian priest fluff#wwe damian priest#damian priest imagine#damian priest x oc#damian priest x y/n#damian priest x reader#damian priest wwe#damian priest#wwe damian priest x reader#damian priest smut#damian priest x you#damian priest angst#damian priest is hot lol
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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (2)
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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest.
If only it could stay so simple.
Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader
Notes: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, crying, bb got traumaaa! ambiguous relationship. panic attack this chapter, as well as discussions of death/canon typical (offscreen) violence
Word Count: 3,431
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The slide of your living room balcony door lets you know he's there. You're on your own Earth, in your own apartment. The hour is impossibly late, your night out as the city's Spider having only recently ended. Everything had been going just fine.
Until, of course, it hadn't.
You barely register the sound of your bedroom door creaking open.
If you’d just been a few seconds faster, reacted to your spidey-senses quicker, that woman would still be–
“What happened?” His voice is right next to you.
Just like the first time he’d found you amongst rubble, you curl further in on yourself, your back against your dresser in your upright fetal position. You squeeze into yourself so hard it feels like the first stages of a core-collapse supernova. But the inward pressure doesn't stop the sobs from escaping.
“Hey,” Miguel says in his softest voice. “Hey. Breathe.”
You try, but it comes out in that sort of mutilated-dying-dinosaur stuttering and scraping gasp way that seems to bookend hyperventilation.
“Hey, look at me,” he says again. “I’m gonna—Can I put my hand on your shoulder?”
You shake your head furiously, you know touch will only send you into fight or flight right now.
“Okay, okay,” he reassures. “No touch. Can you look at me?”
A deep shuddering breath, and you look up from where your head had been buried against your knees. Miguel is kneeling in front of you, and when his frame is this close to you it takes up your whole field of vision. He's in his suit, unmasked, the luminescence of the red paneling casting a soft glow reminiscent of a neighboring house fire through cotton curtains.
“Okay, good, good job,” he praises. “Eyes on me. In,” he breathes in, exaggerating the movement of it in his body, moving his hand up to show in.
You follow along, vision blurry and face twisted and wet. You manage to breathe in, though not as smooth as him. You pull the air in, shaky, interrupted by a cracked sob you try to cut off.
“It's okay,” he says at your mid-breath sob, and then; “Now breathe out, like me,” and he blows the air out through his rounded lips.
You follow suit, breathing out shakily, before a short barking laugh escapes at a sudden realization, the self consciousness at a strange discordance with the rest of your emotions.
His brow twitches in confusion, but he continues on.
“I’m not wearing a shirt,” you laugh hysterically, face and stomach scrunching with the abruptness of it.
It's true—you had gotten out of your suit and into pajama bottoms before you had broken down in the midst of getting out a sleep shirt, which you have been pressing against your face and sobbing into and is now probably about 25% saltwater.
“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, glancing away then meeting your eyes again. “Just breathe, we'll worry about your shirt later. Come on,” he begins his outward breath over again, gently moving his hand down through the air as a guide for the pace.
“Your lungs are way too big,” you dissolve into laughter at the length of his breaths, still trying to breathe out through your mouth. You laugh even more when he finishes his outward breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
A few more rounds of breathing in and out (“Come on, stop it,” a chuckling Miguel says at one point, failing not to laugh too, when you burst into hysterical giggles a third time. “Try to focus on breathing.”) and soon you’ve calmed down just enough, your tears still falling though now they're coming slower and gentler.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.
You shake your head a little too fast, and it hurts your dried out skull. “Shirt first.”
He blinks, looking up over your head. “Right.” Then he stands, leaning over you to pull open the drawer above your crouched form with your sleep shirts. When he crouches down again he hands you your biggest, softest shirt. One he knows you like.
Miguel offers an outstretched hand, red palm up. You cling both shirts—salt soaked and otherwise—to your body in one hand out of some combination of comfort and modesty, then you put your other hand in his and let him pull you up. As soon as you're on your feet he gives you a quick look over, before turning his back and moving to the door. You see now that he's holding the stack of clothes you keep for him.
After he’s left the room and you hear the soft click of the bathroom door down the hall you drop the wet shirt on the floor and pull on the new dry one, sliding into your unmade bed and doing your best to straighten out the blankets over your body.
You’re still struggling with the blanket when your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel returning quietly. He’s carrying his folded suit, so when he slips through the door he stops and sets it on your chair with your own suit and jacket. He starts to take a step from the chair towards you, pauses, and then grabs your bloody suit and leaves again. You hear the sound of the kitchen sink, and then he’s back empty handed.
You’re still wrestling with the blanket.
“Dios mio, it’s like you’ve never encountered a goddamn blanket,” he mumbles, taking it from your hands and going to straighten it out.
You look up at him. He pauses.
“What did you do to this thing?” He asks, brow furrowing as he struggles to untangle the blanket. You stifle a laugh, but it builds, eventually bursting out like an overflow of bubblebath over the side of a tub.
Eventually he figures the blanket out, mumbling under his breath as he lays it across you and sliding into the bed.
“Shit, I should have some water,” you mumble and start to get up.
A gentle hand on your upper arm stops you, and Miguel rises from the mattress as the soft press of his hand compels you to lay back down. He leaves, you hear water being poured, and then he’s back.
“I meant to get a cup for you after I changed,” he says quietly, handing it over and standing over you with hands on his hips until you’ve gulped down at least half the cup. Satisfied, he gets back under the blanket with you as you set the water on a bedside table. When you turn around, he has an arm open for you, an invitation you can freely accept or deny. It's not always holding one another and comforting embraces when he visits—sometimes the other persono just needs to be near another living thing.
But you accept, this time. It's your turn to bury your face into his chest for comfort.
“Now do you want to talk about it?” He asks, and despite his hesitant tone, you know he cares enough to listen if you do.
You press your forehead further into his sternum, just below his clavicle.
“A mugging,” you whisper, but you know he can still hear you. “I was seconds too late. Bullet wound. She bled out.”
His arms tighten around you as your body tenses, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.
“I waited too long, I should have–”
“You’re still human,” he interrupts you. “Stop that.”
“Miguel–”
He interrupts you again, saying your name. “No. Don’t do that to yourself.”
You fall quiet, stiff in his arms. He sighs, running a hand up and down your spine.
“The guilt is normal. It’s never easy, not when you feel you could have done something else…” his hand on your back stops for a moment as he trails off, and he sighs yet again, resting his cheek on your head as he holds you. His hand resumes its soothing touches. “But it doesn’t do any good to beat yourself up. We just try to do better next time.”
Your body relaxes, slowly.
“She was so scared,” you whisper. “I couldn’t do anything, and she was so scared.” The tears start to come again. The salt burns your already raw, dry eyes, the hot and thick drops flowing freely as you bury your face in his shirt.
Then Miguel does something he’s never done before, hesitating before taking the leap.
He kisses the top of your head.
Again, it isn't always crying and comfort. It’s usually business and the busyness of trying to balance your triple-life; work and the few friends you still have along with Spider duties on your own earth, and then helping other Spider-People on other earths capture anomalies and bringing them back to Miguel and Margo to be sent home.
And Miguel isn't the only visitor. Sometimes Gwen crashes at your place when she’s not with Hobie, who’s also visited once or twice with her. Eleven years her senior, it feels more like having a much younger, cooler sister come to visit from out of town so your parents can go on vacation to a swingers cruise. Or something.
“I don’t have a lot of groceries, so first things first: I’m dragging you to the store with me,” you say to Gwen as you step through the portal into your living room, pulling off your mask. She follows through right behind you.
“Fine by me. I’ve been craving those weird cookies from last time. Hobie doesn’t have them in his dimension, and they definitely don’t have them in Nueva York.”
You chuckle, heading toward your room. “We’ll make sure to get some extras for you then. And I’ve got your duffle bag from last time stashed in here. I washed everything, since last time we got kinda crazy with the balcony plants.”
Gwen follows you and leans on the door frame, giving a cursory glance over your room as you crouch to pull out her duffle bag from your closet. When you stand and turn to hand her the strap of the bag, she quickly straightens up and her eyes snap towards you—you know her well enough to recognize the sparkle of curious glee in her eyes, the careful poker-faced smile covering up a grin.
“Thanks!” she says, ignoring your suspicious look, taking the duffle bag and disappearing to change in the bathroom.
You turn and look around your room, searching for what might have prompted that reaction. Your eyes land on Miguel’s sleep-over clothes from that night nearly a week ago when he had found you crying, still hanging loosely over the back of the armchair.
“Jesus,” you mumble, taking them and stuffing them in the dirty laundry hamper, face hot.
An hour or more later, you’ve gone and returned from the grocery store with Gwen. Music plays on your apartment speakers, and golden sunset light streams in through windows and the sliding glass doors of the balcony. You’ve made stir-fry with Gwen, serving it on mismatched thrift store dishes, and now the two of you make your way to the small table on your tiny balcony to eat outside while the music from indoors drifts out to mingle with the ambience of the city.
“Thanks for letting me crash here again,” Gwen says, putting her feet up in the third empty chair.
“Of course,” you smile at her, setting your glass of water on the tiny coffee table.
You both eat for a moment in silence, enjoying the warmth of the slowly fading light and the sounds of the city. Somewhere someone is practicing violin.
“Sooooo,” Gwen rolls her head to look at you. “Who’s the guy?”
You nearly choke on the rice.
“Jesus,” you finally say, washing it down with water and thumping your chest. “What guy?”
“You know,” she says, looking at you sidelong with a raised eyebrow. “The one who left a t-shirt and sweatpants in your room?”
You shake your head, taking in a breath and looking off into the peachy sky. God help me. “There’s no guy, it’s not like that. He just stays here sometimes—”
“Wait, so is it ‘no guy’ or there is but it’s not like…?” she drops her feet off the extra seat and leans towards you, “You said he stays here sometimes, though? So there’s something.”
“Oh my god, Gwen, no,” you can feel your face getting hot. “No, it’s not like that.”
“You said that already,” she kicks her feet back up, grinning. “Do I get to meet him?”
“No. Eat your vegetables,” you roll your eyes and kick the leg of her chair, making her wobble and catch her balance with her spider reflexes.
“Okay, okay! Touchy,” she says, no real venom or irritability in her voice. You both resume eating, small smiles on your faces.
Gwen joins you on patrol that night, helping you stop a convenience store robbery and web up a guy trying to break into his ex-girlfriend's apartment. You’re done and home by one in the morning, and by one-forty-five, she’s asleep on your couch with the soft light and sound of the tv still playing.
There’s no real reason for Miguel to be here tonight, in this dimension. He knows this, he’s told himself this, and he’s ignored it. It’s just that… he’s having trouble sleeping. Jess, Lyla, and even Peter B. Parker all told him he should sleep more, that he should take care of himself.
There’s other ways he could try to deal with his insomnia, of course. It’s not like there aren’t sleep-aids on Earth-928 (Would those even work the same on me still? he wonders). He tells himself he mostly wants to check in on you after last week. You’ve seemed alright when you’ve passed at Spider Society HQ, when he’s seen you on the security cams laughing with Peter B. Parker and his daughter, May. But if there’s one consistent feature across the multiverse it’s that Spider-People like to hide whatever’s going on under the surface, like house cats and wild animals afraid to show weakness for fear of predators. Better to ask you in private, in person.
Miguel sees the faint glow of your television through the balcony doors of your apartment as he swings closer. You’ve told him once that you try to avoid blue light this late since it affects sleep quality, so the fact that you’re watching tv at this hour reads to him as a sure sign that he’s made the right decision to come check in on you.
Miguel engages the light byte cloth to soften his landing on your balcony, straightening up from a crouch to stand, sliding open the glass doors—
Thwip!
His hand is webbed to the jam.
And that’s definitely not you on your couch, sitting up from under one of your spare blankets, with your pillow on one end.
“...Miguel?”
Shit.
Gwen glances at your bedroom door. “Are you two…?” She trails off into awkward silence.
Miguel doesn’t know what to say, though he suspects he knows what Gwen is asking.
“...No.” He turns his head to look down the darkened hallway of your apartment—now noticing the sound of your shower—then looks back at Gwen, tearing his hand free from her webbing.
Gwen stares at him.
Miguel stares at her. A small seed of unease plants itself in his chest.
“This is weird,” she says.
“You’re not on Earth-138,” he replies.
The sound of your shower stops.
“I uh, I crash here sometimes.”
“I can see that.”
Silence. Gwen glances once between the hallway and Miguel when the sound of the bathroom door clicking open carries down the hall.
Miguel turns his masked head towards your approach, his body still facing Gwen. He’s already looking at your eyes the moment you stop in your tracks, your eyes snapping to where his are underneath his mask.
“Miguel,” you hiss, eyes wide, sweeping your arm out towards the couch. “Gwen’s sleepi–”
He also sees the way your brain seems to freeze when your gaze moves to the couch and sees Gwen is sitting, wide awake, and looking right back at you. He sees some unspoken conversation between the two of you, Gwen’s eyes widening at you as if to say I was so absolutely right about something, yours widening as if to say Whatever you’re thinking is so absolutely incorrect, please believe me.
“Lyla said your watch needs maintenance.”
Both your heads whip to look at him. The seed of unease wobbles.
“Oh,” you say, and Miguel gets the distinct impression that you’re trying not to look at Gwen, trying to play it casual. “So you came to pick it up…?”
“Figured that would be best. In case something was really wrong, and you tried to use it. And got turned into a shocked up Cronenberg creature.”
“A what?”
“It’s an Earth-616 media reference,” you explain quickly, still looking at Miguel. “Uh, I’ll just grab the watch really quick.”
He inclines his head, and watches you disappear into your room. Would it be weird if he followed you in? There’s no way he’s going to get to talk to you tonight with Gwen here, much less stay over—
“Here it is,” you reemerge, holding the watch. “Uh, how long will it take to…?”
Miguel steps closer, taking the watch from you. “I can do it now, but you’re getting ready for bed so maybe I’ll just bring it back in the mo–”
“I don’t mind,” Gwen says. “If it’s only gonna be a little bit, why bother leaving and then coming back?”
You both look at Gwen, Miguel turning to look at you again while you stare at Gwen. He tries not to shift on his feet while the two of you stare silently at one another.
“Yeah, uh, you can use my desk in here,” you finally turn to face Miguel, nodding your head towards your room. “So Gwen here can go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired–”
“I’m making you catch up on homeschool shit tomorrow, while you’re here,” you raise an eyebrow at her. “I know you’re behind.” Gwen groans. “So get some rest.”
“Alright, alright,” Gwen flops back down on the couch.
Miguel watches this exchange, the tight, pitted feeling in his chest disappearing inside a warm cocoon. You catch his attention again, nodding towards your open bedroom door for him to go in. He goes past you, letting his mask dissolve back into the body of his suit. The bedroom door clicks shut, and he turns to face you, mouth open with a ready apology, only to find you with your head buried in your hands.
“Oh my god,” you say. “Now Gwen thinks we’re fucking.”
Oh.
“I haven’t done laundry, haven’t needed to since you washed my suit for me after… After that woman died,” your voice catches, but you continue on. “So your sleepover clothes were just on the chair, and Gwen saw and assumed I’d been having a guy over, and then you show up at like two in the morning,” you drag your hands down your face, finally meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t realize she stayed here sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, she can’t just move in with Hobie, and HQ is no place for a kid to live full time. It’s too busy.”
He doesn’t disagree. HQ is hardly a home. Maybe that has something to do with–
“The watch maintenance isn’t real though, right?”
“No,” he says, tossing it back to you with a gentle underhand throw. “I just…”
“Yeah,” you catch it effortlessly, nodding. He watches your hands turn it over and fidget with it, watches you checking the screen.
“I wanted to see how you are. After last week.”
Your hands still. He watches you swallow, your shoulders freezing.
Nope, there it is—the pit wasn’t in the warm cocoon, it was just sneaking down into his gut.
“I’m alright, just... Y’know.”
He nods. He knows.
“If you need anything…”
You nod.
“...I should go.”
You nod again, and he feels the knot in his stomach start to grow, before only the size of an olive pit, now swelling to a peach stone.
“Just… With Gwen here,” you say. “I don’t…”
He nods again too. “I know.”
And then he’s opening a portal, filling your room with brilliant orange light, the objects in your room flickering and starting to move. He steps through with a quick glance back at you, and then the portal closes on your apologetic face and he’s alone in the dim light of his lab.
He doesn't sleep very well that night.
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you’re losing me ; matthew murdock
warnings: pure angst, swearing, matthew is kind of a douche,
song inspo: “you’re losing me” by taylor swift
your mouth felt dry. it was hard to swallow your fear. your skin felt hot. the room felt smaller than normal.
the tension in matthew’s apartment was growing thick, like a cold morning fog. he wore a scowl on his face.
“say something! you need to say something” he broke the silence, standing up from the couch to stand across from you in the kitchen, but you held a hand up to stop him.
“no,” you halted. “just… no” you croaked, hands gripping the countertop to hold yourself up. your knees felt weak, like they were jelly. adrenaline was running through your veins as your stomach dropped to your feet.
“y/n, you know i wouldn’t cheat… you know me, cmon” he shook his head, adamant that you’d believe him. but you weren’t so sure.
“do i?” you asked aloud, as if you were trying to get matthew to rethink his words.
“because the matthew murdock i know wouldn’t lie to me about trailing around the city with his ex? or would he? oh my god…” saying the words out loud made you cover your face in your hands, heart banging against your rips as it started spiralling.
matthew just scoffed at your behaviour, causing you to raise your head up. “what? what is your problem matthew?”
“i knew you wouldn’t understand…” you stopped listening after he said those five words.
he’s been like this for weeks now, acting like you hardly know him as well as the lover from his past—but he’d say it in such twisted ways. you knew it was her influence—the power she had over him was unbearably strong. but, a little part of your heart had hoped that he wouldn’t act like this—that your matthew wouldn’t diminish you like this.
you knew his daredevil work was important to him, as well as defeating the hand. but the way hes explaining it to you as if you were incompetent in comparison to electra made this your final straw. the dam broke inside you, & you couldn’t stand to have your heart broken again.
“stop,” you cut him off loudly. “just stop it. you’re losing me matt—i-i can’t listen to your bullshit anymore” your voice croaked again when you pushed yourself off the countertop, brushing by matthew’s body quickly towards the bedroom.
“don’t like what i have to say? you’re going to walk away? like this is nothing?!” matthew followed you, the scowl on his face ever so present in your mind.
“don’t you dare act like i treat our relationship as anything but a priority. that’s mean matt, & you know it” your voice was on the edge of being ice cold, it’s freezer burn itching matthew’s skin as he nervously scratched the back of his neck.
you continued grabbing your purse. your keys. your wallet. your spare clothes. your phone charger. your toothbrush from his bathroom. you took it all.
“this is ridiculous” he deadpanned, walking over & grabbing your upper arm. “stop packing. don’t leave—“
“don’t touch me” you jerked away from his touch, pushing his hand off your arm in a flash.
matthew’s brows furrowed in offence. he was left speechless for a second.
“then talk to me!”
turning to face him, you elicited a sigh & crossed your arms. “okay, let’s talk”
“i’m unhappy. i feel lied to & pushed away as a second thought. i know you love me, but you act like you love her more—you let her sleep in my clothes on my side of the bed for god sakes matt… what do you expect me to do with that?!” you poured out your feelings to him, eyes glossy & head ringing with a headache as you gestured to your shared bed.
“she was hurt—she almost died y/n! what? do you want me to say i’m sorry for saving her life?”
“that will never justify you not being honest with me… especially when we’re engaged! why can’t you understand?” you stepped closer to him, crossing your arms tighter to your chest. your voice grew quieter with your last words, hoping you’d get him to see your point of view.
he still gripped his black mask in his left hand. it made you laugh internally. bet he wants to be out there than here right now….
“you’re hurting me matt… can’t you see where i’m coming from? or sense it? you’ll fight for her, risk your life for her… but you can’t fight for me? or choose me?”
matthew felt his heart drop as realization started kicking in, but he was stubborn. he didn’t want to be wrong about this. “i don’t understand—i was trying to protect you y/n… i-i…” unsure of what to say, matthew just stood there at arms reach.
tears were slowly falling down your cheeks as you scoffed at him this time. “you think lying is equal to protecting? not like this… definitely not like this”
“but you’re the one i’m marrying—i’m your fiancé. doesn’t that show that i choose you?” matthew’s point was valid, so you sighed in slight agreement.
“but, you’ve cancelled on me multiple times. you’re barely here! i sleep alone, cook alone, clean alone, shower alone… you’re only here when you need something for her. that doesn’t feel like you’re choosing me”
brushing past him again with your purse in hand, you walked towards the apartment door. “hey, where are you going?” he questioned, trialing behind you with determination.
“away”
“when are you coming back?”
the sound of your engagement ring being placed on the credenza echoed in the apartment. “i don’t know” you swallowed again when you took your hand away from your ring, knowing matthew wasn’t taking your action well.
“no—no. don’t go” he pleaded with you, his hand coming up to brush your arm but you stepped away.
your heart strings were pulling. you didn’t know it’d be this hard. “i can’t marry you if you act like you don’t want me—like you don’t love me. i’m not putting myself through that anymore” you had to turn your back to him because it got too hard to look at his melancholic expression.
he stood there like a statue—still with no movement. matthew wanted to pull you into his arms, tuck his head into your neck & keep you close. but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t. he had to let you go.
“you know, it’s kinda funny,” you commented with your hand on the door knob. “you fight your clients & you’ll fight for the city, but you can’t fight to make me stay, or prove me wrong… you’re just letting me go,”
you looked at him again, seeing how he was a shell of the man you grew to love over the last few years. this felt wrong—the whole situation felt so wrong. but you had to do this for you. he needed to get his life together.
“i just thought you’d try harder than this, murdock”
& with that, you pulled the door open & stepped out of the apartment with a heavy heart. matthew stood there stunned as he heard you push the elevator button, walk inside the compartment, & sigh when the doors closed.
he slid down the door frame, holding his head in his hands with his fingers tightly gripping his hair. he felt angry. disgusted with himself. but he felt even worse when he heard your quiet sobs from the elevator.
he lost you. his daylight—& now all matthew had was the loneliness of midnight.
you lost your daylight too, but you lost it a while ago.
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TheGeneral!Series Part Three: Choices
Tagging: @kmc1989 @justameresimp @agentorange9595 @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @imaginecrushes @flrboyd @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 '@crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @dizzybee03 @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876 @deliriousfangirl61 @goosterroose @kishie8 @skyesthebomb @marshmallowflufffox @whateversomethingbruh @4everademigod @notanotherpotter @yousigned-upforthis @silversprings-mp3 @sadboihours10101 @luckyladycreator2 @littlebadarielll @toheavenwmydrms @buckysteveloki-me @emma-dawson
Beau doesn’t sleep. Instead he lies awake next to you and fantasises about the ways in which he can murder General Klein and get away with it. Each one becomes increasingly more violent until the clock hits four am and he forces himself up and out of the sheets.
His body moves on automatic, putting the laundry into the machine, throwing away the trash, washing the dishes. It feels like he’s in a dream, a horrifying, maddening dream.
When you come out the bedroom, you’re clad his hoody, the one that he was wearing last night. He knows it brings you comfort so he doesn't say anything.
Last night was the first time you’d acknowledged what happened to you, the first time you’d talked about it. It had been like a dam breaking. All that rage, that hurt, that devastation it flooded out of you in a rush. You'd cried yourself to sleep, your entire body tucked against his.
Your hair is still damp from the shower, it falls loosely across your features as you slide into the stool across from him at the breakfast island, your chin coming to rest on your arms. He mirrors your posture, his eyes on yours.
“What do you want to do?” He asks you and you bury your face into your arms. “Ok, well you can’t do that forever.”
“I can.” You tell him and he smiles just a little because this behaviour, it’s the first glimpse he’s seen of the real you since arriving in Washington.
“Ok so we stay here and we do this forever.” He says softly. “Just me and you in this kitchen, fuck anybody else.”
You huff out a laugh and it is the sweetest sound.
You tilt you head up to look at him and he busies himself with putting the kettle on and withdrawing two mugs from the cupboard. He makes a note to go shopping later on because there’s barely any food in the cupboards, he guesses you’ve barely been out of the apartment since it happened. That and the anxiety would explain the weight you’ve lost.
“If I do this.” You say, fingers toying with the bracelet on your wrist. “Then everybody will know what he did to me, they’ll never look at me the same way.”
Beau sighs as he pours the water from the kettle into each of the mugs, he’s chosen chamomile tea, something to sooth both your nerves.
“If you don’t do this, you’re facing up to ten years confinement and you’re life falls apart in a different way.” He says frankly as he sets the mug down in front of you. “You can’t get the help you need, you have no job, everything else you’ve worked so hard for…”
He trails off because he worries that he’s being too harsh but the truth is you need to see the reality of this situation. This isn’t going away and the longer you try to ignore it, the worse it gets.
“I will support you whatever you choose to do.” He tells you, slipping back into the stool across from you. You wrap your hands around your mug, your gaze coming fixating on the steam as it emits from the liquid. “If you want to fight this I’m game, if it’s too much, then I’m here too. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“What I want is for none of this to have ever happened.” You tell him, your thumbs chasing over the floral pattern on the porcelain.
“But it did happen.” He says gently, his hands coming to rest on yours. “And we need to start dealing with that.”
“I know.” You say quietly, your eyes flickering up to meet his. “That’s why I need you to call Harm. I need him to come over and take my statement.”
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#beau simpson#beau simpson x reader#beau cyclone simpson#beau cyclone simpson x reader#top gun maverick
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Request: Can you write one with ot7!BTS × reader, where they are having an argument and the boys all pick at the reader's insecurities and the reader is hurt with happy ending?
A/N: I screwed up trying to figure out how to respond to this with the results still able to be visible, sorry! But anyways I’m glad you enjoyed my previous post and I had a lot of fun writing this one. I’m not exactly sure if I correctly portrayed the events like you wanted but I hope you like it!!
Pairing: OT7 x Reader (Gender Neutral)
~
It wasn’t how you expected to end the day, but somehow you’d ended up crawling on the floor to try and plug in the cord for the camera charger so the boy’s could review the finished product of a performance video for their new title track. You’d thought it’d be easy when they asked, but the task was proving to be more difficult as their instructions were becoming sloppy from all the fatigue.
“Which one do you want me to pull?”
“The black one.”
You closed your eyes and stifled a sigh of irritation. “They’re all black, Yoongi. You have to be specific.”
The exhaustion was clear in his voice as he called back, “It has a silver insignia on it with the HYBE logo.”
“How hard can it be to pull out one measly cord?” You heard Jungkook mutter, and felt a stab of frustration - along with a drop of embarrassment - course through your body.
For their sake, you didn’t push it.
As you carefully inspected each of the cords knotted tightly together, you found that nearly all of them had the HYBE logo in big, bold letters carved into their surface. Sighing inwardly, you reached into your pocket to grab your phone, flipping on the flashlight in case there was something your eyes couldn’t pick up in the darkness.
But you were only greeted with the same identical, impossibly tangled wires.
“They all look the same, Yoongi.” You called, already imagining the exasperated expression on the rapper’s face.
This time, however, it was Jin who responded. “No they don’t Y/N. Stop being difficult and just pull out one of the dam cords.”
You felt your patience thinning.
“Pull out the one at the top.” came Yoongi’s voice. “It’s not connected to anything important.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Jimin added. “It’s the one closest to our desk.”
You faltered. The was a cord that was closer to the desk but farther down than the one that was higher than it. Both Yoongi, Jin, and Jimin had said things that contradicted one another - how on earth were you to choose which one to listen to?
"Hurry."
"It's just the one near the monitor."
"We're on a time crunch here."
"Be more specific!" You hissed, your words coming out harsher than intended.
"For crying out loud!" Taehyung exclaimed, and the shuffling of shoes echoed through the room as he got up and startled you by suddenly getting on the floor and ripping the cable from your hands. "The cord near the monitor! Do we have to walk you through this entire process? Should we give you some candy to if you ever manage to pull out the cord? It's like walking a child through tying their shoelaces step by step!"
Some of the boys laughed and you felt embarrassed. You knew that they were all tired and probably weren't thinking everything through thoroughly. Still, the dig hurt and clawed at some of your insecurities.
Taehyung held the cable up to your face. "Look Y/N. You see this here?" He made an overexaggerated gesture to the cable, whilst you bit your lip and watched quietly, cheeks flushing and heart thumping. "'And this wire over here? I'm just going to - and look at that! Plugged in just a few seconds! Amazing right?"
Without waiting for your response, Taehyung crawled out from under the table. Eventually, you followed him out to be met with a couple of irritated glares from the others. You looked down at your shoes, a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and frustrated warring through your body, and excused yourself, hurriedly walking towards the door.
"Seriously, if hyung could do it then why couldn't Y/N?" You heard Jungkook mumble before you'd fully left, and Namjoon or Hobi replying with another nasty remark about your "incompetence".
And that was your last straw.
Shoving the door open forcefully and whirling around to face the startled members, you snapped bitterly, "It's not my fault that some of you can't come to an agreement about the location of a plug. They all look the same and were tangled - I'd like to see you try when the instructions are half-backed and coming from a bunch of unpleasant people."
Some startled gasps came from staff nearby, whilst the members expression's morphed into pure anger and shock.
"Who are you calling unpleasant?" Namjoon snapped in defense of his members, the anger in his eyes so evident as he leaped up from the couch that you took a frightened step back. "It was a less than a pleasant experience with you here."
"And I could say the same for you." You huffed, trying to mask how much his words hurt.
Namjoon's face twisted into a scowl, and Seokjin put a hand on his shoulder as though restraining him, the two sharing a brief look that you couldn't decipher.
“Look, Y/N,” said Jin tiredly, his tone indicating that he wanted this argument over. “We’re tired, your tired, we get that it would’ve been easier if the instructions were a bit clearer, but we’re just-”
“You’re just what?” You demanded before you could stop yourself. “Looking for an excuse for dragging me here and just using me for the crap your to tired to do?”
And then Namjoon shrugged Jin off and started berating you, the rest of the members soon jumping on the bandwagon of criticism. Soon both parties were shouting angry insults at one another, striking nerves and wedging an even deeper wound than it initially was. By the time the staff decided to separate you and the boys, you and Namjoon had been reduced to tears after a screaming match and some of the boys had extremely hoarse voices.
As you packed your keys and threw your belongings into the car, it suddenly became very clear that this incident wasn’t going to be cleared up anytime soon.
-
The next few weeks were rough.
Neither you nor the rest of the boys wanted to talk about what had happened before, and the anger simmering just underneath the surface was evident. A simple collision was enough to incite anger, and you found yourself getting into various mini arguments with the boys.
To make matters worse, you had no choice but to stay with them, as your parents were away and you didn’t have enough money to rent a hotel. Even with the tension between the two groups, the boys wouldn’t stoop as low as to make you homeless. But still, the next weeks were utter hell.
“Do you want me to give you instructions for that too?” Jin said bitterly when you struggled to cook dinner and got in the way of his own cooking.
“Oh just shut up.” You snapped.
When you went up to your room you bumped into Namjoon, who was more than happy to snap some remarks.
“Watch where you’re going,” he practically snarled. “In addition to being unable to understand simple directions, are you incapable of seeing as well?”
The two of you ended up in a screaming match, and come morning you’d gotten into a heated argument over waking up Yoongi after he’d fallen asleep in the living room.
Hoseok exchanged small pleasantries with you, but that was about as far as you too went in the light of this new tension. Both Taehyung and Jungkook were happy to avoid you, but you did have your mini scrapes with the maknaes occasionally, and Jimin ignored you entirely.
By the end of the second week, you found yourself hurt more than you thought possible and crying into your pillow as soon as you were in the privacy of the guest room. You’d been excluded from social outings like going to restaurants, hanging out at the park, binge watching series and going to parties, something that you’d all planned to do together before the argument.
You finally snapped one night, the three weeks worth of hurt coming out in an flow. The boys were more than startled, perhaps from the sheer harshness of your tone or the abrasive language you were using, either way, you didn’t care. You weren’t even aware of what you were saying - heck, you didn’t even remember how the night ended or how you’d gotten to your bed, you just remembered breaking down into tears later, your voice raw from screaming, your body physically exhausted, and heart aching.
A Week Later
It was so cold.
You lay on the ground, shivering and curled up in a ball, watching a video of your dog playing with your siblings. It was the only comfort, the only thing that could take your mind off of the fact that your friendship with Bangtan was probably over.
You were considering rooming with a friend in their collage dorm when a knock came to your door.
“Y/N?”
“Go away!” You shouted, voice trembling as you were haunted by guilt and hurt.
“Y/N!” Taehyung called from the other end of the door. “Please just let us in. We want to talk.”
“Find someone else to be your punching bag,” you snarled. “I’m not in the mood for it.”
“Y/N please-”
You closed your eyes and tuned them out.
It was just too much work to get into another argument.
You didn’t know how much time had passed, only that you were still on the floor when you heard the sound of someone wiggling the doorknob and then - pop! - it was open.
Footsteps echoed in the room and you heard a voice calling your name.
“Y/N? Are you okay?”
“It’s so cold in here…”
You rolled over and were met with the concerned looks of the boys. Groaning inwardly, you mumbled,
“Just leave me alone.”
“Y/N don’t push us away.” Hoseok pressed, and you opened your eyes when you felt a hand on your shoulder. “God - you’re shivering.”
He grabbed your arm gently and turned you around so you would face him, rubbing your arms in an attempt to warm you up.
“Just leave me alone.”
“Please will you talk to us?” Jungkook pleaded, holding your shoulders gently.
“Y/N.” Jimin murmured, trying to drape a blanket over your shoulders. “Have you eaten? Your so cold.”
“I’m fine!” You hissed, shoving them away.
“Y/N please I don’t want to fight anymore.”
This time you actually did pause - the person speaking sounded close to tears. When you glanced over Hobi’s shoulder, you saw that Namjoon really did look like he was about to cry.
Surprise rippled through you. “Joon-”
And then the two of you burst into tears.
“I’m sorry!” You gasped, clenching Hobi’s shirt as he two started to tear up and rubbed circles into your back. “I was so mean and I said such awful things! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it-” You were just blabbering things at this point, overwhelmed with emotion. It took away your physical strength and left you weak. “You guys work so hard and you were probably just tired-”
“Shh.” Jungkook had started to run his fingers through your hair. “It’s okay. Of course we know you didn’t mean anything.”
“We’re sorry as well.” Yoongi added, he extended his palm and you held it as Jin lowered himself to the ground and started wiping away your tears. “We took the argument too far and we’re sorry for exploiting your insecurities.”
Jin lowered himself to the ground and brushed the hair out of your face so he could look into your eyes. “I’m sorry Y/N. I can’t take back what I said but I hope you know how sorry I am. I’lll make you what ever you want after okay?”
Sniffling, you said, “O-okay.” And he smiled softly, reaching up to wipe away you tears.
You only cried harder as Jimin and Taehyung soon joined the huddle, cuddling you and whispering tearful apologies.
“I’m sorry.” Jimin apologized. “I-I really don’t know what else to say but how sorry I am and how much I regret what I said.”
“It’s okay.”
“But it’s not.”
You beckoned him closer and he slipped his arms around you. “Let’s just put this behind us, yea?”
Jimin nodded. “Okay.”
Namjoon still hadn’t moved and was just watching you and Bangtan, tears in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Hobi said into your ear, noticing where your gaze had flitted to. “He’ll come around soon - he’s felt really guilty.” This time you couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears and started to break down again. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re okay, you’re okay.”
“H-Hobi,” You choked out, leaning into his chest as another way of crushing emotions overwhelmed you. “I-” You worrried that you might hurt him asyou grabbed his shoulders, but if he felt any pain, he didn’t react. “I-I’m so-don’t go-”
“It’s okay,” Hobi repeated, patting you on the back. “Just breathe Y/N, I’m not going anywhere.”
You closed your eyes, the last of your strength ebbing away. Jungkook’s strong arms wrapped around you to support you. Jin passed you some tissues and Yoongi switched places with Hoseok in an attempt to calm you down. You’d known Yoongi since middle school and although the rapper was often seen as a cold person, he really was more on the calm side. Something about his gentle nature never failed to soothe you, and it worked now as well.
After a while, you sniffled and looked around for Namjoon. He still hadn’t moved but his tears had dried.
“Joon?” You whispered, and his jaw clenched. “I’m sorry, please don’t-”
You couldn’t continue due to the sudden onslaught of tears as Namjoon rushed over, pulling you from Yoongi’s arms and wrapped you up in the tightest embrace you’d ever felt. He buried his face in your shoulders.
“Oh my god,” he kept repeating. “I’m sorry - oh god I’m so sorry.”
“Me to.” You sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh. You have nothing to he sorry for.”
You felt a blanket being draped over your shoulders and a hand ruffling your hair.
Taehyung.
He squeezed your hand, tears clinging to his eyelashes and said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Y/N. Please forgive me?”
“I already have.” You whispered. The rest of the boys had circled you, Namjoon, and Taehyung and had begun snuggling. They handed you tissues and said they would bring you food later, they just wanted you to warm up right now and settle down, they were concerned by how much crying seemed to take out of you.
After you’d all moved to the couch and you’d managed to calm down, you looked at them and said. “I don’t ever want to fight again - I missed you all so much.”
“We missed you too.” Namjoon replied, rubbing your head. “From now on let’s try to settle arguments in a more…reasonable manner. Yes?”
You and the boys quickly agreed, and you all fell asleep like that - you in the middle and the others cuddling you.
-
I hope this was okay, I might go back and edit some because I’ve been writing this on a plane. Once again I apologize for any cringe and feedback is always welcomed.
#ot7 x reader#bangtan x reader#bts fanfic#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts x reader#kpop fanfic#kpop fluff#bts fic#namjoon x reader#seokjin x reader#hobi x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#yoongi x reader
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can you do a fic with Lo’ak Sully and a female human reader who has stretch marks? i’m so insecure of mine.
thank you for the request <3 LOVE THIS! i completely relate and i hope you know that you are so beautiful even with your stretch marks 🫶🏻 lo'ak loves youuuuuuu
just like me ✧ lo'ak
°˖➴ warnings: fem human reader, insecure reader, established relationship, l-bombs, comfort and reassurance from lo'ak 🫶🏻 - yawne: beloved, narlor: beautiful
it was already hard to look drastically different from your mate; the size difference being an obvious challenge, but your own insecurities never failed to make this feeling worse. you stood in front of the mirror in your room at the lab, only a bra on as you start to analyze the stretch marks across your torso and hips. your fingers graze over them, a spark of frustration building inside as you stare at the pink and white lines. you wished you could just erase them, swipe a cloth over them and remove them like makeup but you couldn't. as the tears started to well up in your eyes you hear some talking in the main lab area, recognizing lo'ak's voice from a mile away.
you grab the hoodie from your bed and slip it over your head, opening your door to go and greet your mate. "there she is" lo'ak smiles as he hears you padding into the lab area, opening his arms and crouching down slightly. you smile and hug around his neck tight, his long arms securely wrapping around you as he picks you up and spins you both around. "i'm gonna get dizzy!" you giggle, smacking gently at his back. "fine fine i'll stop" he laughs and sets you down, large hand engulfing your cheek as he kisses you. you hum and kiss back, melting under his touch. "sorry it took me a while to come, dad wanted to have a sully family meeting" he rolls his eyes and grabs your hand, heading down the hall to your room.
"he just wants to hold down the fort, honey" you giggle, shutting your room door behind you both. lo'ak sits on the edge of your twin bed, his large proportions always looking silly atop the small bed. "come" he pats his lap, ushering you over. you climb into his lap, feeling at home in an instant. "are you not warm in that?" his hands grip the hem of your sweater, your eyes widening at the thought of him removing your sweater. sure he had seen your body plenty of times, but you had gained more stretch marks even over the past couple of days and your brain was not prepared to let him see. "uh- no! quite comfy actually.." you grab at his wrists, dying to move them away. "yawne.. what is it?" his voice has now changed, a gentle and concerned undertone lacing through it.
"it's nothing, lo'ak.." you whisper, attempting to push his hands away but failing. "please.. you look so.. hurt" he expresses, looking into your eyes with his own that are glazed with pity, he just wanted to help his mate however he could. you couldn't hold back the tears, the dam breaking as you fall into lo'ak's shoulder, wetting it with your tears. "the- the marks, stretch marks... i hate them" you whine out through your sniffles, slumping into his much larger torso. "narlor... why do you hate them? they are a part of you" he whispers, hands stroking your back effortlessly as you continue to cry. "they're ugly... just lines all over my hips and stomach, they are so obvious" you sigh and pull back from his neck, still avoiding his eyes. "hey.." his hand gently holds your chin, turning your face to look at him.
"they are not ugly, nothing about you is ugly. they are natural and nothing to be insecure of... you are my beautiful mate, and i love your stretch marks, you don't deserve to feel this upset over some marks that are a part of your body" he speaks so softly with you, eyes boring into yours and filled with so much adoration. "you love them?" your voice is still in a whisper, hands holding his biceps as he speaks. "i do, so much. they're your own stripes, just like how the na'vi have their stripes. you're just like me" he smiles at you and you can't resist the tug at your lips, smile spreading across your face as well.
"that's my girl" he kisses your forehead gingerly a few times as his hands trail under your sweater to hold your waist, holding protectively there. "i love you so much, thank you for being here with me.." you say as you relax under his touch. "i love you so much too, i will support you no matter what it is, i just want you to feel beautiful, because you are" you lean in and kiss him with so much care, head completely blank of any insecurity. lo'ak never failed to make you feel better in an instant.
#avatar#avatar 2009#atwow#avatar fic#atwow fic#avatar the way of water#avatar masterlist#avatar smut#avatar fluff#avatar angst#atwow smut#atwow fluff#atwow angst#lo'ak#lo'ak sully#lo'ak fic#lo'ak x reader#lo'ak smut#lo'ak fluff#jake sully#jake sully fic#jake sully x reader#neteyam#neteyam x reader#neteyam fic
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brave.
—roommate au, implied sexual abuse, angst/fluff, soft!Billy, fem!reader—
The first time you encounter Frank.
@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack @firexfate (I’ve been awful at tagging, I apologize. My brain is tired, mostly lol)
Masterlist
Listening to this as I wrote if you’re curious;
x
“Sweet pea, are you hiding behind the sofa like a damn cat?” Billy asked, crouching down and peeking at you hiding between the wall and the sofa. He squeezed in between the wall and the sofa, crouching next to you, looking down at you. “What is it?” He asked in a low voice, stroking your head.
Frank stood in the penthouse, talking animatedly to Curtis, loudly. And at that moment, you almost went underneath the sofa. “Billyyy, tell him to go away.” You whined, clutching his leg as the rain outside intensified, drowning out Frank’s laughter a little.
Fuck, you were cute.
He slid down the wall, sitting down next to you, both of you sitting side by side behind the sofa. The voices seemed far away here, and you felt safe behind the couch, hidden from them. “What don’t you like about Frankie?” He asked calmly, stroking the top of your hand.
His fingers laced with yours, as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. “He’s loud, and tough, and—“ you paused, trying to find the words. You began to panic, fear clawing at your insides.
Billy seemed to understand. Something had happened to you. He had figured. He brought your hand up to his mouth kissing your pulse point on your wrist. His touch grounded you, soothing the panic. “You trust me, don’t you?” Billy asked against your wrist, beard scratching your skin.
It made your heart skip a beat, always having had a crush on Billy. It was hard not to. He treated you so well. His face looked sharper in the dark behind the sofa. “Yes,” you murmured, scooting closer to his warmth and safety.
You did. Karen had introduced you when you were struggling on your own, and he’d offered to let you live with him. You’d been afraid of Billy at one point too, until you’d freaked out over the electricity going out during a storm, and he’d held you that night in his bed, like a child afraid of a storm, stroking your head, whispering soft reassurances in your ear. You had clung to him.
“I got you, sweet pea. Zeus is just being an asshole.” He said warmly into your ear.
You had giggled, still clutching his nightshirt; “You’re gonna get your ass kicked for that.” You teased him.
“Zeus, god of thunder, verses a hardened Marine. I’ll be fine. I got this.” Billy said, smirking in the dark, pulling on your hair.
You laughed again, snuggling closer, and that was when trust slowly started to build. The next night you’d found yourself disappointed that the electricity was back up, that you had to sleep in your own bed.
Since escaping your grandfather, you’d closed yourself off to people, men in general, and hadn’t realized until that night just how starved for affection and contact you were. It was like a dam breaking loose. You didn’t know how to reach out and ask for what you needed.
Until you one night Billy had brushed your hand in passing, and you’d let out an involuntary whine. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, lacing his fingers with yours, giving you what you’d been craving.
“Then trust that I wouldn’t bring someone over that would hurt you. Frankie’s a good guy.” Billy said smoothly, mouth lingering on your wrist, making you feel warm inside, Frank’s voice fading away into the background.
“Really?” You asked softly, wishing he’d kiss your mouth.
“Really.” Billy confirmed. “He even let Lisa put makeup on him over the fourth, with pearls and clip on earrings.” He said, smirking.
“I’m gonna kill you, Russo.” Frank growled.
You giggled and kissed Billy’s cheek tentatively, and his cheek dimpled in a smile. You really had the best roommate.
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Hanni's Playlist
Same challenge as before: including lyrics from each of the songs in Hanni's playlist in a story.
You wake up from a nap to your phone ringing. It was pampam 🐰💕.
"Heeeyyy! I'm on the way home from the airport. How are you?"
"Hey, honey! I'm good! Been missing you a lot, though. How was your flight? And how was Spain?"
"Ugh, I missed you so much, too! Like a lot a lot. Spain was amazing and I had so much fun! But I'm glad to be home now. Can't wait to see you."
She hears you yawning.
"Oh, were you sleeping, baby? Did I wake you up?"
"Possibly..."
"I'm sorryyy! I should've texted you first or something."
You can't help but smile. She was being a sweetheart as always.
"It's no problem, babe. What is a problem, though, here I am waking up, but you're not here. Still can't sleep on your side."
"I know!" You can practically hear her pouting through the phone. "But I'm coming! I'll be there soon." Then with her voice lowered she says, "And I'm gonna need a cuddle buddy to get over this jet lag tonight."
Your smile widens just thinking about it. And it breaks into laughter when you hear the other four crying, "Ewww," through the phone in unison. You can hear her just laughing, too.
"Hey, Hanni?"
"Yeah?"
"I just want to let you know I'm proud and I admire what you do. You guys are amazing! I see posts about you everywhere, I hear your voice in the streets and the TV stations. It's crazy! I see you working hard and you're always such an inspiration to me!"
"Aww, man, you're too sweet! Thank you, baby! That means a lot to hear."
"I'll see you tonight, then? Tell me all about your trip?"
"It's a date."
"I love you, pampam."
"I love you, too! Actually, wait. Amor eres tú."
"What's that mean?"
"It means, 'you are love.' Cuz you're my love! Just some Spanish I learned for you while I was over there. Anyway, see you later!"
She puts down the phone before you can catch the others making a fuss again about her cheesiness. In the silence that follows you're left with her lasting warmth, but a hint of regret. In truth you'd been napping to escape your thoughts. There'd been something on your mind the entire week she was gone and you wish you'd brought it up. But then again, maybe it was better to leave it for when you could talk to her in person.
-
The doorbell rings once. Twice. Three times. You rush to open the door and before you can even register that she's in front of you she practically tackles you to give you the best hug you could remember.
"Oh my god, I missed you so much!" she growls into your chest. "My baby! Ugh, I love you! How have you been?"
You pull away and look into her eyes. "I've missed you, too. Been feeling kinda down without you. I love you so much, it hurts."
"Aww, but I'm here now, babe! Your pampam's home," she says with the smile that's melted the hearts of millions. But right now it was all just for you. What chance did your singular heart stand against that?
You talk on the sofa for hours, chatting about her trip and the filming of her music videos, getting lost in her eyes and the honey that was her voice. You almost forgot there was something you had to get off your chest.
"Baby?"
"Mmm?"
"You know how I said I've been feeling kinda down?"
Immediately worry flashes across her face. "Yeah?"
"Well, it's cuz while you were away, apart from missing you, I kept thinking about us. About you and how I... Ugh, I don't know how to say this right."
She takes your hand in hers, making sure you knew she was listening. The front of reassurance in her eyes barely masking her concern. "Take your time, angel."
"When we started dating..." In your mind the flood gates open, bursting with the thoughts you'd been keeping to yourself for so long. The dam breaks and tears start to form in your eyes.
She comes even closer, wipes the tears from your cheeks, and whispers, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
You nod weakly and try to form coherent thoughts.
"When we started dating I knew it would be hard. Like, I know you were way too bright for me. You're a star. So obviously I knew our relationship would have to be..."
"Secret?"
"Yeah, like, there's always that fear of people finding out. We kinda have to live a lie and that really hurts. And it's also terrifying."
"I know..."
"But there's something about your love, Hanni. You really are an angel and you're the sweetest person I know and you make everything better. But sometimes it feels like you're an angel with a gun in your hand. Cuz whenever you leave it hurts. It hurts missing you all the time. And it hurts pretending. Lying to everyone about us. I feel like... I die every night with you, just knowing that the next day you'll leave and it'll be like we don't exist. So sometimes I'd like to make myself believe that Planet Earth turns slowly just so I have more time with you. That sounds super dramatic but..."
"Hey, I get it," she says before kissing you softly. "Whenever I leave or whenever we're apart I try not too think too much about it but I can't." She sighs deeply and looks at the ground. "Cuz I love you so much. And love is when you try to place it out your mind but you can't think of anyone else. So I always end up thinking of you... and, like you said, how it hurts to have to hide. And it scares me, too."
She takes another breath as if deep in thought, then she looks back at you with a distinct look of determination in her eyes.
"So let's just stop. Let's stop running from love. Let's stop running from us. I'll die every night with you, too. At least we'll be together."
"Hanni, no, we can't do that..."
"Baby, you know I'll be on your side. No matter what. We in this for love. We in this for life. So it doesn't matter what they say if they find out."
Though tempting, you had to remain rational. You knew she was just being impulsive to try and cheer you up.
"Babe, we shouldn't. Maybe in a few years. We can keep it secret until then."
She sighs again. "Ugh, you're right. But you know I'm always here for you, right? You'll always have my shoulder to cry on. You'll always have my arms to fall into."
But before you can even fall into them, she wraps them around you. And before you can even cry, she whispers "No matter what the future holds, it's you my heart beats for."
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Astarion X Tav/Reader
Judas
Drabble under cut.
When Astarion gets his first taste of real blood and power, he finds himself falling victim to the throes of his own pleasure. Some part of him is aware of her asking him to stop but power, it turns out, can flood all else.
Warnings: temporary character death, hurt no comfort, trauma, (accidental) murder, unhealthy relationships, abuse, Astarion is not coping™️
My body’s covered in teeth marks
You ruin everything you touch
Destroy anyone you love
“-Tarion?” Her bleary eyes barely blinked open as he crouched over her, like a pale ghost in the night. When her eyes glinted with recognition, her body relaxed again down into her bedroll and her eyes slid shut in exhaustion.
“What’re you doing?” She mumbled into the thick blanket below her. Her voice was tired but held nothing but fondness for the elf. No fear. No suspicion. No disgust. It made him feel sick.
It had to be her. Neither the Sharren nor the Githyanki could be trusted and from the moment he’d pulled her to the ground and watched her instinctually look to the other two for help, he’d set his plan in motion. She’d followed along so easily that he had been sure for the first few days that it had to be some kind of trick. She laughed at his jokes, the mean ones too, and he saw the flash of guilt cross her face when she did. She asked his opinion on what to do, and clung to his advice. She offered him swords, and potions, and food. She blushed when he stood too close and she spent most of their conversations looking anywhere but him. The rapt admiration was sweet and exactly what he needed. Someone kind and naive who would have his back until he could rid himself of Cazador.
It also had to be now. They’d been making their way through these grubby woods for over a week. He’d been set free into the world and here he was still slinking around in the dirt and eating vermin - afraid and starved. The trust was there but he needed a night when there wouldn’t be opportunity for pesky conversation and resistance. Today they’d slaughtered a full grown Owlbear in its nest and everyone had all but collapsed into their makeshift beds.
She blinked up at him again. She’d noticed his quiet ruminating. “Astarion?” She shuffled to face him.
“Are you ok?”
He shushed her and pushed her to lie back down under him. Her face remained painted with surprise but the pink hue that grew over her features set his mind at ease. Yes, he’d planned for all of this. All he had to do was take it. Leaning down so that his lips tickled at her ear, he inhaled deeply. Her heart was thrumming so hard that he could see the pulse of her neck swell in rhythm. He swore he could already taste her.
“Do you trust me?” A truthful nod as she bit her lip.
“Im starving and you’re the only one who can help me.” He tells himself that the desperation in his voice is all a part of the act. He lowers his lips to that jumping flesh at her nape and nips, fighting the urge to break the dam of flesh. He glances up when she doesn’t react. Watches the expression on her face cycle from confusion, to surprise, to understanding. He watched it all fall into flame in her little head and then heart her voice break the silence.
“Will it hurt?” He tells her only hurt for a moment but that it will be worth it. He’ll be able able to protect them better. He’d be so thankful. He knew she wasn’t the kind of person to saw ‘no’.
“And do you promise you’ll stop?” Yes. He’d never hurt her, he said. He recognised her loneliness and desperation. He saw that same wounded animal in her that he lived with and luckily, he knew all the pretty words to tame it.
She agreed then. A quick nod of her head and he had latched home. Her face contorted as his fangs sank in and he felt her body jerk and her breath shudder. She hissed and tried to regain her breathing, feeling his hand brush over her cheek in an attempt at comfort. A burning ache bloomed and pulsed over her.
Astarion swore he was in rapture. Her blood seeped into him and suddenly nothing else mattered. Heady and sweet and intoxicating, he suckled at her delicate neck and all at once felt drunk. His first. His first freedom. His first friend. His first pleasurable meal. He tried to pin the feeling the had overcome him. It felt a bit like lust, but undeniably darker. This is what had been denied to him for his whole life, yet here he was, crouched double like a predator feasting after a hunt. Nobody was ever going to deny his anything ever fucking again.
She whined and tried to ease her head away from the source of pain. The gentle petting at her cheek grew more purposeful and his hand grasped her jaw, pushing and tilting her head back for better access. Her heart stuttered and quickened at his forcefulness and he groaned as her sanguine spirit filled his mouth and coated his chin, rushing too fast for him to keep up. She moved her hands to pat against his shoulders.
“Astarion that’s enough. It’s so sore.” Her voice quivered and in it he could hear the tears that had filled her eyes.
“Almost. Please. Just a little more.”
He didn’t wait for a response as he returned to drinking her down, lapping up what he missed in the seconds he wasted with his fangs outside of her. She sobbed softly as her wounds were filled once again, her body shook softly as she tried to stop her tears. He tried to find that beautiful place of pleasure and disassociation again but he felt torn back to the present every time she sniffed and hiccuped. No. This was so unfair. He deserved this and she couldn’t just ruin this moment by trying to make him feel bad. He could put up with her being selfish in every situation but not now. For once, this wasn’t all about her. She began to beg him to stop again but he silenced her by his rotating his hand to clamp over her mouth and jaw. He felt panting on his palm and she began thrash slightly. He drove down onto her, the weight of bone and limb pinning her to the scratchy blanket. He drank and focused on the sweet taste, unsure if his mind was running too fast or not at all. She wanted to be his friend. She had wanted to help. She had said yes.
The muffled pleading against his hand slurred, then slowed and her hands fell from their grip on his shoulders to the ground at her own. Astarion didn’t know how long she was like that. So quiet and still. When it dawned on him it felt like a bolt of ice down his spine. He pulled his teeth from her and kept his head in the nape of her neck. He stayed like that for a while, too scared to move. A corned rat. His gaze remained forward. Her skin was so pale. The gouges in her neck were clumsy and animalistic. The skin was torn and stretched from his starved gnawing and they still oozed with the last of her ichor. It painted over her neck and chest, saturated the pale yellow blanket she lay on, wet the curls splayed around her. He didn’t know how long it took to find the courage to look at her. When he did he felt like he could vomit his meal over her pretty dress. Her lips were hued a pale blue, fallen open and twisted in a silent scream. Her cheeks looked gaunt and gone was any trace of the rosy blush she so often looked at him with. It was her eyes that turned his stomach, causing it to flutter uncomfortably every time he met them. They were sunken and darkly ringed, vessels streaking the milky whites. They were aimed up at the sky, pointing to slightly different angles the way only a corpse could. They were glassy and he followed the tracks that her tears had taken from them. It felt wrong looking at her like this - dirty. He knew she’d hate this. She always tried to look her best in front of him. He, however, couldn’t bring himself to look away. He had to face what he was. A monster in the night. A Judas at the table. He’d come to her, a friend in the night and he’d broken every ounce of trust and affection he had ever possessed. He could still feel the burn of her hands against him, pushing softly but desperately. She was so scared but even then she didn’t want to hurt him.
He scrambled back, never looking away from her, as if he half expected her corpse to come rambling at him, clawing and shrieking for revenge. When he felt at a safe enough distance from the uncanny gaze of the husk that had housed her, he cried. He cried himself and he cried for the unfairness of it all. He cried because he, even while drowning in his shame, he couldn’t deny the dark tickling thought that this was still the best night of his entire life. He tried to cry for her too. For the scar he’d carved into her tonight. The one that hides deep in the viscera of your being, warping you into a hound that snaps at any hand offered. The kind he knew most intimately.
Bloodied face buried into his hand, his eyes eventually opened again to meet the night. He yanked the leash and his empathy entered back into its cage, whimpering. He couldn’t feel because he had to survive this. This would be one of those moments he bottled up with the intention of keeping it there until he died - any of these days now. He rose to his feet and started to rifle through her worn backpack, fishing for her scroll of revival, and doing everything he could to not look at her disgusting, empty face. His head was swimming with how he could salvage this. He had to keep his cool. As much as he wished he could dash her cadaver far away and never have to think of her again, the others would kill him if he left her dead. If he dragged her heavy body into the thick of the woods and brought her back now, he might be able to avoid their travelling companions finding out anything had happened. The tear stains were still visible too so it would be easier to convince her that this was all a giant accident and he was very, truly sorry. He was sure if he told her a just enough about his past, for sympathy and to justify (because it was justifiable as far as he cared) his lack of control, and really leaned into just how good she tasted and how she was such a decadent feast that he couldn’t stop that she’d be charmed again in no time. Sure, he’d give her a few days to get over it. He guessed she should be allowed that. As long as she didn’t hold it over him and starve him just like Cazador did. He had had a taste now and she would not deny him her cherry wine again.
He took a comforting breath and readied the scroll. She would forgive him because she had nobody else. She needed him and he needed her. He didn’t care if it was through fear or love she pledged her loyalty but when he forced her soul back into her body, he was going to ensure it was promised to him all the same before he let her leave here. Both of their survival depended on it.
A/N: I finished writing this at 5am and I need to be awake at 8 so apparently both me and my Tav make some very questionable choices. I love Astarion and I love soft, emotionally healing Astarion but here’s some whump nobody asked for set very early game. He’s struggling to make good choices, and questioning what the point is of doing that anyway when he’s no doubt going to be under everybody’s feet eating rats in a sewer again. If he can’t control the inevitable return to his torture then god forbid he doesn’t get to at least once feel what it’s like to be the one on top. The one in control. This was my take on a very emotionally stunted and repressed Astarion and how cruel one can be while stumbling into personhood and testing the limits of newfound power over others.
#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x oc#astarion x female tav#astarion x female reader#astarion#astarion bg3#bg3 astarion#bg3 oc#bg3#bg3 art#baldurs gate 3#original character#character death#tw blood#tw dead body#vampire#astarion imagine#astarion drabble#dark Astarion#astarion fanfic#astarion fanart#original content#original art#astarion headcanons
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how does boobtat! jk act when he knows he has a hot gf and everybody at the function wants her 😣
i lurv u anon and i love me some possessive jk
warnings: possessive jk! he isn't written by colleen hoover, though so there's no crazy possessive violence or rough sex. classic ily kink, jk is sooooo faurking in love, soft sex . mentions of violence tho cuz he does wanna beat up all the bitches oc gets
wc: 1.3k
jeon jungkook is at the crux of the worst dilemma known to man: should he have stayed home and let you come to this party alone, or should he have accompanied you even if he knew that it would piss him off.
the route to this point was simple; he has a hot girlfriend, who’s wearing a hot dress (that he bought her). the reason he’s pissed off, however? he can’t quite place it. everyone at this party knows that you’re his girl — you literally have a tattoo of his initials that you flaunted on instagram the second it healed and you found a shirt that would complement it without making you look like a (your words) ‘bimbo’. but perhaps the fact that every man in the room knows that the two of you are dating and yet, still manages to act crude is what’s setting him off.
either that, or it’s jealousy. but jungkook would rather die than process that ugly emotion and let the dam break, so he chooses to click his jaw and look over at you instead.
he gathers two things: a) yeah, you’re really fucking hot, and b) he needs to break the bartender’s jaw for attempting to look at your chest. jungkook, for the sake of his crystal clean criminal record, chooses to focus on the former. he thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the room, and while the fact that everybody else also does is hurting his ego, he cannot begin to think about it when you laugh, and his world blurs just a bit.
it’s cinematic, really. the ‘girl you fall for at a party and can never really get over’ trope, except he’s lucky and you’ve fallen for him just as hard (which is a lie, because he’s smitten and would die for you). but you’re wearing a pretty maroon slip dress and it doesn’t hug your curves — for which he thanks the lord; if anybody truly got a good look at your chest he wouldn’t be able to ignore it — and your hair is pinned behind your head and you’re wearing that lipstick that he thinks he’d be okay with staining his favorite white dress shirt if it means he gets your lips on his skin. it’s called ‘taupe’ by Mac and its actually quite a pretty shade, and jungkook would happily buy you a billion more tubes of it because you meet eyes with him from the bar, and the party blurs because that his girl walking towards him right now.
he loves the way you walk, loves knowing that he’s marked the miles and miles of skin that run beneath that dress, loves knowing that your destination is him and not all the other men who are making it really hard for him to not process the aforementioned ugly emotion — he loves knowing you’re his, loves knowing that the second drink in your hand is undoubtedly a scotch on the rocks for him, and he loves knowing that the feeling of unadulterated hatred every man in here has for him, knowing that you’re ‘jeon jungkook’s girl’ is mutual, because if you didn’t look so good walking towards him right now, he’d go up to each one of them, fuck his criminal record.
he’s proven right when you make your way to him, perfectly manicured hand reaching behind to his nape, the other handing him his drink — a scotch on the rocks with a twist — grinning as he pulls you into a kiss that’s far from chaste.
“wanna get out of here, baby?”
the frown on your face gives him your answer.
“we’ve only just gotten here, my love. what’s up?”
he’s a little too focused on the way your lips move, and the way your voice seems to turn his head into mush when you speak, so gentle and so fluent that it has his nerve ending faltering for just a moment. he can’t bring himself to say anything when you’re clearly disagreeing with him, so he avoids eye contact until they land on some guy, who seems to be just as distracted by you. only, that is, by your body.
his eyes rake down your figure, conveniently ignoring where you’re practically molding into jungkook, conveniently ignoring his hands on your waist, conveniently ignoring how your lips are literally ghosting his jaw, which tightens involuntarily at this view, giving you your answer.
your head shifts to meet the other man’s eyes, which snap away quickly as jungkook’s expression switches from being entirely enamored by you to willing to kill for you, and it does not go unnoticed.
“oh — oh,” you laugh, low and lighthearted and jungkook immediately forgets what he’s mad at, turning his attention to you again. “you’re jealous, huh?”
“— no. what?”
his answer’s a bit too quick, a bit too hasty for you to believe him, which is why you don’t, opting to turn around and out of his grip.
“it’s okay, ggukie. i have you right over here,” you pat the boob tattoo less than surreptitiously, which makes him shift his gaze to appear nonchalant (a stance you see right through). “and you know what, if you’re angry, maybe you can take it out on me later.”
//
he doesn’t, in fact, take it out on you.
no, you had nothing to do with the attention you were receiving, and jungkook deems it unfair to act like a Y/A novel character and blame you for being attractive, and instead, chooses to reward you, because you were his, and he could do that.
hence the languid thrusts he’s providing you with, cock filling you to the brim as he buries his face in your neck to very poorly hide the profanities he’s spewing.
they’re muffled, but you hear his words exactly: “Jesus, fuck — that’s my girl, pussy so good it’s fucking made for me. Shit.”
and he’s right, because it feels fucking incredible, the way you feel so full that it makes your breath stutter before you exhale fully, the way you feel alive and unreal all at once, how his ruts are shallow but your cunt convulses at every ridge of his cock inside of you. your knees are trembling where they wrap around his waist; a futile attempt to hold your orgasm in, but jungkook’s moaning above you, and it’s so rare that you get to see this side of him.
the side of him that’s a bit gentle for a change, the side that doesn’t shove your face into the mattress as he takes what’s his, the side of him that you love just as much as the other, because jungkook’s never aggressive, just a bit mean, which only makes you feel all the better when he flips the switch to act like this. grabbing your hands like his life depends on your touch, fingers intertwining and voice breaking as his cock twitches within you, like your very being has him being thrown off the edge —
it’s a special way to affirm that you’re his, especially when he says your name, slurred like he’s drunk on your pussy and putting every last bit of effort into not finishing before you do. especially when he rubs figure-eights on your clit and stills in you completely when you finally moan with a broken cry of his name, as if feeling you clench around him will have him gone. especially when he does cum, and he pulls you into a kiss so sloppy that it’s just teeth and you swallowing his moans when he rides the orgasm out with a “god I’m so in love with you —“
//
jungkook thinks that the beauty of philosophy comes in those dilemmas that cannot be ‘answered’ per sé, but he has an answer to the problem he posed to himself at the beginning of the night:
definitely come to the party, because being pissed off always results in him drowning in pussy. and if it’s yours, that’s even better
#jungkook#jungkook smut#bts#jungkook drabbles#jungkook x reader#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook/reader
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Another doodle from a fic. From chapter 3 of Just Breathe. It is hard to draw oxygen tubes. They look very strange. Also Teru probably has an IV in but I said we can just imagine it's there haha Also who needs backgrounds??
Snippet of this part of the fic in case my bad handwiritng is hard to read:
Teru cut him off with a quick shake of his head, his smile so wide his cheeks hurt. “It’s okay, it’s just—it's just my emotions. It’s a lot to take in. I’m really happy.” He sniffs, the tears continuing to cascade from his eyes. It’s like someone broke the dam inside him and they won’t stop. He gulps in a breath, a whimper bubbling out of him. “I-I’m sorry I just think my brain is short-circuiting.” Teru laughs around his tears, finally pulling his hand from Shigeo’s grasp and furiously rubbing at his cheeks.
Shigeo sniffs, his nose squished and red, as his mouth stretches out into a lopsided smile, tears also pouring down his face as a surprising sense of relief washes over him. “Talking about our feelings at 3am was probably a bad idea,” Shigeo laughs. “Looks like I still can’t read the room.”
Teru shakes his head quickly, “Absolutely not, you read this room perfectly.”
#mp100#mob psycho 100#terumob#mp100 fanfic + fanart#kageyama shigeo#shigeo kageyama#teruki hanazawa#my art#doodles and doodles#I like Shigeo#I think I got him how I thought about him in my head#also going to draw hair part on side for all Shigeo moving foward#I just love that look for him#speaking of hair#teru's hair is the bane of my existence haha#Why must my boy have the craziest mullet???#but I also love that their hair isn't perfect
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K is for -- The King
Ahh, The King... The one I hate to love to write for, lol. Once again, if you can tell me the number of Elvis song lyrics/titles that are lodged in here, I'll... Idk, you'll get a gold star or something 😅
No, but I really adore this character, and writing for him is a lovely experience. I hope reading for him is just as wonderful!
And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!
--
Pair: The King x g/n! Six
Dialogue: “I don’t care about anything else.”
Word: Kiss
Rating: SFW
Category: Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 1.2k
King took another deep swig of his cola, downing the remainder of it before setting the glass down onto the wooden coffee table. Sitting back in the loveseat, his hand rubbed thoughtfully over his lightly-stubbled chin.
“That is a real problem, sweetness.”
“There’s nothing we can do, really.” Their eyes blankly looked out at nothing as they spoke, their expression somber. “The Legion is relentless, and House, well, he’s a stubborn old man. All we can do is wait out the storm and hope the right side is victorious.”
“Baby, don’t be cruel.” King’s hand jostled their shoulder affectionately from where it rested over the back of the couch. “We can’t look at it that way. There’s always something we can do, if we’re brave and if we care enough to try.”
“But I don’t.”
“‘Don’t?’” He echoed, one dark brow quirked over a light, inquisitive eye.
“I don’t care enough." They repeated, "I don’t care about any of it. House can keep the strip, the Legion can fuck off, the NCR can go back to California or just sit tight and hold the dam, just… leave us out of it. Leave Freeside alone, leave me alone, leave you alone. You’re all that matters to me, King. I don’t care about anything else.”
He tutted at that, and without looking, Six could tell he'd flinched at their words.
“It hurts me to hear you talk that way, baby. You’re always on my mind, you know that, but… You’re not all that’s there, and I wouldn’t want it that way for me in that own sweet head o' yours.”
“It’s just… hard to care, when there’s so little hope.” Six’s head leaned against King's chest as they fell into him, and his arm around their shoulders held them all the tighter. “You’ve been the only one I could depend on, the only one who’s believed in me, trusted me.”
“I don’t know what to say, sweetheart. When it comes to you, I just can’t help believin’.” He felt their smile against his chest as he said it. “But that don’t mean I’m the only one, an' even if I was, wouldn’t mean there’s nothing we can do.”
“How can you be so sure we can make a difference– or, well, you can make a difference, I mean, you’re The King.” Their body shook as they laughed against him, and King found himself smiling sadly. “But me…”
“Believe it or not, love, I wasn’t always who I am right now. Was just another bloke in New Vegas, is all…”
“You’re right.” Six wrapped their arms around his waist, sinking deeper into the tender contact. “I don’t believe that. I can’t imagine you as anyone but who you are.”
King’s other hand went to wrap around them as well, squeezing them tightly into him as he hummed.
“Hmm. Well, who am I? To you?”
They blinked up at him, giving The King a chance to admire the sheer wonder of them. Their eyes, the affection there, the beauty of the color; their face, the honesty of their expression.
Who am I? He repeated the question to himself. A man who’s in love with you. That much, I know.
“To me?" They asked, pulling him gently from his thoughts, "Well, I thought I made it clear with what I told you earlier, you… You’re the one I care about, the one who believed in me–”
“Who still believes.” He pressed a kiss to their hairline reassuringly.
“Right. But, um, god, I don’t know, you’re just… You’re kind, you’re fair, you’re the only one who seems to care for the actual people of New Vegas and Freeside, not just the place itself or what it has to offer you. You’re a good man, King. One of the only ones I’ve ever met in this messed up world, and I can’t imagine that all that changed when you started going by ‘King’ instead of… whatever your name was before."
King chuckled openly at that, his mirth jostling Six in their seat.
"I love you," They continued, and the gang leader felt his heart bound and dance in his chest, "And everything you stand for... and I can’t imagine that would change either, no matter how much influence you have. No matter what anyone calls you.”
His heart swelled all the more at that, a fog creeping into his stormy eyes, as The King cleared his throat. He couldn’t even respond, not to that-- how could he? When his vocal chords felt like they were closed up tight as a steel-coated vault?
No, instead, one hand came up to guide Six’s chin up to face him, and he leaned down to give them a proper kiss; one that surely, had they been standing, would’ve ended in a romantic dip, one that made his heart and mind hold hands, as they so rarely had the opportunity to do, one that made his lashes flutter and Six’s breath hitch.
“It’s amazing.” He finally whispered as he pulled away, his warm breath cascading over Six's still-parted lips and leaving his partner in a lovely daze that King himself had only just managed to shake.
“W-what?” Six stuttered as their eyes blinked open.
“Well, how do you think I feel? Hearin' everything you just said, and thinking, my, now that sounds familiar.”
Six’s eyes narrowed, obviously not quite following him.
“It’s just the way I think of you, baby. All you said, I could say it right back, and not change a thing but the names. Before you were Six, I know you don’t know for sure, you can’t quite remember, but love, you were good then, too. I just know it.”
King couldn’t help himself, he kissed them again, this time on the forehead, and he smiled into it as they pressed forward, reveling just the same as him in the sweet gesture.
“And, jus' for the record, you do have the influence. You were the one decided this whole thing, you remember? The courier with the chip that changed the fate of New Vegas.”
Six stiffened against his arm, still wrapped about their shoulders.
“I know it’s a lot, baby. Trust me. It’s hard luck, what all you were saddled with, but it had to be for a reason. It had to be because you could handle it, you could make the difference this place needs.”
He felt them take a shaky breath now, and though he was relieved that he was getting through to them, King’s chest couldn’t help but ache at the pressure Six was facing.
“It doesn’t have to be tonight, though, darlin’.” He hauled them ever closer, practically pulling them into his lap, as he clasped his hands together with them snugly in his adoring grasp. “No, just… love me tonight. I want you with me, and that’s all.”
His lips pressed to them, and they readily kissed him back, delving into the contact like it was a pleasant escape route. And how could he blame them?
“Just for tonight, we can make the world go away.” King whispered between sweet presses of his lips against theirs.
“An' we can work on saving it tomorrow.”
#2k event#2k celebration#secret event#fallout#fallout companions#fallout npc#fallout new vegas#fallout new vegas npcs#fallout nv#fonv#new vegas#fnv#the king fallout#the king fonv#the king x six#courier six
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If You're Gonna Break My Heart
summary: it's always hard to leave when there is still love there. Inspired by the Inhaler song.
warnings: Hurt no comfort and Angst.
word count: 1.2k
The sun peeks through the black curtain creating beautiful streaks of light that hit the hardwood floor. Though you have been awake for a while you can not bear to move. You just sit and stare at the room around you. Memories of a distant but happier time play through your mind. It’s funny how this room used to be a sanctuary where you could hide away from the troubles of the world. Now it just feels cold, and somehow foreign. Time can do so much to everything around us. It brings about change, which is kind of humorous; you can’t handle change. In doing so you would have to rip the bandage off, and lord knows that’s the last thing you want to do.
You feel the bed shift a bit, and your body tenses in anticipation. “Are you awake,” a deep yet hesitant voice breaks the silence. You feel like you are almost frozen in time. Head still clouded as you feel slightly faded from last night. The slight haze on your mind almost makes this moment surreal, but you could only wish that this wasn’t reality. “Yea”, was all you could muster up, releasing the pressure in your chest. You didn’t even notice you were holding your breath.
You feel so cold and alone. His warmth was only an inch away, but did little to ward the feeling. He is so close, yet unreachable. You wonder where did y’all go wrong. It would be a lie to say that you didn’t see this coming. Honestly you wish that you could’ve been more oblivious to this moment, or really all the signs leading up to now. From the way he used to look at you like everything he needed was right there within you, but as you turn around to face him all you see is a sea of melancholy and the care that he will always hold for you within those soft brown eyes. You feel the tears almost well up, but you hold fast. You don’t want to make this harder for the both of you.
“I don’t know what to say,” his words cut through the tense air. You almost laugh at his statement. What is there to say? You could feel the rift growing for months, yet it went ignored. Because when you love someone so much it can be hard to let go. It’s almost blinding. When you look at someone you love; it’s hard not to overlay the good times over the bad. Imbuing the moment with hope that it becomes reality. If you are being real with yourself, you both knew you were the one holding on the longest, and he let you. He was very patient, but a person can only cling to the past for so long. That cruel weight of carrying something that you both knew was dying is not easy. He did it anyway, because no matter what he would carry the world for you.
You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don’t need to, I already know,” you spoke softly in an attempt to steady your voice. It didn’t go unnoticed, as Ryan reached to pull you closer to him. As your body melts against his chest, you feel the dam break. It felt almost freeing to have the weight off your back, yet you can help the underlying feeling of guilt. Why couldn’t you stay strong? Why did he have to pull you from the comfortable haze over your mind? Sometimes it feels nice when you are not in the moment. Problems feel better when they feel at a distance.
“Why is this so hard?” you choke through your tears. Ryan just holds you tighter as you try to steady yourself again. Your body relaxes a bit out of habit.
Then you still for a moment as you feel moisture touch your skin. The cool feeling is like a reset to your senses. You lift your head from his chest, and you feel your heart murmur as you take Ryan in. This would be so much easier if he looked at you with disdain, or at least some ill will. You wanted so much for someone to be the bad guy, or just something to blame for this moment except life. Anything would be better than seeing him hurting as much as you. Leaving would be so much easier if you didn’t have to see his eyes brimming with heartbreak. It would be easier to let him go if you didn’t feel like you were leaving a part of yourself with him.
“Is it weird that I still love you?” you say in an almost whisper. A beat passes, and you feel like your body is buzzing. The anxiety slowly builds up in you. You start to wish that he didn’t hear you, or pretend that it was never said.
You feel Ryan shift a little closer, then his lips gently graze your forehead. The storm of doubt and worry that was clashing in your mind dissipates to a calm drizzle. “No, It’s not weird at all.” he lets out a small chuckle. “If anything it’s hard….I don’t know if I’ll ever stop…” his voice tapers into a whisper. It feels more like a subconscious thought than a statement.
This was all too much for you to handle. It needed to end. You need distance from everything regarding him. You've been holding on for dear life at the edge of the cliff, but now it’s time to let go of his hand. If you don't, who will? You need to be strong for this one last time for the both of you.
You take a long deep breath of him for the last time. Holding on to what you could before there was no turning back. The last hit before you go on a break for god knows how long. Then, you begin to push out of his grasp. You feel a bit of resistance before he ultimately gives way for you to move. A part of you wants to turn back and hold on a little longer, but that would only prolong the inevitable, yet the other just wants for the both of you to grow from this moment. A yearning for a time where you both can feel happy again with or without the other around.
In this moment that seems like a far off future as you close the door behind you. You grip the knob for a moment as you try to ground yourself. The dread is so overwhelming it’s almost like the earth's gravity doubled gluing you to this spot. How do you leave a place knowing that a part of you is going to be left behind? The scariest part is not knowing if that part of you will ever return, and if it does it will never be the same as when you left it. They say when you give something to someone that they are supposed to return it in the same or better condition, but that is so far from the truth when giving yourself.
On this diverging road before you ultimately you chose the one less traveled. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steal your raging emotions. Then you let go of the door knob, and finally take the first step to a new beginning.
Even though he handled your heart with care from the beginning to the bitter end, you wished he shattered it in a million pieces. Maybe then you would have the strength to piece it back together, and leave the pieces that screamed for him behind.
~
Author's Note:
Thank you guys for reading my first fic in a hot minute. I wanted to start up writing again after a long time of putting it down. This fandom isn't that saturated yet, so I thought this seems like a good place to start. I would appreciate some feedback, and thank you for giving this fic a shot!
#inhaler dublin#ryan mcmahon#ryan mcmahon x reader#inhaler#angst#hurt no comfort#reader insert#fanfic#inhaler x reader#eli hewson#elijah hewson#bobby skeetz#robert keating#josh jenkinson#gn reader#morning after#breakup
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Nightmare
I rewatched some epidoes and got the idea for this.
Ler: Stolas
Lee: Blitz
Summary: Blitz wakes up after a nightmare, and Stolas has an idea to cheer him up.
Warnings: mentions of sex (gotta expect that), swearing (duh). This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!
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You'll never have true friends. You'll never find true love. Remember Striker? You can't even tell who's a friend and who wants to hurt the people you're closest to.Your employees all hate you. Luna can't even bare to spend 10 minutes with you unless she has her phone to ignore you with. YOU WILL DIE COLD AND ALONE!
Blitz shot up, panting, tears streaming down his face. Stolas was above him, staring down with a concerned look on his face. He'd had another nightmare, and apparently woke Stolas up at some point. God damnit.
He turned away from the bird, curling into a ball. This was the first night he had one with Stolas around. He had come to return the book, had sex with Stolas, and fallen asleep. Shit, he didn't want that damn owl to see him like this. He looked weak.
"Blitz, are you alright?" He just grunted, still trying to dry his face. Damn nightmares, damn book, damn Stolas. Why the fuck did he have one tonight of all nights.
Stolas went over to hug him, brushing his feathery arms on his sides. He didn't expect the sound Blitz made. It was between a snort and a yelp.
"Was that a-" "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" The imp started squirming and struggling to get out of his grip. "But I fucking do." He started fluttering his fingers in Blitz's sides, and he tried his fucking best not to laugh.
"Come on now, Blitzy. You know you want to laugh, just let it out. I want to hear it, my little imp." Fuck, he was making this hard. When he reached a rib, the dam broke, and loud belly laughter rang out through the room.
"FUHUHUHUHUCK! STOHOHOHOLAHAS NOHOHOHOHO! YOU AHAHAHASS!" He was flopping around, smacking at Stolas's hands. There was only one thought in the bird's head: He is so fucking cute!
Stolas let his hands wander upwards, landing on his ribs. Blitz laughed harder, clawed at his hands and thrashed around. "SHIHIHIHIHIHIT! LEHEHEHET MEHE GOHOHOHO YOUHU DIHIHIHIHICK!"
The bird boy only stayed there a second or two, going back to gentle fluttering on his sides. "You know, you have an adorable laugh." Blitz blushed, though you could really only see it on the white side of his face. "SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP, BIHIHIRD DICK!"
Stolas scoffed, grabbing Blitz's arms and pulling them over his head. "I'll show you a dick." Since he was about to die, Blitz might as well go out a smart-ass. "Youhu already dihihid." Instead of just one one hand, Stolas used his magic to hold up the imp's arms and dug in with both.
"WAHAHAHAIT FUHUHUHUCK IHIHIHI'M SAHAHAHARRY!" He pulled as hard as he could to get his arms down, but they were frozen in place. Not being able to move them somehow made it worse.
"I didn't expect that much of a reaction, Blitzy! You really are tickilish!" When he said 'ticklish', Blitz laughed even harder, squealing a little. "What, ticklish? Does that make it tickle more? Tickley, tickle, ticklish Blitzy!" A loud snort came out through his laughter.
"Was that a snort? That was adorable! Do it again, my ticklish little imp!" Fucking bird! "OHOHOHO MYHEHEHE GOHOHO*snort*OHOD! STAHAHAHAP! STOHOHOHOLAHAS! *snort* SHIHIHIHIHIT!" Blitz kept twisting and tugging, but he couldn't move his arms even a little bit. Stolas was trying to kill him!
The owl man slowed a bit, tracing gently down his sides. "You have two choices. It's either your tail next or your horns. I'm dying to try either of them." They were both shit choices. He had no idea which would be worse. He didn't really want Stolas to mess with his head, so tail it is."Thehehe tahail."
"Excellent choice! Let's get you turned around here." Blitz felt something lift him off the bed and lay him on his stomach, Stolas sitting on his back facing his legs. At least he could wiggle a little bit this time. "3, 2, 1..... GO!"
"HahaHAHAHAHO SHIHIHIHIT! FUHUHUHUCK NO NAHAHAT THEHEHERE! *snort* STOHOHOLAHAS! DAHAHAHAHAMIHIHIHIT!" Stolas was scratching at the base of his tail, and fuck it tickled! He squirmed and pushed, but he couldn't do anything about his situation. He was screwed.
"Oh my! I'm barely even touching you, and you're laughing this hard! It must tickle very much!" Blitz pounded his claws on the mattress, trying anything to ease the ticklish shocks flowing throughout his body. It didn't do anything, though.
Tears of mirth streamed down the imp's face, which was a red, blushing mess. "PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE! NOHOHO*snort*HO! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! MOHOHOHOHOVE!" Stolas smirked. "If I move, I'm going to your horns, Blitzy. You still want me to?" He nodded his head frantically. "YEHEHEHES! PLEHEHEHEAHSE MOHOHOHOHOVE!"
Stolas turned around so he could reach his head, re-pining Blitz's hands under his knees. He stared to pinch at the skin around his horns, pulling bubbly laughter from the poor demon below him. "STohohoHOLAHAS! NohoHOhoho! QuIHIHIT ihihit!"
Stolas thought that laughter was fucking adorable. "You are so adorable, Blitzy. I should tickle you more often, yes?" Blitz shook his head as hard as he could. "NOHOHOHOhoho!" "We'll agree to disagree."
Tickling this cute little imp would outweigh watching demonic soap operas any day. He got to see Blitz so happy, carefree, and cute. He would definitely ask about the nightmares later, but for now, he would focus on this moment.
"I'm going to do one last thing, Blitzy. Then we'll be done. Sound good?" "YeheHEHES! JUHUhust gehet it OHOHOVER WIHIHITH!" Stolas flipped his over onto his back, and what he saw made his heart do backflips. Blitz was blushing like a tomato, tears of mirth on his face. His smile was so big it could spit his head in half.
Back to the matter at hand. He leaned down and began to nibble at the smaller demon's belly button. Blitz cackled. "NAHAHA! AHAHAHASSHOHOHOLE!" He thrashed around and pushed at Stolas's head, which honestly only made the little nibbles tickle more.
After two or three minutes, he stopped. The blue bird climbed off of him, going to get a glass of water. He came back and gave it to the panting imp, who gulped it down in seconds.
"Youhuh're an ahasshahat, Stoholas." This earned him a sharp poke to the side, making a stream of little giggles pour out. Him and Stolas sad there on the bed together, just listening to eachother breath.
Blitz had completely forgotten about his nightmare.
#helluva boss#ler!stolas#lee!blitzo#lee!blitz#tickle fic#tickle#sfw tickling community#comfort tickles#helluva boss tickle#helluva tickle#helluva blitzo#helluva stolas#vivziepop#blitz#blitzo#stolas
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