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satoruvt · 3 years

Text

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible.

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair.

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go.

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it.

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick.

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything.

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first.

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long.

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will.

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly.

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kpopscape #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #the8 x reader #the8 imagine #svt the8 x reader #seventeen the8 x reader #svt the8 imagine #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao imagine #svt minghao x reader #seventeen minghao x reader #minghao x reader #minghao imagine #pieces of you

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Note

could you put these together with javi? i got them from one of the pomrpt lists!!! thank you!

when one of them is hurt by the antagonist… and their lover goes… absolutely ballistic and does everything in their power to get to the person they love, to the point in which the antagonist and it’s crew have to physically restrain them… and it still doesn’t stop them… they jsut keep kicking… doesn’t matter what happens to them… doesn’t matter if they get beaten in the process… as long as their lover is safe…

when they haven’t seen each other for a while (bonus point if they��re not sure the other one is alive) and all this time they’ve been trying to stay strong, but when they reunite, they crash into each other’s arms, and completely breakdown…

anon ur speaking my language here

warnings below the cut: cannon-typical violence, painkiller usage

javi spits out the blood in his mouth before turning his gaze back up at the sicario crouched before him.

it lands on the dirt floor of the basement with a wet sound. the sicario’s eyes--so strung-out that his pupils have been reduced to twin pinpricks of black against his sickly green irises--flick down to the puddle of red-black liquid before resuming his scan of javi’s face.

“the girl means a lot to you, huh?” the sicario has an all-too-familiar texan drawl, long blond hair stringy with the gel.

“where the fuck is she.” he grits out the same mantra he’d been repeating since he broke down the back door of the warehouse. the same mantra he’d repeated as he fought off two of the men, shooting one of them in the foot (twice) before he was overwhelmed by the other guards. the same mantra he repeated as they forced him to the ground, kicking his ribs until breathing was an issue. didn’t matter. he kept fighting regardless. it took two men to twist his arms behind his back like this, both of whom he got a jab or two against before they wrestled him to the ground.

“think that’s it. she your little play-thing? didn’t realize men like you still got hot for teacher.” the sicario cocks his head like a dog might, itching behind his ear with his glock in mock-thought. “though i suppose the whores get old after a while. y’know where we grabbed her? the fucking library. the whole sweet and innocent shick must really get your rocks off.” he laughs. a cruel, sharp bark. javi didn’t understand the meaning of blind rage until this moment.

“i’ll fucking kill you,” javi grits his teeth as one of the men restraining him twists his shoulder back even further. “i swear to god if you laid a hand on her i’ll--”

the sicario makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes and standing, as if even the suggestion was insulting. “not my style,” he pauses for a second, then gestures to one of the men holding javi down. “bull, however, if i decide to give him the chance...”

javi doesn’t register the surge of energy that has him attempting to struggle to his feet again. he only processes being pushed flush with the floor again, the sharp crack of pain that rolls through him enough to still the breath in his throat.

“i can get you money,” it’s hard to speak around the blood flooding his mouth but he manages. “money, information, whatever you want. whatever the fuck you want. just tell me where--”

the windows break all at once. javi stays flush against the group as the weight on top of him lifts, the sound of gunfire loud enough to have his hearing go to nothing more than a dull whine.

he doesn’t know how much time passes before someone rolls him onto his back. he coughs, something warm and wet covering his chin and rolling down the sides of his neck. someone’s voice is speaking to him, urgently, as a bright light is shone into his eyes but it’s nothing more than a murmur over the high-pitched tone bouncing through his skull. he thinks he might be saying something, might be trying to blindly bat the flashlight away because it hurts and he keeps trying to blink away the fuzzy haze that has settled over his vision. the world goes dark without warning.

you wake up in a hospital bed, heavy eyelids sliding open as your head rolls to the side. for a second you can do nothing more than take in deep lungfuls of air and listen to the steady beeping of the monitor to your right.

the painkillers getting pumped into your arm renders your tongue thick and heavy in your mouth, your throat dry enough that you can barely croak out a small: “javi” without wincing.

there’s a cool hand against your forearm, giving you a reassuring pat. you have to blink a few times before the nurse’s kind face comes into focus.

“he’s alright,” she tells you. her spanish, soft and sing-song and warm with relief, is as much as a reassurance as the hand she has on your forearm. something in you automatically relaxes. you think it’ll be a while before you can hear an american accent again without something within you curling in on itself with fear. without warning, the sicario’s face reappears in your memory, a jolting enough apparition that you squeeze your eyes shut again, flinching. the nurse notices, her voice growing even calmer. “he’s alright. resting, but alright. go back to sleep, you need your strength right now.”

you comply, though it’s not really a choice on your behalf. you just blink again and suddenly all other sounds fade, your eyelids sliding shut.

they make you down a meal of saltines and apple-juice before javi can come into the room.

you can see javi’s silhouette on the other side of the small pane of glass above the doorknob as you patiently work your way through the packet of crackers. you can’t help the loopy smile that overtakes your face while you see the silent movements of him arguing with the nurse outside. the frustrated way he throws his hands up and then starts pacing small circles in front of the closed door.

when you finish nursing the small box of juice that they gave you, the nurse who was helping you unwrap the saltines’ plastic sheaths--your hands too shaky to manage on your own, which was a bit embarrassing--stands and opens the door just wide enough to slip through.

you wait, entire body stilling as the two of them speak quietly outside, the monitor beside you betraying the beat of your hear. your breath catches in your throat as you see the knob turn down. it hesitates for a second before the door swings open.

you nearly start weeping when you see him. he looks panicked, wide-eyed and scanning you from the other side of the room as if you were about to break at any second. you swallow, opening your mouth to begin saying his name and--

javi crosses the distance between the threshold and your bedside in two long strides. you do your best to sit up to meet him half way, ignoring the whirring series of beeps that the monitors release with the movement. you collapse against him, his arms folding you against his chest with a touch gentle enough to demonstrate he at least absorbed at least some of whatever the nurse told him. you can practically feel the restraint it takes him not to crush you to him in reassurance that you were actually here. that this wasn’t some delusional mirage. he peppers the top of your head with kisses, one of his hands gently cupping the side of your face. his are shaking as much as yours are.

you don’t realize you’re crying until you pull back to look at him, cupping your palms against his cheeks and searching every feature, every new inch of swollen bruising, the stitches collected just above his brow that will no doubtably form a new scar for you to kiss before the two of you fall asleep each night.

“i’ve got you,” he breaths, closing his eyes and gently leaning his forehead against yours. your thumb swipes the under-eye of the unbruised side of his face as you look at him with relief, feeling truly safe for the first time in weeks. “no matter what. fuck i-- you--”

you cut him off with a kiss, something that’s both hungry and reassuring. he sinks against your mouth as he gathers you against the warmth of his body once more.

and it feels like home. it always will.

requests are open !

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #thots (tm)#javi thots

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

Text

Sweater Weather- Mutual Pining for Jay’s 400 Follower Bingo!!

He’d found it after a movie night, draped over the back of the couch. He held it up to confirm and yep. There was no mistaking the hood and the bulky black sleeves. It looked like it may have gone through the dryer about twelve times too many and the zipper pull was barely hanging on. He let his thumb rub against the hem of the sleeve, shaking his head. Jaskier tucked the hoodie under his arm as he pulled out his phone, smiling to himself.

geralt

u left ur hoodie

its cold and everything how do u forget that

ur worse than ciri smh

Just hold onto it, I’ll grab it next time.

And I am not worse than Ciri. I’m not the one who’s left his phone in the Denny’s bathroom at 2am…. Twice…

Last month.

shhhhh :P

Throwing his phone down, Jaskier went to his closet. He was going to just hang up the hoodie and Geralt would get it eventually. Honestly, he was going to put it away. But then he pressed his face into the shoulder and sighed.

This was wrong. He should just hang it up and return it when they saw each other again. He wasn’t about to let this silly little infatuation with Geralt ruin a perfectly good friendship. Especially not over a stupid hoodie.

Unfortunately, Jaskier's self restraint had taken the night off. Before he could stop himself, Jaskier was sliding his arms in, zipping up the front and crawling into bed. One night of indulging wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Even if it felt like his chest was splitting open. He shifted a little under the covers, burying his nose into the collar as he drifted off to sleep. They had been through so much together since they met in high school, wasn’t Jaskier allowed this one little thing, just this once?

-o-O-o-

i still have ur hoodie

u want it back cause we could like meet up for coffee

we could go to the nag :)

He snapped a picture of the hoodie and a travel mug in his passenger seat, sending it off.

Can’t today. :(

Parent teacher meetings and then Dad wants us to help him fix the roof.

I could use my hoodie today, it’s cold…

omgl finally

thought id have to do it

Jask… no.

:/ fine then

see if i try to be helpful again

jk jk

dont die

I dont wanna do handywork :3

Geralt had been right. It was cold, and Jaskier had forgotten his own jacket at home. He frowned down at the hoodie and sighed. It was only because it was chilly. Nothing else. He tried to ignore how it still smelled so strongly of Geralt. He walked around the gallery wrapped in Geralt’s hoodie, the front unzipped and his hands buried in the sleeves.

-o-O-o-

hehe crispy leaf time

the cold is coming

Yes, Jaskier. That’s how seasons work

u know what that means~

Geralt did not in fact, know what that meant but he soon found out. He was in the middle of typing when a picture came up with the caption “stolen hoodie weather :3” with Jaskier curled up on his couch at home, snuggled up in the black zip up hoodie Geralt only remembered leaving there early last Spring.

Something in his stomach flipped and he looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Why? Why would it matter if someone saw him? It was just Jaskier.

He frowned and started typing again. He stopped and erased it, fighting down the small smile that was starting to tilt the corners of his mouth.

You kept it?

Way to go, Geralt. That was really fucking smooth. What was he supposed to mean by that?

unlike u :(((

abandoner of hoodies

some of us appreciate the gift of comfort geralt

Geralt felt like his brain was melting. That thing in his stomach seemed to purr with satisfaction at the idea of Jaskier wearing his hoodie. It was petty and ridiculous and oh no, Geralt couldn't take his eyes off the way the black material framed Jaskier's collarbone.

No. No no. This way lay madness, he told himself. He would simply get the hoodie back and that was that.

hey when do u wanna do our next movie night

its been like

7099039 years

Geralt hesitated for a moment. He had never hesitated when it came to Jaskier. They had known each other for far too long.

Sure. My turn to pick?

not if u choose a history documentary

Spy movie?

:0 promise?

yes pls

Should I bring wine?

Wait, no that would be a very bad idea.

:) you know it

bring the good shit

eskels secret one

i know you can find it

It’s called “google” Jaskier. Even I know that. And I will see what I can do.

same time and place as normal right

It’s a date.

Geralt felt as though his soul had left his body when he had hit send. Had he lost his entire mind? He was in the middle of typing a follow up, trying to word the best way to dismiss his complete and total departure from sanity when the little dots popped up then disappeared then popped up again.

It’s a date. :)

Jaskier nearly slammed the door back into Geralt’s face in shock. Geralt was standing in the hall, bottle of wine in one hand, movie and carry out in the other. Then there was the shirt. Jaskier had actually helped him pick it out. The black button up, the sleeves rolled up and was his hair actually combed back? He looked good. Jaskier swallowed hard. He looked really damn good.

But that wasn’t even the weird part. No, the weird part was the way Geralt’s eyes widened when he had opened the door. He recovered quickly though, nodding at Jaskier as he stepped in.

“Didn’t think you’d let the apartment be cold enough you’d need to wear a hoodie.” He smirked, setting the bag down on the table before going right into the kitchen.

“Comfort, Geralt. I’m telling you, I just don’t think you appreciate it enough.” Jaskier followed him in. It was routine for them, the way Geralt got the wine open, Jaskier grabbed plates and silverware; the way they bickered and snarked, barely suppressing laughs through barbs.

-o-O-o-

The coffee table was littered with cartons of orange chicken and fried noodles. Geralt set his plate down as he leaned back, slinging his arm across the back of the couch. He had to smile at the sense of deja vu that struck him. Casino Royale wasn’t just a comfort movie for them. It had been their first movie night nearly fifteen years ago.

By now, they could practically quote the entire thing, make quips at Bond’s smugness and only just sit through that one scene without wincing. At least that’s what they told themselves.

Now they watched as Bond and Vesper reconnect outside of that fancy English rehab center. Jaskier chorused him as they both rolled their eyes and sighed at Bond’s shitty lines about little fingers.

“God he’s the worst.” Jaskier took a sip of wine, making a gagging sound.

“Quantum still exists.” he chuckled.

“Valid!” Jaskier set his wine down.

Geralt leaned over as Bond delivered his next line, syncing his tone and dropping into a soft gravelly murmur.

“Whatever I am, I’m yours.” It was supposed to be cheesy and ridiculous but Geralt found that it felt far too honest. There was truth to them that he couldn’t think to deny now.

Jaskier nearly choked as he looked up, his eyes going wide. Geralt watched as he leaned into his personal space. Time felt like it stuttered to a halt in that moment, Jaskier inches from him, still draped in his hoodie. Geralt wet his lips anxiously. The tension between them felt like a powerline pulled too tight; everything seemed to crackle with it.

“Geralt-”

Whatever he was going to say was lost the second Geralt closed the distance, pressing his mouth to Jaskier’s. It was nearly magnetic and there was no pulling away. Geralt’s hands strayed down to Jaskier’s thighs without his realizing it. There was no way he could stop himself now. He’d wanted this for far too long to just let it go. Part of him would mourn the loss of his oldest friendship, but that was Tomorrow Geralt’s problem.

Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer as Geralt tugged Jaskier into his lap clumsily.

Geralt had to break the kiss first, pulling back gasping for air and pressing their foreheads together.

“Jask… Wait. Wait,” Geralt choked. He had to tilt his head back to get his words out as Jaskier dipped back in to start kissing him again. “Shit. Jaskier…” He already sounded wrecked to his own ears. His hands were on Jaskier’s hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles against his sides as he looked up, eyes searching. “Are you sure you want this?”

He needed to hear it. He needed to know he was allowed to have this. It was one thing to say it would be Tomorrow Geralt’s problem, but it was another to actively throw away the best friendship he had ever had. He had spent too long pretending they could be just friends for it to fall apart like this.

Jaskier crowded in closer and it took everything in him not to just give in to it because fuck that felt amazing. There was an easy smile across his lips that made Geralt feel like he was starving.

“Geralt, I swear to the gods, don’t you dare start questioning this now,” as open as his face was, his voice trembled slightly. It was then that Geralt realized that Jaskier was practically vibrating under his palms. It was instinct the way he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him closer. “I’ve been wanting this for at least a solid decade.”

Geralt blinked hard as he gaped up at Jaskier.

“Are you really that surprised, Geralt?” Jaskier hummed, leaning back down and pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Hmm. Maybe not.” He found himself chuckling, trying to breathe around the bubble of light that was threatening to fill his entire chest. He caught Jaskier’s mouth again, his hand coming up to slide into his hair, holding him close.

It was hard to tell who had deepened the kiss further but the laughter died on his tongue when he felt Jaskier roll his hips down into his lap. Suddenly everything was too much and achingly not enough. The hoodie slipped down Jaskier’s shoulders and what little attention span Geralt had left zeroed into that same spot along Jaskier’s collarbone.

Pulling Jaskier closer, he made a trail of graceless open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down the firm column of his neck, his teeth raking over the spot with careless abandon. He was rewarded with a soft keen and Jaskier squirming in his arms. Long dexterous fingers wound into his hair, cradling his head as his own found their way up the back of Jaskier’s shirt.

“Geralt-” There was a tug in his hair and fuck shit yes. He must have made some kind of noise because he felt Jaskier chuckle fondly. “Geralt, as much as I am enjoying this,” he gasped, back arching as Geralt nipped just below his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

There was no arguing with that tone nor could he bring himself to find anything to argue about. Geralt tilted his head back up, Jaskier’s lips crushing in against his, taking every last remaining shred of doubt away. He felt his body switch to autopilot as he scooped Jaskier up from under his thighs, pleased at the way his legs wrapped around him automatically. He carried him easily, stopping only for a moment to pin Jaskier to the wall to adjust his grip under him, long enough to flick the lights off.

Jaskier snorted, pulling away. “So considerate.” He teased. Geralt gave him a playful swat on his thigh and the chuckling was cut off by one of those delicious keening noises.

Geralt half stumbled, half marched to where he knew Jaskier’s bedroom to be, blindly pushing the door open with his foot. He let himself bask in the heat of Jaskier’s body pressed to his, taking his bottom lip and biting it.

The reality of where he was came crashing down on him and time was doing that thing again, slowing down as someone else with his hands kneeled against the side of the bed, letting them both tumble back into ridiculously lavish sheets. Years of habitual teasing were only tamped down by Jaskier’s insistent fingers making quick work of the buttons on the front of Geralt’s shirt.

“You just had to wear this one, didn’t you.” Apparently not everyone was so distracted not to tease. “Do you know how hard it was not to just pull you into my apartment and kiss that ridiculous face of yours?”

Geralt gave a wry smile. “Do you know how hard it’s been for fifteen years, being your best friend and thinking I would never get to kiss that beautiful face of yours?”

He had to bite the inside of his lip as Jaskier’s whole face and neck flushed brilliant pink in the low light.

“Geralt!” he practically whined and Geralt couldn’t stop from laughing softly at that, bending back down to kiss him again. He decided he couldn’t help himself, not really.

This was too good. If he could just bottle this moment and tuck it away for every rainy day for the rest of his life, he would.

“I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you now.” Geralt hummed happily. He shifted, the hand under Jaskier’s thigh moving to tug his hips flush with Geralt’s as his other hand moved to cup his face. “As long as you’re okay with that.”

Geralt was pretty sure they were too far gone to ever go back, but even now, he had to make sure.

“Geralt Roger Eric…” Jaskier groused. “If you do not come back down here and kiss-” his words were muffled by Geralt’s mouth, his tongue sliding over Jaskier’s bottom lip and swallowing whatever ridiculous threats may have been lobbed at him.

He found that kissing Jaskier had been easier than breathing. Before he knew it, Geralt was pulling back to pull off his shirt but his hands froze. He cursed under what breath he had left because the view of Jaskier under him, lips kiss bruised and shining, the needy look in his eyes, and the way his hair was pushed in every direction nearly undid Geralt completely.

He snapped back to work, stripping out of his shirt and pushing at his jeans, letting them slide away.

“C'mere you gorgeous thing.” Geralt murmured softly, pulling Jaskier to him before rolling, his back pressed up against the headboard.

Jaskier shimmied out of his own jeans before straddling Geralt’s thighs, letting his fingers trail up the planes of Geralt’s chest, a stray fingernail grazing over his nipple, making him groan. Jaskier only grinned, leaning in, and nipping at Geralt’s neck.

All Geralt could do was groan and tilt his head back, his hands sliding over Jaskier’s back. He was just aware enough to realize when Jaskier started to work his way down his body. Looking down, he watched in complete awe as nimble fingers hooked into his boxers.

The first touch of Jaskier’s mouth to the jut of Geralt’s hip had his blood singing and he could only drop his head back against the wall. He hadn’t realized how achingly hard he was until Jaskier was biting down gently on Geralt’s upper thigh making him jump.

There was a low chuckle from somewhere around his groin and then there was a sharp tug on his boxers. Jaskier wasted no time getting a hand around Geralt’s cock while he still playfully nipped at Geralt’s hip and thigh and abs. This was how he was going to die, he thought absently as he let his hand move to the back of Jaskier’s head. He let his fingers tangle there, tugging gently and Jaskier seemed to get the message though he could feel the smirk against his inner thigh.

The weight of Jaskier between his thighs, one hand sliding up Geralt’s torso as the other stroked him lightly left Geralt breathless, his eyes fluttering at every touch. But it was when Jaskier wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock that Geralt felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. He bucked his hips instinctively into the hot slick of Jaskier’s mouth before he could stop himself.

For long moments, all Geralt could do was hold on. Jaskier took him slowly, seeming to savor the newly found ground between them as he bobbed further and further until Geralt was nudging the back of his throat. He gasped, his back arching when Jaskier swallowed around him, his responding hum a little too self satisfied.

Geralt tightened his grip in Jaskier’s hair only slightly, tugging him up. It was messy and Jaskier’s mouth was open and slick, his eyes glazed slightly with a need that left Geralt breathless. He looked debauched and it was honestly the most beautiful thing Geralt had ever seen.

“Fuck,” he groaned pulling Jaskier back into his lap, his hips stuttering to grind up against Jaskier’s thigh.

Jaskier pressed in close, panting slightly as he broke a kiss that had been more teeth than anything, leaning his forehead to Geralt’s. “Mm, fuck. We- Ah,” He chuckled as Geralt dipped in to kiss him again, dodging away gracefully. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips , taking a shaky breath. “Want you to-”

Geralt was already nodding. He would agree to anything Jaskier asked for but the way his hips ground down against Geralt’s lap, it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. He wrapped a strong arm around Jaskier’s middle, rolling them gently until Jaskier was under him his knees still bracketed around Geralt’s thighs as he arched and keened.

“Under the notebook in the-” Jaskier breathed his hands not leaving Geralt’s skin for a moment, fingers greedily mapping out the lines of his back.

“I know, you haven’t changed your hiding place since college,” Geralt teased. To his surprise Jaskier snorted under him, his head tilting back in the pillows as he laughed. It left the column of his neck exposed to Geralt and he couldn’t help himself but lean down and bite small marks into it. He was rewarded by more delicious noises endlessly streaming from Jaskier.

He pulled away only for the time it would take to retrieve the lube before sliding back down into Jaskier’s arms and kissing him thoroughly. His hands traveled down Jaskier’s bare chest, his fingers brushing along the top of his boxers and he gave a low huff into Jaskier’s mouth.

“Why are these still on?” he grumbled, smirking when Jaskier rolled his eyes at him.

“Someone’s been slacking in getting me undressed,” Jaskier shot back.

TheirThere next kiss was a mess of chuckles and grins. Geralt shifted them again, moving to get Jaskier’s boxers down. The laughter died in Jaskier’s throat when Geralt’s fingers brushed low down his back and grazed over the swell of his ass, he buried his face into Geralt’s neck. Geralt didn’t tease for long before pulling away. It made Jaskier groan and nip at his neck until slick fingers returned to his entrance, circling slowly.

“Fuck!” Jaskier moaned, his hips already rocking back greedily.

Geralt quietly cursed himself for letting so much time get away from him as he slowly worked Jaskier open, enjoying the way he shivered and babbled under him with every push of his fingers. When he slipped a third finger in, Jaskier bucked under him, his eyes slamming shut as he gave a shout.

“Geralt! Fuck, dear heart, please, for the love of all that is good-” he pleaded, his hips rocking back onto Geralt’s fingers eagerly. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m going to combust.”

Geralt leaned down, muffling the rest of the curses that were probably coming with a hard kiss. Jaskier arched under him as he pulled his hands away. It was easy after that, letting their bodies slot together and letting himself slide into Jaskier’s tight warmth. It felt like a gut punch. It felt like coming home.

Jaskier wound his legs around his waist, hands reaching up to thread into Geralt’s hair as he rolled his hips, taking Geralt deeper, causing them both to groan.

“Jask.” Geralt pressed his face to Jaskier’s shoulder panting as he started a steady pace. Soon only the sound of their heavy breathing and Jaskier’s soft moans filled the room around them.

Time around them seemed to hold still as Jaskier tugged gently on Geralt’s hair, prying him away from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. The look Geralt found there left the world spinning. Jaskier’s eyes were bright and his smile warm even as his cheeks flushed. He was pliant and open and completely wrecked and the sight of him tugged at Geralt’s chest. The words came tumbling out before he could stop himself, his hips slowly rolling into Jaskier as they moved.

“I love you, Julek,” he murmured as he kissed him slowly.

Jaskier whined under him, his fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. When they finally broke apart to gasp for air, Jaskier's eyes were searching his as he bit his lip around a low moan. He huffed a wet sounding laugh as a hand slid from Geralt’s hair to rest on his cheek, a well calloused thumb tracing along his chin. “Oh, dear heart,” he shifted, canting his hips to make Geralt move. The angle shifted and Geralt seemed to nudge right against where Jaskier needed him most as he arched from the mattress and groaned.

Geralt pushed up to sit, pulling Jaskier up with him until he was in his lap. They rocked together, shuddering every time Geralt bottomed out. He gripped Jaskier’s hip tightly with one hand as his other slid between them, wrapping around Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier pushed up into his hand, swaying between his grip and his cock, they both seemed drunk on it. It was only a matter of time after that that Jaskier was crying out, Geralt’s name tumbling from his lips, his orgasm tearing through him like a whirlwind and Geralt could do nothing but hold onto him.

Geralt steadied him, his hand holding Jaskier still as he thrust up into him, reveling in the small fucked out noises Jaskier whimpered into his neck before he too was shaking apart, spilling into Jaskier with a low satisfied rumble.

They kissed again, lazy and sated, their chests a mess with Jaskier’s spend. He broke the kiss first, pulling back with that smile that always left Geralt feeling dazed.

“I love you, too. I love-” he didn’t get to finish because Geralt was pressing him down into the mattress again with a hard kiss, smiling.

He was allowed. Everything that had happened seemed to catch up with him but instead of the sheer panic he had been expecting, the only thing that wrapped around him in that moment was the bright light that was Jaskier’s answering laugh.

Everything was sore but in that pleasant kind of way after a good lay. Jaskier rolled over, pressing his nose into the pillow beside him. He smiled when he realized it still smelled like Geralt.

Geralt. Fuck!

His hand reached out before he let himself open his eyes, wincing against the bright morning light that streamed in through his windows. The space beside him was empty.

But… Geralt had said it first? Where-? Jaskier’s heart sank, his throat tightening. He knew it was too good to be true. The moment Geralt had kissed him on the couch, he had pushed down every part of him that had screamed that he was going to end up hurt by time the sun came.

He reached for his phone though he didn’t know who he was going to text. Essi wouldn’t even be awake yet on a Saturday. The space by his lamp was also empty. He realized he must have left his phone in the living room the night before when-

He tried not to think about how easily Geralt had lifted him up and carried him to bed. He had tried not to think about how there were now bruises on his hips that were shaped like Geralt’s hands or the trail of stinging bites that he would have to carry around his empty apartment for days. He pressed the heals of his hands to his eyes and groaned.

“Idiot,” he berated himself.

“Cause you left your phone in the living room and now it’s dead?” Geralt asked, pushing the door open with his foot. He was in a pair of Jaskier’s sweatpants and nothing else carrying in two cups of coffee. He looked up from where he had been concentrating, trying not to spill them. “What?”

“You’re here,” Jaskier chuckled. Something in his chest lifted and he let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“I… yes?” Geralt looked around. There was a lovely mark in the shape of Jaskier’s mouth on his shoulder and it made Jaskier’s toes curl. Geralt looked at the space beside Jaskier then at his face. He made a little oh with his mouth before he started to shake his head. “Oh! I see, hmm.” He set the coffee down gently on the side table and slid back into bed and into Jaskier’s arms. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“So we’re…” Jaskier looked away, rubbing his palms over his covered thighs. “We’re okay?” He didn’t dare hope. Not just yet. Not in the bright light of day.

“Well, that depends,” Geralt chuckled, pulling him into his lap easily. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier’s chin. “Yenn messaged. Something about brunch. I think they know. Are you okay with that?”

Jaskier snorted, leaning over to grab his coffee. “Essi. I told her it was just movie night. I tell her it’s just movie night every time and-” He realized what he was saying, the cup of coffee hovering just at his lips. He looked sideways at Geralt who was tilting his head and smirking.

“The biggest gossip we know and that’s the one you decide to confide in?” He took the cup from Jaskier’s hands and set it down again before rolling them both to pin Jaskier under him.

Jaskier squawked indignity, his arms wrapping around Geralt. He let himself be kissed and hummed happily when Geralt slotted easily back between his thighs.

“We’re going to be late for brunch,” he sighed as Geralt’s hand slipped down to his thigh, fingers brushing gently over the marks from the night before.

“Hmm, don’t care.”

They ended up missing brunch altogether but neither seemed to mind.

---

The weather was crisp and dry and Jaskier was bundled in the black hoodie, but now pressed against Geralt’s side as they walked into Magnolia’s. It had been easier than Geralt was expecting though he groaned as he watched several fairly large wads of cash exchange hands.

“Pay up, Jask,” Essi grinned.

“What?” Geralt turned, scowling. Jaskier gave a chagrined shrug as he handed over money. “So little faith?” Geralt teased.

“You too, pretty boy!” Lambert smirked across the table.

Jaskier gasped beside him, leaning away “So little faith, Geralt?” The sleeves of the hoodie fell over his wrists and Geralt only smiled, pulling him back against his side.

“I don’t mind being wrong this time.”

#geraskier #modern au #fluff and smut #friends to lovers #jays 400 follower celebration #jay writes #mind the tags on this one yall #it's spicy #and soft

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

take it back

Y’all seem to love a friends w benefits trope and I was heavily inspired by this gif that I couldn’t reblog cuz I’d probably get flagged but it looks a lot like gray if you put your mind to it. Anyways, it’s 5 AM and I can’t go back to sleep, so this is just a little something I’m typing out in the dark.

warnings: smut, might make you feel some type of way if ur a lonely bitch like me

***

There are certain rules you have to follow when you become someone’s fuckbuddy. Sometimes they’re unspoken, sometimes they’re laid out; either way, they exist, and the cardinal sin of breaking them can be worse than the act that makes those rules necessary in the first place.

It’s late — that’s well within the confines of the rules. You had hit him up a while ago, around midnight, unable to sleep and in desperate need of physical touch. A distraction from racing thoughts and an escape from the stress of the day.

The fact that it was Grayson you decided to hit up is where things maybe start to get dicey with the proverbial referee in the game of friends with benefits. Mostly because he’s becoming your one and only, the other boys on your hookup list fading from your mind when you’re faced with the opportunity to get some meaningless but satisfying sex. No one fucks you like he does, makes you cum like he does. Makes you feel like he does.

The two of you have a connection, but the dumb bitch in you is too prominent to let you consciously acknowledge it. You’re not interested in a relationship right now, no matter how good his dick is, or how warm your chest gets when you’re around him.

Or, even, how hard he makes you cum. Every time. Like earlier, after he had let himself in to your apartment, he had made the familiar trek down the dark hallway to your room, slipped into your bed, and immediately snuck his hand in your panties while he simultaneously greeted you with a warm, heavy kiss.

That was acceptable, because he was already well on his way to making you cream in your underwear; the relieved sigh you released against his lips and the overwhelming sense of comfort of having him in your bed was decidedly not. Fuckbuddies aren’t supposed to like having someone in their own beds beyond getting the job done that they came there to do.

Given the hour, you hadn’t expected him to remove his hand in favor of eating you out, but he had. Slipped your panties off and slid right down the bed until he was between your legs and his mouth blanketed your sex with expert dexterity. Your whimpers and moans were too soft and intimate as he slid a hand beneath his sweatshirt that you’re wearing, squeezing a breast and tugging on the nipple while his other kneaded the quivering muscles of your inner thigh. But he was watching you so intently, with so much care that it felt wrong to be any louder or more wanton — or worse, hold back any noises at all.

When you cum on his mouth with a cry of his name, Grayson licks you clean before standing off the bed to get naked. For a moment, you allow yourself the pleasure of admiring him as he does so in the ultra-dim light of the room coming from your bedside lamp, then work at getting your own top over your head. And just like that, it’s back to following the rules: undressing yourselves rather than one another.

Now, with your legs thrown over his broad shoulders, your hands clutching desperately at his bulging biceps as he flicks his hips into yours so perfectly, you’re back to feeling some type of way. You’re locked into the trance of his eyes, and he yours; the tip of his dick hits so deep you don’t even know where the two of you are separate beings anymore. If you could be one with this man forever, you would.

That deserves a yellow card, for sure, but it’s potentially passable as a heat of the moment, I’m-getting-that-good-d thought.

“So big,” you can’t help but praise breathlessly, reaching up and threading your fingers through the damp hair at the back of his head. He thrusts harder, but maintains that excruciatingly steady pace that has your eyes rolling back and your toes curling in the air. You moan gutturaly and focus your gaze back on his flushed face. “Feels so fucking good, baby.”

Somewhere in another universe, your alter ego is throwing a red card for that violation.

It’s worth it, though, when his eyes blacken and he ducks down to kiss you roughly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. You suck on it with another moan, which morphs into high-pitched gasps and whimpers with how his shift has changed the position. He’s even deeper now, his sweaty skin pressed against yours so everything is hotter, both physically and emotionally.

Grayson tucks his head by your ear, his rosy, swollen lips grazing the shell of it as he whispers to you with a maddeningly gentle, easy voice.

Low and raspy —“Pussy so tight. Dripping wet all over my cock just for me, huh? Who else gets you this fuckin wet, sweetheart?”

Uh oh. Now you’re both thrown out of the game.

Still, your pussy clenches around his dick at his words, and both of you groan loud in each other’s ears. “Just you, Gray,” you manage. He speeds up at your affirmation, and you tug hard on his hair while your other hand drags red tracks across his sculpted back. “Oh my... fuck, baby, please.”

He works for you, panting and gasping and grunting until he gets you there with just his dick and you’re seizing up all around him. Your pussy flutters madly, cumming so hard that it drives him over the edge himself before he can even think about pulling out. The warm spurts of his cum filling you up only serve to prolong your seemingly never-ending orgasm.

Grayson moans and lowers down to his elbows so he can cup your cheeks in his hands, drawing you to him for a deep, passionate kiss that both has your head in the clouds and grounds you suddenly. The waves coursing through your body are waning, and you have enough clarity to pull away from his lips with a small smile. He grins back, and follows your lead when you push back on his collarbone gently.

Your legs, sore and slightly crampy now that your mind isn’t so distracted, drop back to the bed with a satisfied sigh from your lips. You take a minute to gather yourself and Grayson catches his breath next to you. He takes your hand in his while the two of you stare at the ceiling together, before you leave him with a squeeze to his fingers to use the bathroom.

You re-enter the bedroom to find him partially dressed, sitting on the edge of your bed staring blankly at a pile of clean clothes you’ve yet to hang up in your closet. He’s got his shirt in one hand, his phone in the other, and he smiles at you when he notices you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, climbing back onto your bed and slipping under the sheets with a little smile. He’s close enough that you can reach over and tickle your nails against the smooth skin of his ribs.

He flinches and you giggle. His fingers capture yours and bring them to his lips, where he presses a sweet kiss to them. “Waiting for you.”

You hum, your breath catching in your throat in the next moment when he starts leaning down, his intention clear on his handsome face.

Despite yourself, you let him kiss you. It’s nice and soft and comforting and confusing.

He pulls back, staring at you with eyes that have gone that green-hazel that you love so much post-coitus. His thumb caresses your jaw, your still-flushed cheek, and he waits for you to respond.

“What was that?” you question, wrapping your petite hand around his forearm gently. You need something to hold on to, to keep you focused and in the moment.

Grayson hesitates. “I can’t give you a kiss goodbye?”

“You’re not supposed to.” You’re voice has dropped to a whisper without you even realizing it, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip to ground you even more. “Take it back.”

He just stares at you, and you try not to be affected by the hurt you see flash behind his pretty eyes. Try and fail, as his fingertips move from your neck to your lips, sweeping across them softly before pressing his fingers to his own mouth.

“There,” he says quietly, rising from the bed with a small, sad smile. “Undone.”

You watch him walk out of your room with no further conversation.

Sleep escapes you even more so than before you asked him to come over. And by the light of morning, you pick up your phone once again, coming to the conclusion that some rules are meant to be broken for the right person.

#i tried to make this angsty at the ending but i cant #ugh im a fluff writer through and through #dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb #smut #grayson dolan smut

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mashiraostail · 4 years

Note

Hi! Can I please get, Hizashi, Aizawa, Midnight and Toshinori comforting an S/O who had a really REALLY bad day? Maybe S/O comes home the door closes and they just start sobbing? How would our babes comfort them (Gender Neutral S/O please!!)

yeah!! I hope ur day wasn’t bad when u sent this omg hopefully this is helpful! ): under the cut!

Hizashi- You were just exhausted, it was one stupid mishap after another, and you were so miserable it made you physically sore. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep, you knew you should shower, clean up a little, you assumed like you looked as awful as you felt. But you couldn’t, it was so much all at once and all you could think about was letting it fester in bed alone in the dark where nothing could annoy or bother you for the foreseeable future. Though you forgot about one variable, and are reminded of it the moment you open your front door. Hizashi. He’s just lounging around the living room, it was probably a rather quiet Thursday night to everyone but you and he seemed to be enjoying the tranquility. He was sitting on the floor by the table, he had a little keyboard synth resting in his lap, and headphones haphazardly over his ears. He looked content and comfortable and so very in his element that you realized you’d been so upset all day that you’d forgotten about him. Now all you wanted to do was lay in the dark with him. Listen to his voice, let him comfort you, be close to him. If anyone could make you feel better it was him. Honestly, you don’t know why you start crying. But you feel the tears welling up the minute he looks up at you. “Hey hot-...stuff.” He’s standing up and bridging the space between you the second he realizes you’re crying. Of course he’d call you some stupid silly nickname, of course he’d just be normal Hizashi, of course he would. “Babe, what’s up?” He’s standing nervously in front of you, jittery to the point of hilarity, he clearly wanted to touch you but didn’t want to upset you more, you could tell in his face that he didn’t know if it was him you were upset with, or something else entirely. You rub at your eyes, trying and failing to ebb the flow of tears down your cheeks and when you finally look at him you actually feel sort of guilty at how upset he looks on your behalf, like his whole heart just broke. “Zashi, please, can I just have a hug?” The pride that had been dwindling at his uncertainty of the cause of your tears seemed to instantly swell back up again. “Yeah! Yes! Come on! Get in here babe!” He pulls you in tight, pressing your wet face into his neck. The way you hold onto him, the tightness, the hand in the back of his hair, all of it makes him wobble with affection. But for you, it just made the dam crack. You felt safe, and warm, and surrounded by him, and that comfort turned what was previously a few exhausted tears turned into full-body wracking sobs. “Jeeze baby did you miss me that much?” He’s squeezing you, tight, pressing scattered kisses to the side of your head, face, temple and ear, whatever he can reach, the arms around his neck, your hair, it didn’t matter as long as it was kissable and to him all of you was kissable. He can feel the big blobs of salty tears against his neck and shirt collar, he can feel them smear against him as you nod, wet exhausted laughter slipping out of you. “I did.” “You’ll blow up my ego babe.” He warns you as he presses his nose into your hair, “I hope you didn’t really miss me so much that it made you this upset...I’m always a phone call away babe.” He pulls you out of the crook of his neck and wipes off your face with his palm, “you looked like a kicked puppy.” His eyebrows twitch up desperately, “please babe you’re breaking my heart here. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, “I’ve just had the most...awful day. I was so miserable, and it was just one thing after another, I couldn’t catch a break, even on my break something went wrong somehow.” He’s nodding along with you, ever intent. “All I could think about all day was coming home and just going to bed. I’d been so worthless all day that I didn’t even think about how nice it would be to see you, and when I finally did and you were just sitting there and you looked so comfortable and I just wanted to be with you. I wanted to be close to you and all at once it was like I went from wanting to lock myself up alone in bed to I just wanted to be near you.” You shake your head again, harder this time, “and then when you hugged me it was just so...I was so relieved. I’ve wanted to cry like this all day but I didn’t feel like I could and now-” “You’re gonna make me cry please-” He’s squeezing your face, “you’re so sweet. You look exhausted.” He’s pulling your face up to his peppering a few kisses to your lips. You just sigh, relieved, it felt good. “What do you want me to do?” He holds your arms, “more hugs? Kisses? We could watch a movie?” His hand goes back up to your face, wiping away the tears again, “you shouldn’t cry so much you’ll get sick, and your eyes will be all puffy and sore tomorrow.” He’s squeezing your face again, “you look cute when you cry though. Like a sweet little baby-” “Shut up.” You snort, shoving his chest. He looks so relieved to have just made you laugh a little. “Can you just go back to what you were doing?” You ask, hands landing on his chest. “It wasn’t anything very interesting.” He insists, “we can shower and call it an early night if you want-” “No it’s okay, I just wanna sit with you.” He looks like he’s gonna explode. “Of course..” He starts taking off your clothes though. “Zashi I-” “I know, I know.” He shushes you and keeps going until you’re standing in the middle of the living room in your underwear. “Was that fun for you?” You cross your arms to cover yourself up. Though it doesn’t last long since he shucks his own teeshirt off and pulls it over your head, “isn’t this better? Come on let's go sit down.” You spend about an hour sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his abdomen, cheek resting against his back as he tinkered with the synth before him. When you ask to go to bed he doesn’t protest, he just says of course, you go ahead he’ll be there in a minute.

Aizawa- Nothing else could go wrong, honestly, the last thing that could get fucked up would just be you dropping dead right there. You were supposed to be home hours ago and you were sure your trashed phone had more than a few missed calls and texts from Shouta who’d probably waited up for you. The thought of seeing him now felt like the best thing in the world. He’d listen to you talk about your shitty day for hours and just agree with you he’d just hum and nod when you said you felt like the only person walking around with a brain sometimes. What you didn’t expect though is to feel so thoroughly relieved the moment you stepped foot inside, and finally caught sight of the man. It was like a thousand pound weight just dropped off your shoulders, like for the first time all day your lungs could expand and take in a good full breath. There was a pile of papers beside Shouta, and he was looking over them with minimal interest, long hair pulled away from his neck, a pencil sticking out of it, holding the dark mass in place miraculously. Even the way he sat was inviting to you, like every time he shifted or moved it just an invitation for you to curl up and get close. “Hey, welcome back.” He pulls the back of the pen away from his lips as he looks up at you, “You’re really late today is everything-” When he gets a good look at you though he doesn’t feel the need to finish his question. “Yeah. I’m sorry I’m late.” You don’t know why you’re biting back tears, he wouldn’t care if you cried, he’s seen it before. “It’s okay.” He waves you over and moves the pile of papers out of the way. “You look like you were really busy.” He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, he knew the helpful thing right now would probably be to get the dam to break, you look like you really needed to cry. “You’ve got a twig in your hair.” He reaches over and pulls it out. “Thanks-” Your voice breaks and you take deep shaky breath. He can tell he’s just about there. He can practically see your foundation creaking. “You... don’t look like you feel very good.” He squeezes your shoulders, “talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.” Yeah, that does it. There you go. Crying like a baby. He’s kind of proud of himself and how quickly he gets you to let down that wall. You practically tackle him but he accepts it, he sees it coming a mile away. “Bad day?” His hand on the back of your head just makes you cry more. He honestly was expecting a little cry, the exhausted maybe a little petulant, ‘I just want today to be over’ sort of crying, but what he got instead was full-on bawling. He was sort of taken aback. “Bad day feels like an understatement.” He amends and you just nod ferociously into him, the harsh scruff on his jaw was a grounding comfort whenever it scratched your skin. “I just had a really...terrible day.” You shake your head, arms coming tighter around him, “a really really terrible day. Everything just kept going wrong and it feels like it’s all always my fault like I should have known-” “you shouldn’t blame yourself for the mistakes of other people.” He reminds you, a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, “mistakes are just mistakes anyways. There’s rarely a problem that can’t be fixed.” “I just want to be helpf-” “I know you do. And you are.” He promises, feeling your hand fist in the back of his shirt, “you don’t give yourself enough credit, I’m sure without you around today would have been a lot worse for your colleagues. You always pick up so much slack. You work so hard just to turn a blind eye to all your effort.” “I could have done more, I wasn’t even the last person to leave today I-” “I bet you were the first person there.” You’re silent to that. “I’m proud of you for working so hard, you’re going to accomplish some really great things, even if you don’t feel that way right now. But you need to give yourself more credit if you beat yourself up so much all the time you’ll stop feeling passionate about your work.” You knew he was right, he was always so level headed, he always made perfect sense, he always knew what needed to be said. “Either way though, it’s over now. The terrible day from hell can stay outside in the hall. It’s not allowed in here.” You laugh a little bit at that and the ebbing of tears is a bit of a reprieve to him. “What can I do to make you feel better?” “I already feel a little better Sho, really.” You pull away and wipe your face off, he’s looking down at you sympathetically. “You look miserable.” He leans down to your lips anyways, and it’s a nice kiss, relaxing, tender and soft, it’s the kind of kiss that makes you drowsy. “It’s pretty late already. To be honest I was worried when it started getting dark out and I still hadn’t heard from you. Why don’t we call it a night? I can grade this stuff later, it’s not like they’d be looking for it, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice if I never returned it.” You chuckle at that too, “I think you underestimate them sometimes.” He hums at that, “no not where it counts.” He takes your face in his hands, “how about a hot shower, some water, and a lot of sleep?” You nod at that, “that sounds good.” “You look exhausted. He picks a leaf out of your hair, “jeez, what kind of trouble did you get yourself into today?” “You don’t wanna know.” You groan and he replies to it with a breathy chuckle, “let’s just get you cleaned up, I bet just that alone will make you feel 100x better.” And he was right. It did, it felt like all the shitty things from today swirled down into the shower drain with the soap and all the dirt it’d washed away. It felt like you were getting a new start. He seems pretty proud of how quickly he’d gotten you to bounce back. He sends you off to bed and promises to be there as soon as he finishes cleaning up his stuff in the living room, but by the time he gets into bed you’re already fast asleep.

Nemuri- You had to be the only intelligent life on the planet. That’s what you were saying to yourself as you jammed your key into your front door. It was like no other being you’d crossed today even possess the capability for though and your workload practically quadrupled from it. You had no idea how you were meant to get all of this done and all you wanted to do was go home and never have to think about anyone you’d seen today again. Your inability to say no just preceded you and it felt like everyone had taken advantage like all people ever did was take advantage. It was equal parts infuriating and disheartening. You wanted to be good and helpful but people just took advantage, played dumb, and pawned all the work off to you. It was like no one on the whole planet even appreciated a single thing you did and- “Well there you are angel, I was starting to worry you got kidnapped or something.” Nemuri is grinning at you, “you’re never this late, honestly I was starting to miss you. Are you okay? It’s not normal for you to be so late-” Nemuri did, Nemuri appreciated everything you did and she always missed you when you were apart and she sent you all sorts of funny texts and voicemails when you couldn’t see each other and Nemuri would never treat you like that. The relief of that makes your heart feel ten times lighter in your chest and all you can do is cry about it. “You’re right..silly question.” She swings her legs off the couch and waves you over to her side, of course, you go wiping the tears as they stream down your face. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She frowns at you and you just shake your head and wave her off. “No not you... it’s..” You whine into your hands and she hums at you sympathetically, putting a hand on either of your arms. “You had a bad day then? Or something else?” “A really...really bad day.” You hiccup and let her pull you forward, she wraps her arms securely around you. “That makes me sad.” She rests her cheek in your hair, “is it salvageable?” She rubs your back, “can we fix it?” She wonders, “would talking about it help?” “it’s just so unfair, I want to be nice, I want to help but I always take on an unfair amount and everyone takes advantage of me. I’m terrible at saying no, but why can’t people be mindful of that? I’m so mindful of everyone else I don’t see why they can’t extend the courtesy to my weakness-” She hums along and nods every few words, you feel her shift against you. “You can’t help being a big softie can you?” She squeezes you, “you’re so cute. I just adore you.” That shouldn’t make you cry any harder but it does. You felt sort of stupid, childish even, you knew Nemuri didn’t see you like that, she’d had her fair share of bad days since meeting you and she’s acted similarly, but still. “Oh angel I think you just need to cry it out for a little don’t you?” You just nod into her shirt. “Okay then. I’ll stay right here while you do.” You feel her lips against your head and she leans back onto the cushions of the couch. “I could talk about something else?” She offers, “do you wanna hear about my day?” You nod again, “yeah..that might- help-” You’re hiccuping helplessly and normally she’d find it to be sort of cute, but in your current state, she found it a little distressing. Either way, she talked quietly into your hair about whatever came to mind from today, some of her students, the papers they’d handed in, one of her student’s continued inability to spell ‘democracy’. After a few minutes the tears prattled off, and all you were left with was a massive headache and a puffy red face. When you finally do pick yourself up Nemuri isn’t sure if she wants to scream, cry, kiss you, or do all three in an indiscriminate order. “You're so cute.” She takes your face in her hands, “do you feel a little better now?” Her thumbs are wiping over the wet skin, “look at you, you even look good when you’re crying. It’s like in a movie or something-” “I’m probably a ballon-” Your laugh is quiet and tired but it’s a laugh at least. “A very cute ballon.” Nemuri clicks her tongue at you. “It’s late isn’t it?” She reaches behind you and procures a bottle of water, though it seems like she’s taken a few sips from it and it’s not freshly cold. “You should drink some water, it’ll help your headache.” You do as she suggests because she was right, and now all you wanted was for the dull throbbing behind your eyes to stop. “Go get into bed.” Nemuri kisses you when you pull the bottle away from your lips and you hum into it appreciatively, “I’ll bring in some aspirin for you.” She pulls back and you nod, you didn’t have it in you to protest that it wasn’t actually that late, still hardly 11. “I’ll take extra good care of you tonight.” She assures you as she stands, she takes your wrists and pulls you up, “that way when you have to go back tomorrow you won’t feel so overwhelmed.” She squeezes your face in her hands, “there’s still a whole hour left of today, I bet I can salvage it for you.”

Toshinori- Exhausted was the understatement of the millennia. You could drop dead where you stood if you stopped thinking about staying alive, you were sure of it. You even slipped out early because you couldn’t tolerate staying any longer. You slump against the door as you close it, just being home alone was enough to make you feel a million times safer and you can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You were so focused on your shifting emotions you didn’t even notice Toshinori sitting on the couch until he spoke. “Hey.” He’s sitting up straighter at the sight of you, you’re sure you look as terrible as you feel and Toshinori was always good at picking up on your feelings. He’s standing up, crossing the room to get to you. “Toshi-” You’ve never been so happy to see someone, to have someone pull you into the chest, he encased you in his warmth, his presence wrapped around you just like his arms did. It takes a moment, the warmth and comfort of him accosted your icy emotions, but once the two touched you felt like you were melting away, It came out in your tears. “What’s wrong?” His voice is so quiet, and soft, physically soft, it hits you like a pillowcase full of feathers. “You look so upset.” The way you fist up the back of his teeshirt in your hands like you were desperate to just be closer, begging him to come as close as he could, to wrap you up and melt away all the ice, like warm spring sunshine hitting a frozen pond, you wanted him to surround you like sunlight did every time you stepped outside. And he could tell, he could feel it. “I’m right here, hey, I’m right here with you. I’m here now.” He’s holding the back of your hand with one large hand and cupping the small of your back with the other. “Whatever it is is over now. It can’t bother you anymore. I’m here. Please don’t be upset. Tell me how I can help.” “You’re perfect-” Your voice wobbles with your tears, “Toshi please-” You warble and can’t help rubbing your face into his shirt. “Please what?” His thumb rubs the base of your skull affectionately, “whatever you want. What do you need?” “Just stay-” You voice cracks and you feel him lean into you at that. “Of course I’ll stay with you...let’s sit down okay?” He pulls you away and takes your jaw in his hands, tilting your head up to see you better. “I know you’re upset, but try not to cry so hard okay? You’ll get sick..” He leans down enough to press a kiss to your forehead, “and seeing you cry so hard makes me really upset, that’s probably selfish of me to say but I can’t help it. I just wanna help you feel better.” He walks you to the couch and you’re more than happy to fall into his lap. “I just had a really bad day.” You scrub your face, “terrible, long, awful day.” One of your hands absently curls a few blonde strands around your finger and Toshinori hums at your explanation. “Well it’s over now.” He holds the base of your skull when he kisses your forehead, “it’s just me and you.” You were holding his free hands with yours and you nod. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers, murmuring it into your forehead. You shake your head, “it was just a bad day..” “Why don’t you get comfy here and go to sleep for a little?” He pulls you into closer still and you wrap your arms around him, maybe you will. Exhaustion was seeping into your vision and the kiss he leans down into doesn’t do anything to help. It makes your stomach and chest buzz warm, all you want is to get closer and then even closer, to kiss and kiss and kiss until you couldn’t open your eyes in between them and you dozed off into a comfortable sleep against him. He was happy to oblige you.

#hizashi yamada x reader #present mic x reader #present mic #hizashi yamada #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraser head x reader #eraser head #nemuri kayama x reader #nemuri kayama #midnight x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #yagi toshinori #all might x reader #All Might #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha request #gender neutral reader

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lizzy-williams · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐰𝐚𝐱

🕯️Warnings: wax play, smut, degrading, choking, burning

🕯️ Requested: 2. can we please get some of the colson wax play shit with degrading names

🕯️ Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m91Vq-Yd3BA

I THINK by Tyler, The Creator

━━━━PLEASE READ THESE FIRST:

✮ PART 1

✮ PART 2

━━━━

masterlist

((This about to get ~funky~. ‘Tis just a Colson smut, because Dominic is away. Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon ;) ))

𝗜𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗 having Dom be away for so long. You loved Colson with all of your heart, but you couldn’t help but miss the other half. Colson was affectionate, but not as good with realizing when you needed a hug or praise. But Dom could read you like an open book, and always knew what to do.

But now, you were laying on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, dozing off to whatever happened to be on the TV screen. Colson was at the studio, which left you all alone, again, in your house. You were wrapped up tight, cuddling into one of Dominic’s hoodies that he had left you. Even though it still smelled like him, you couldn’t help but still feel sad. You wanted the real thing. You missed him.

You missed both of them.

Then your mind went into a devious places. Colson had been pretty neglectful of you. Come to think of it, the only times you saw him were in the evenings, and he wouldn’t want to do anything then, his eyes close to shutting in exhaustion.

You were idle. But now, it was time that you got the attention you believed you deserved.

You got up, going to your bedroom, slipping into your closet. If he wouldn’t give you attention, you were going to make him give you attention. You dug around in one of your drawers, one thing and one thing only on your mind.

There was a certain set of lingerie that always hit different, especially with Colson. It was one of his many gifts he would surprise you with every once and a while. Sometimes he bought things for you that were for his own enjoyment. And this set of devilish undergarments, it was obvious who he had truly gotten them for.

You slipped it on, glancing at yourself in the mirror, admiring yourself. You could see why Cols had gotten it for you... you looked HOT!

Smiling, you got on your phone, switching it to Snapchat, and holding up the camera. You teased your hair a little bit before you finally took the picture. You found yourself pressing the button over and over again, saving every single one.

You smiled to yourself, This will get him.

You opened your chat with Kells, who’s name you changed to Papi Chulo, mainly as a joke, but it just kinda stuck. But his name for you was Baby Bear in his phone, so you guessed that made it even.

You sent one after the other, and not all of them at one time, making sure that he got the notifications. You waited. And waited. And waited.

30 minutes eventually passed, which meant he was either really busy, for just ignoring you. Besides, he knew good and well when you sent messages in the afternoon like this, it wasn’t innocent.

You slipped a hoodie back on, along with some sweatpants, the lingiure still hugging your form underneath the baggy clothing. Your feet patted down the stairs, your phone in your hand, your feet carrying you to the living room as you laid down on the couch, deciding to finish watching The Umbrella Academy, a show that you decided you would watch strictly when the boys were away.

You found your eyes slowly closing, your mind slowly drifting off into a state of calmness, your body relaxing as you tried to get some sleep. At least a nap in. Because you knew you were in for it when Colson got home

The sound of your phone vibrating against the glass coffee table had ripped you from you half-asleep state, your hand reaching over. You looked at the phone to see a new message from Colson.

Papi Chulo: I want u on the bed, no clothes, leg spread, hands up to the headboard. Don’t do as ur told, and the punishment will be something you won’t enjoy.

The tone of his text sent shivers down your spine as you read it. You bit your lip as you starred at the screen. You were going to get your attention... but was this really the way you wanted it?

There was nothing you could do now but follow his every command, in hopes he would at least let you cum tonight.

You stood up and quickly made your way up the stairs once again. You stripped yourself of all clothing, all except the special surprise and laid down on the bed on your back, your wrists going up and making contact with a headboard. You had to stay like this until he got home. Or else there would be hell to pay.

You sat there for maybe 15 minutes, and by then your arms were killing you, when you heard the front door slam open, Cols’ heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs.

You watched as he came into view in the doorway, and he immediately made eye contact with you. He walked over in big strides, before you felt his hand coiled around your neck, making you gasp.

“Do you know how fucking hard you had me?” his voice was full of venom as he spoke through gritted teeth, “I had to go into the bathroom and take care of myself, because I was so hard, it fucking hurt. I ran so many stoplights to get to you, slut,”

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. He read you like an open book. Of course he could, he’s a Taurus. It’s what they do.

“You just wanted my attention, didn’t you...” he clenched his jaw before speaking again, “I’m not like Dom, I won’t give you anything you want on a whim. And I don’t think you deserve what you want right now.”

You looked him dead in the eyes, your mouth not moving. You knew that you had to speak with permission. You were his now.

“Here,” he reached into your bedside table drawer, taking out the dreaded pink rope you really didn’t want him to use, your wrists always hurt afterwards.

But you didn’t dare complain. You were in for it bad enough already. You sat up a little bit as he tied you up nice and tight, and his eyes went soft for a second, “Too tight?”

You shook your head no. You wanted this.

“Of course it’s not too tight. I know you like to be treated roughly, whore,” he leaned in closer, “But at least your my whore.”

He licked a harsh strip up your neck, before stopping at your ear, biting at your earlobe, making you whimper, “I think you’re going to like this punishment,” he sighed right into your ear, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt on your neck and down your arms.

You watched him disappear into the bathroom and come back out with a candle stick.

Oh god.

You weren’t the biggest fan when Cols had access to fire. But you knew this got him off. He loved watching you as you squirmed, your restraints limiting your movement.

The candle was a garnet red. You were anxious, but somehow in a good way.

Colson fished a lighter out of the pockets of his black ripped jeans. He flicked it on a few times.

“Safe word?” he looked over at you.

“Red.” you replied, your demeanor now soft and subtle, a great contrast to the vibes you gave off in the sinful photos you sent your lover.

“Good. Nice to know that my cock isn’t the only thing you let occupy your mind. God, your such a good little slut.”

You whimpered slightly. You loved the degradation. And you knew he didn’t truly mean it. You knew he thought highly of you. He never called you those names outside the bedroom.

He flipped the lighter on and left it on for about 10 seconds, Cols’ glance switching back and forth between you and the flame. Finally, he turned it off. He set the candle off to the side and you gave him a look of confusion.

But before you could say a word, you felt the hot metal of the lighter sear into the skin of your thigh. You let out a series of squeaks and whines. It was the perfect temperature where it was hot enough to cause pleasurable pain but to not leave a burn.

“God, princess, you make such pretty little noises.” Cols gushed, drinking up your reactions.

He then sat back up, straightening himself out before he reached for the candle. He looked at you almost tauntingly, looking into your eyes as the pupils were dilated.

He lit the candle, waiting for a minute.

Now, the moment you were waiting for patiently, completely compliant, (which Colson completely appreciated.)

He then held the candle over your body, tilting it, and watched as the liquified wax dripped down onto your soft skin.

He watch in fascination as the liquid turned solid as you let out whimpers and moans at the sensation of a hot fluid dripping across your stomach. You squirmed.

It felt so good. More good than it was supposed to. Colson continued his actions, dripping the wax onto you.

He than looked at the undergarments you had on, he blew out the candle quickly, his hands around your back as he unclasped your bra. At the sight of your breasts, he almost lost it right then and there, taking one of your pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, soon switching back and forth between breasts, your mouth gushing out moans and praise.

Colson then pulled back, lighting the candle once again. But instead of your stomach getting covered, he drifted the candle higher, the red wax now dripping down on your breasts, making your nipples feel amazing.

Colson reveled in the sounds you made, knowing that it was him making you feel this good, nobody else. He knew that he was in control, and one of the only people that could bring you to the most amazing, toe-curling, mind-numbing, crushing orgasms, while also getting them over the edge as well.

Soon, you body was covered in wax─ both wet and dry ─ and once he saw that his work was done, Cols stepped back, admiring the work of this labor. Looking at you, hands tied up and chest heaving, he thought he would cum on the spot.

You just looked so good.

“Daddy,” you whined meekly, praying that he didn’t think you were stepping out of line, seeing as you were speaking without permission, “Please touch me,”

“Soon.” was all he said, holding the candle up to his mouth, blowing it out and setting it to the side, not really caring where it was. Now, it was time for his favorite part.

His hands drifted over the wax-covered parts of your body as you tried your best not to move. The sensation was indescribable. There was a barrier between your skin and this fingers, and you somewhat despised it. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

He then pinched large pieces of skin, rolling it between his fingers gently, watching the wax crumble and break, peeling effortlessly off your complexion.

He went from spot to spot, repeating the process of removing the wax, brushing it away. All the while, you shifted and fidgeted, loving the small amount of contact he was giving you.

Once your body was (mostly) cleared, he untied your hands, and held your chin, a sadistic smirk appearing on his face when he noticed how fucked out you looked. Your lips swollen due to you biting them, your hair a mess from throwing your head back so many times.

“I want you to go to the bathroom, and run us a shower, got it, princess?” he asked, and your eyes went wide, realizing what was coming next.

“Yes, daddy,” you muttered.

“Good.” he sighed, before his lips met yours passionately, making you moan into his mouth, wanting nothing more than to stay like this the entire night. His lips were just so good, it made your body feel like jelly.

As soon as he detached his lips, you quickly sat up, standing up, walking as fast as you could to the bathroom, running the water to the perfect temperature. You waited for the water to heat up impatiently.

You finally stepped in, your muscles relaxing, making you let out the smallest moan as the water enveloped your body like a hug. The sensation was almost euphoric, the water dripping down you body.

But when you felt the sensation of large, stalky hands running over your shoulders, you immediately turned around, your eyes meeting those of your lover’s, his pupils dilated, obviously effected by the sight of you earlier.

He immediately pushed you down, your knees meeting the hard surface of the tile covering the floor of the shower, knowing that there would be bruises as consequence.

“Come on, little slut, open your mouth,” he grabbed your jaw as you opened it.

Wasting no time, he shoved his shaft into your mouth, and it didn’t take long before he was thrusting in and out of your mouth quickly. The size of him made you gag, and the sensation when he would hit the back of your throat made your eyes roll back.

Your hand drifted down to your throbbing clit, two fingers being placed on your slit as you rubbed it to the pace of Colson’s thrusting. And it didn’t take long to notice what you were doing.

He suddenly pulled out, forcing you up, and slamming the side of your face against the wall of the shower, his front half completely against your back as his face was right next to your ear, and you could feel his breath, cold compared to the temperature of the water that was now running down his back.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, little whore?” he growled, and when you didn’t answer, he gave are harsh lick to the shell of your ear before pushing you more into the wall, “You know whose job it is to give you pleasure. You don’t get to feel good till I say you can,”

And with that, he shoved himself inside of you, the time he gave you to adjust was zero, before he started pounding into you, over and over and over. You let out cries and groans of pleasure as his movements never stopped.

You gasped out, the feeling almost too much, his mouth open against your temple as he thrusted. In, out, in, out.

Your mind was blurry as he turned you around and muttered out a low “Jump,”, your legs wrapping around him tightly as he entered passed your folds. It was so good... and the sensations of the water were helping immensely.

His head was leaning down on your shoulder, your hand going up and massaging his hair as he continued to thrust into you with earnest. The sounds of pleasure spilling out of his mouth was already enough to push you over the edge.

“H-Harder, please, daddy,” you gasped out.

Without a word, he was now pounding into you as hard as he could, hitting the little spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out in pleasure, Colson growling as he dripped his hand between you, rubbing and flicking your clit at an inhuman speed.

“FUCK, daddy, please, I’m gonna cum, please please please don’t stop,” you gasped, something in the back of your head worried he would disappear or pull away.

“Come on, my little cock-slut, come on my cock and show me how good I make you feel,” He bit your shoulder, which drove you over the edge.

“FUCK!” you yelled out, your cunt clenching him like a fist as he continued to help you through your rapture.

You could see stars behind your eyelids as you closed them, trying to come back down to earth. The both of you panted in unison.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, I’m not through with you yet.

((School is making me ~ l o s e m y m i n d ~

#mgk #mgk fanfiction #mgk imagine #mgk smut #mgk x reader #two #hotel diablo #hot #smut #aesthetic #hee hee

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home) [Part 1]

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~4600

Warnings: Smut (vanilla, but explicit) and Dean emotions.

A/N: This came from a request by MJ on the occasion of her birthday. It was supposed to be done, like, months ago, but there was much loss of sleep, tearing out of hair, rending of garments, wailing, etc. before it came together. I hope it’s worth the wait. I missed these two.

This is not a coda, exactly, and not a sequel, exactly, to Marked. It’s a fic of its own, but you might want to read that first. There will be two more parts to this.

Big thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @justcallmeasmodeus @mskathywriteswords @itmighthavebeenintentional @fookinghelljensensthighs and all the rest of the gay screaming crew for your brainstorming, reading, and inspiration help. Y’all are the best.

We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through. We are filled with riches and wonders. Our love keeps the things it finds, and we dance like drunken sailors, lost at sea, out of our minds. You find shelter somewhere in me, I find great comfort in you. And I keep you safe from harm. You hold me in your arms. And I want to go home, but I am home.

“Riches and Wonders,” The Mountain Goats

Dean used to think that love might feel like safety.

When he pictured a relationship, a family, a partner, he used to picture apple pies and picket fences. Love, in his mind, was always tied to comfort, PB&J with the crusts cut off, security, and all the other things he knew he’d never have again. The person he is, the things he does… he wasn’t meant for that soft kind of love.

Dean’s gotten so used to hiding his softness behind sharp edges and impenetrable walls that sometimes he forgets it’s still there. The sort of woman he once thought he could love would be shredded to pieces before she could get close to it.

Then he met her.

When he tries to talk about it, tries to describe the way she makes him feel, he ends up stuttering and stumbling over the words, because it’s nothing like a quiet house on a suburban street. It’s not safety that he feels when he looks at her; it’s nothing so simple as that. She makes him feel about as safe as a fucking hurricane, except that when the wind is howling around them, when rain is falling and the churned-up waves are rising, Dean looks at her and knows, with absolute certainty, that in spite of the storm raging around them and within them and between them, they’re going to be okay.

So, yeah, Dean was wrong about love. He’s starting to realize that he was wrong about a lot of things.

Dean storms into the kitchen and almost rips off the cabinet door in his haste to get a glass, and he doesn’t notice Cas sitting at the table until he’s slamming the whiskey bottle down on the counter and going for the first gulp.

Cas just raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that,” Dean grumbles. He knocks back the rest of the glass and pours another before sitting down across from Cas, slumping in his chair and glaring down at the pitted surface of the table like it’s done him some personal wrong.

“You had an argument,” Cas says, gravelly and implacable.

“You listening in?”

“It wasn’t a conscious effort. More like an unfortunate inevitability.”

Dean winces. “Guess we were a little loud at the end there.”

“Yes.”

Cas doesn’t ask. He just sits there, drinking his tea. Dean really didn’t intend to spill his guts, but fuck, his thoughts are rattling around in his skull, too loud to hold in.

“When something’s wrong, you’re supposed to fix it,” Dean blurts out. “Right?”

“What sort of thing are we talking about here?”

“Just… she was pissy all day. Fuckin’ quiet, and trying to avoid me, and… fuck, I don’t know, I just kinda snapped eventually. Mighta lost it on her a bit. And she was having one of those days, I guess. Had a nightmare last night.”

“And… you apologized?”

“Well, yeah. She just wasn’t having it, said she needed space to sort through it on her own. ”

“And that bothers you.”

“Fuckin’... yeah. Because if she’s mad at me, I’m the one who’s gotta fix it, right? I’ve gotta take care of it, I’ve gotta make things right, and she just won’t fuckin’ let me. How the fuck am I supposed to make her feel better if she won’t let me?”

“Did you ask her that?”

“Well, yeah. She said it wasn’t anything I could fix, it was just… something she had to deal with. Went to work, wouldn’t let me drive her. The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Cas gives him a look like he’s being the densest motherfucker on the planet.

Dean scowls down at his glass and takes another sip, trying to sort through the tangle of his emotions. His insides are a mess, disorderly and beyond his control, and it’s infuriating.

“I wish I could fuckin’ do something,” he says softly, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “I want to just… take care of it for her. Make it better.”

“Even though she said you couldn’t,” Cas prods.

Dean shrugs helplessly. ��If she’d just let me,” he says feebly, all too aware that he sounds petulant and whiny.

Cas rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, Cas. She’s just… out there. Walkin’ around without me, and I don’t know what she’s thinking, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“What exactly are you afraid of?”

Dean bristles. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then takes a sip of whiskey to cover his confusion.

“I just don’t like it,” he admits gruffly. “Not being able to do anything.”

“Did she say she’d be home later?”

“Yeah. After work.”

“You know that she loves you.”

“Fuckin’... yeah, Cas, Jesus.”

“You believe this is something you’ll work through?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, without hesitation, almost surprised by how much he believes it.

“You trust her. You know she can take care of herself.”

“Yes. What… what’s your point?”

“My point is that she is a grown woman, a remarkably capable and strong one at that, and there are going to be moments when she does not want you to fix her, or take care of her, or make things right for her. Clinging to the illusion of control is only going to make things worse.”

Dean feels like a fish, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. Part of him wants to get angry; it would be easier than dealing with the uncomfortable ache in his chest. He knuckles at his eyes and takes another drink.

“Fuck, Cas, don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” he mumbles. “Should never’ve introduced you guys.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but…” Cas shrugs.

Dean makes a face at him. There are a few minutes of comfortable silence as he listens to the ever-present background whisper of the air circulating through the bunker, like the lungs of some gigantic underground beast, and to the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

“I miss her,” he says hollowly.

Cas gives him a wry little half-smile. “I believe they call this personal growth.”

Dean scowls. “Don’t patronize.”

“You weren’t the one slamming the door behind you. You admitted you wanted her to stay. That’s new, for you. Growth.”

If Cas wasn’t so fucking right, Dean would probably hate him right now. As it is, he has all too many memories of walking out on Cas, or shoving him toward the door… it’s either cry or laugh, at this point, so Dean digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and huffs out a laugh.

“Shove it up your feathered ass. You gonna have a drink with me, or what?”

Years ago (probably before he was technically old enough to be meeting girls in bars) Dean met a girl — Sasha? Sandra? — in a bar. He doesn’t remember her name, but he remembers the freckles on her pale shoulders and the long corkscrew curls that framed her face when she lay down, like a tangled halo on the pillow.

After, as they caught their breath, Dean played with her hair, twisting one curl around his finger and releasing it again, fascinated by the way it bounced back into its spiral. He remembers putting his arms around her and telling her she was beautiful, and he remembers that she looked away, eyes suddenly shuttered.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and started looking for her shirt. “You don’t have to pretend it means anything. That was fun.”

He learned quickly, from her and from others, what was expected of him. They wanted him to be confident, if not cocky; strong, but not too rough; kind, but not exactly sweet… they wanted him to be charming, and fun, and not much more than that. Above all, they wanted him to leave.

He learned. Leaving became second nature. Leaving was better than waiting around for the inevitable day that they would leave.

Women didn’t want tenderness or romance, at least not from him. Maybe they wanted those things from someone who might stick around, but Dean would never be that guy. Dean might be the thrilling story they told their friends the next day, a fondly scandalous memory, just dangerous enough to feel like an adventure: I can’t believe I did that.

He learned to take what he could get. He learned to separate the emotional from the physical. He learned to hold back, to tell stories without showing the scars they’d left, to share tiny slices of the truth without ever really revealing the messy whole. He learned to wall off his soft, vulnerable places. Nobody wanted to see those.

It was easy to put those walls up, even easier to hide behind them. Dean started to think he was safe there. He thought his carefully constructed fortress was stronger than any storm. Then she happened.

She keeps proving him wrong. Dean’s getting used to it.

She still hasn’t gotten home yet, by the time Dean bids a bleary-eyed goodnight to Cas. She had the late shift, and he knows that, but his stomach is jittering cold under the blanket of whiskey heat, and he doesn’t expect sleep to come easy.

He hears the echo of Cas’s voice as he tumbles into bed: you know that she loves you.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, there’s wet heat and suction enveloping his cock, and he’s thrusting up into her mouth helplessly, rock-hard, gasping her name into the darkness before he’s fully conscious. Dean’s caught in the limbo between waking and sleeping, trying to separate reality from his dreams, but this feels too good to be a dream. Dean’s never dreamed anything this good.

She’s rubbing her thumb along the cut of his hipbone, stroking sweetly even as her tongue does something that should probably be illegal. He reaches down and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she lets out a low, pornographic moan, her throat vibrating around the head of his cock.

“C’mere,” Dean pleads, hoarse and sleep-slurred. She pulls off with an obscene slurping sound and crawls up his body. She must’ve taken off her jeans before she got in bed, but she’s still wearing her shirt and underwear, and Dean’s pretty sure he hears something rip as he wrestles with the fabric. If the harsh way she’s panting is any indication, she doesn’t care either.

“I’m sorry,” she says fiercely.

“Missed you,” he whispers. His voice sounds broken, pathetic, but it doesn’t matter; she’s here, warm and soft in his arms as they fumble in the darkness.

She’s finally naked, straddling him, and Dean reaches for her blindly, pulling her down for a kiss that’s more of a clash of teeth when they both misjudge the angle. Dean wraps an arm around her lower back and crushes her to his body, fisting the other hand in her hair, holding on for dear life as they exchange deep, bruising, biting kisses. She clings right back, fingers stroking his jaw and his neck like she’s trying to read the Braille of his skin and bones.

Dean’s breathless by the time she breaks the kiss to wriggle back and line up. His eyes have adjusted enough that he can see the faint silhouette of her body, charcoal against jet-black, but the important thing is the way she feels, like solid ground or safe harbor in a storm.

He thrusts up helplessly, stuttering out a nonsense string of vowel sounds as she takes him in all at once, slick and welcoming. Dean’s spine bows with the way it drags pleasure from every part of his body, wrenching and twisting through him, winding him tight. She leans in and rests her forehead against his, so close they’re breathing the same air. Dean digs his fingers into her hips and feels the way she flutters around him, smooth silky wet skin, living heat, pulsing like a heartbeat as his body answers with its own heavy thud of arousal.

“You came home,” he chokes out.

“Of course I did,” she says.

She rocks her hips and Dean surges up to meet her, grinding in deep, pulling her down against him. He’s closer to her than he’s ever been to another person, and it’s never close enough.

Home.

Dean considers himself a giver, when it comes to sex.

It’s always been a point of pride: no matter how casual it was, no matter how easy it was to walk out the door afterward, he put his partner first. Not like it was a fucking chore, anyway. He’s heard stories, heard the way women talked about other men, and it genuinely confuses him sometimes; those men have no idea what they’re missing.

It’s not often, in his line of work, that he gets to make people just feel good. He hasn’t brought anything positive into the lives of most people he’s met; he’s brought danger, and bloodshed, and nightmarish fucking violence. Those rare moments when Dean can bring someone pleasure, instead, have always felt like a gift.

He remembers the first time he figured it out, the way the girl (Jenny? Jessie?) sounded when he found the right spot, the face she made, the way she twitched around his fingers, and he remembers the awed, wonder-struck glow in his chest. He remembers thinking, I did that. It was satisfying in a way that had nothing to do with his own orgasm.

Getting off is great and all, but Dean’s never cared too much about comfort or pleasure. He takes a utilitarian approach to the basic needs of his own body, whether it’s sex, food, sleep, or whatever else. He’s always been fine with his hand, a burger, and four hours of shuteye on a crappy motel bed. He’s never asked for much more than that.

Watching someone else enjoy themselves, though? That’s worth taking his time, doing it right, appreciating every moan and every spasm of pleasure that flickers over her features. It’s not so much about what he wants. It’s about what he has to give.

Dean’s never been a morning person, but he’s starting to understand the appeal. It’s just them, in the morning, before they’ve had time to pull on the invisible armor they wear when they have to face the rest of the world. It’s a nakedness he never thought he was capable of.

He wakes half-sprawled across her, one arm over her chest and a leg hooked over her thigh, like he was worried about her escaping from him in dreams. His face is tucked into the side of her neck. He inhales deep, immersed in the smell of her shampoo and her sweat and her skin.

He traces the soft lines of her body, running a feather-light touch from the round of her shoulder, across her collarbone, down the center of her chest and then back up to map the curve of the underside of her breast. He rubs his thumb back and forth over her nipple, feeling the skin start to respond to his touch just as she sighs and stirs, and then he trails his fingers down to brush the inside of her thighs, down and up, one and then the other.

It’s not like he’s trying to tease, he just can’t stop touching her. He could spend eternity running his fingers over her smooth skin, dips and curves and hollows and swells like an entire landscape under his hands. He maps it all, awed, until she’s breathless and squirming.

In the end she just grabs his wrist and shoves it down, showing him exactly what she wants. She holds him there, cupping her hand over his, rocking up, hot and slick under their entangled fingers.

Dean waits until she’s trembling, straining, close.

“On your side?” he whispers, and kisses her cheek. He doesn’t pull his fingers away, just rolls with her and fits himself against her back. She arches, raises one knee, and she lets out this desperate throaty moan when he has to move his hand for a second to adjust, but then he sinks in and he can feel her shudder down to her toes.

He’s been so focused on her that he didn’t realize how hard he is, but he’s dizzy with it, suddenly, like every drop of blood is rushing to his dick and throbbing, his nerve endings on fire with the searing slippery friction of her body opening up for his. Jesus, he’s so close it should be fucking embarrassing.

She’s whimpering on every breath, clenching and dripping around him as she grinds into her hand. Dean reaches forward and slides his fingers under hers again, and he can feel the way she squeezes, muscles pulsing in waves of silky heat. He rolls his hips and she arches her back, biting out an anguished sound.

They’re barely moving, rocking against each other gracelessly without the leverage for more, just a push-pull-shove-tug that builds into something powerful and unavoidable. Dean can feel it pounding through him with every shallow thrust and every little groan. He’s losing control, swamped by the sensations, barely holding on.

Dean focuses on the way she feels under his fingers, the rhythm, pressing and circling, working her just the way she likes.

“Not yet,” she gasps, practically writhing in his arms. “Want to feel you.”

“So fuckin’ close, just -”

She hisses, grabbing his wrist in a steely-strong grip like a handcuff and forcing his hand away as she snaps, “Dean, come for me.”

He can’t help himself. It hits him immediately, sucks him under, sweeps him up and whirls him around, until all that’s left is how fucking good it feels: her sweaty skin against his, her soaked cunt squeezing him over and over again as she comes, wringing it out of him, and her fingers bruisingly tight, a bright spark of not-quite-pain around his wrist, as pleasure twists in his gut and spirals out and carries him away.

He’s dimly aware of the way she’s shaking, the sound of her voice, but it takes a conscious effort to understand the ragged words: “So good, Dean. So fucking incredible, feeling you fall apart for me.”

They’re both trembling. She loosens her grip on his wrist and brings his hand to her mouth, kissing the center of his palm and then every fingertip in turn. The sweat between them starts to tickle as it cools.

She turns in his arms, pulling back to look at Dean with a sparkling smile and a curious, level gaze. He can see the gears working behind her eyes, cogs clicking into place, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what she’s seeing as she stares. Then it clears, and she’s just beaming at him, giving him the same open, tender expression he sees every morning when they wake up together. He can see it all over her face, how much she loves him.

Dean’s not sure what he did to deserve that smile, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to earn it.

He’s heard it so many times: take care of your brother.

It wasn’t just Sam, though. It was always very clear to Dean that being a man, being strong, meant protecting others. It meant making the hard choices, putting on a brave face, shouldering the weight so that others didn’t have to… no matter how he felt, no matter how hard it was sometimes, his job was to take care of the people he loved.

He remembers smiling, hugging his mom, trying to make her smile again: It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you, too.

He remembers putting a hand on his dad’s shoulder, looking into bloodshot eyes: It’s okay, Dad. I’m really glad you’re home.

He remembers setting his jaw, holding his head high: Shoot first, ask questions later. Watch out for Sammy. He remembers that curt, military nod he got in return: That’s my man.

So that’s what Dean did. He protected people. When he loved someone, he did whatever it took to keep them safe. It was the foundation on which he built his entire life; it was the cornerstone of every structure, every wall, everything that held him up and held him together and kept him from falling apart.

You’re going to be okay, Sammy. I’ve got this. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got it all under control.

Then she happened. He couldn’t keep her safe from himself. He failed.

He tried to push her away, after. He tried to rebuild all those walls, for her sake, but she just knocked them down again. She demolished everything, right down to his crumbling foundations, and she loved him not in spite of what she saw in the wreckage, but because of it.

Dean has always believed that he isn’t a man, isn’t strong, isn’t worth loving, if he can’t protect the people around him. She claims he’s wrong. He was skeptical, at first, but she keeps coming home to him; it’s hard to argue with that. They’re building something new together, and it feels solid.

“Get your fucking moose hands off me, Sam, I’m fine,” Dean snarls. “Motherfucker, you’d think I never needed stitches before. Stop fussing.”

Sam lets go of his arm with a huff, and Dean sits down on the bed a little harder than he meant to.

“Welcome home,” she says flatly from the doorway.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with him, I give up,” Sam growls. He shoulders past her, closing the door behind himself.

“It’s really not a big -”

“Lie the fuck down, you moron,” she snaps, eyes blazing. “Bad enough you have to go and get yourself half-torn to pieces. If you make things even worse because you’re too fucking stubborn to deal with basic first aid, I swear to god -”

She’s got that face on, the one that means it’s pointless to argue.

“Okay. Okay, see? Lying down. Jesus.”

Dean settles back against his pillows, trying to hide his wince as the movement sets off shooting pains down his side. She stands next to the bed, looking down at him, and her jaw is set as she takes in the big gash across his ribs and the swollen punctures in his shoulder, visible through the shredded, blood-stained remains of his shirts.

“We’re gonna have to take care of that,” she says briskly, but her voice is shaking. Dean can see the fear in her eyes, and guilt twists in his ribcage.

“I can deal with it,” he protests automatically. “It’s not a big deal, I’m fine, you don’t have to -”

“Dean,” she interrupts. “Don’t. It’s me.”

I’m fine, it’s not a big deal, I don’t need you. It’s the first line of defense, has been for as long as Dean can remember. In all those years, she’s the first person who really bothered to break through. She makes it look easy, too, like a tornado going through a crooked old fence.

Dean feels off-kilter and flayed bare, suddenly. Now that he’s not bothering to keep up appearances, he just feels raw inside, like the monster clawed something deeper than his skin.

She bustles around for a moment, gathering up bandages and antiseptic, and Dean’s throat feels too tight. He missed her. He always misses her, and now instead of letting him hold her, kiss her, touch her, she has to patch him up… and part of him is so pathetically grateful that he doesn’t have to do it himself, even though he knows that he could. He can take care of himself. He should be the one taking care of her.

He just wants to hold her. He wants to reassure them both that he’s still breathing, that he’s home, that he’s safe.

She comes back with scissors. She gently moves the ruined flannel aside and then snips up the front of the t-shirt, biting her lip intently and then scowling as she pulls the fabric away from his skin to reveal the livid bruises that are already blossoming across his chest.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tries. His voice cracks on the last word, and her eyes snap up to meet his gaze. She opens her mouth to argue, pauses, frowns, then closes it again.

She’s studying him. Dean feels a prickle of embarrassment, cheeks flushing under the weight of her stare.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

He wants to say, just come here, hold me. He can’t seem to force the words past his lips.

Dean raises his less-injured shoulder in the barest suggestion of a shrug. It hurts. He rolls his eyes at himself and clenches his jaw. He can’t quite look at her.

She watches for another second, and then she sighs, putting the scissors down on the nightstand.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Can you sit up? At least help me get that off you.”

She slides into bed carefully, doing her best not to jostle him, and Dean sits up, gritting his teeth against the pain. She helps him ease the remains of both shirts off his shoulders and then tosses them aside. Dean settles back, fitting himself under her outstretched arm, shifting slightly onto his good side so that he can rest his cheek on her chest. He has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to ignore the way they’re burning.

“I’m really glad you’re home,” she says, hoarse and fervent. She brings her free arm up to cup her hand to his cheek, and her thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing, mindless rhythm.

Dean wants to apologize, wants to reassure her, wants to thank her… he fucking hates scaring her.

He wants to promise that he’ll never scare her again, but that would be a lie. He wants to ask why she bothers, but they’ve had that conversation one too many times before; Dean’s starting to accept that there’s nothing he can do or say to convince her that she’d be better off without him. She’s stubborn that way.

“I love you,” she says softly. “I got caught up. I’m sorry.”

Jesus, Dean can barely breathe.

He wants to ask, What did I do to deserve you? He wants to ask, How do you always know?

“Just for a minute,” he whispers.

“As long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s choking on all the things he wants to say, variations on thank you and I’m sorry and I love you.

He listens to her heartbeat, feels the rise and fall of her chest under his cheek, takes in the smell of her shampoo, and he reminds himself that he’s home.

It’s nothing like the home he used to dream of; he lives in a bunker, no fucking picket fence in sight. He’s bleeding from a half-dozen places, and no matter what he might think in the brief stretches of peace between apocalypses, he’s never really safe.

In this quiet moment, she could be mistaken for the soft sort of woman he used to imagine falling in love with, but she’s so much more than that. This tornado of a woman is sharp and tough and smart enough to break through every wall of bullshit he hides behind, and it’s terrifying, being exposed like that, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s not what he pictured, but this is home. This is love.

He doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling she’ll understand anyway; she always does.

Next part is here.

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#dean winchester fic #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural smut

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stewyonmolly · 4 years

Note

hi! idk if ur taking prompts or anything but can you write something abt peter being (selectively) mute? it can come from him being autistic or as a coping mechanism or however! even better if tony can help overcome it. thank u sm❣️

lemme just preface with the fact that my experiences are not universal and that i didn’t even understand that i’m literally selectively mute until less than a week ago. nevertheless, i hope this fulfills what you wanted <3

---

Peter doesn’t mean to be doing it.

It’s just that he’s been laying flat atop his sheets for almost two hours now, letting the idle spin of the white ceiling fan raise chills on his legs where they jab out of his too-loose boxers.

He’s got an incessant humming at the back of his neck though the rest of him is cavernous and cool. His eyes hurt. He can’t sleep.

He’s snapping one of MJ’s hair ties against the inside of his wrist. It’s supposed to make him come back into his body. It isn’t working. It feels like he’s up there bobbing on the breeze from the fan. Like suspension as a concept is tenuous and there is no webbing and Peter has been freefalling for ages and he still can’t see the ground.

He’d rather splat. He’d rather hit the ground, guts and grime and all, than keep hovering.

Johnny is off doing alien shit. MJ has an internship. May is on a shift. Ned hasn’t answered his texts.

There’s nothing holding him here.

It’s all too easy to let go.

Peter’s vision slips out of focus.

Time moves like ribbon curls and spilled honey; like sanded wood planks and fingerprints smudged on window panes; like the starchy water left after boiling potatoes and wet ink bleeding across the page.

It is all angles and pains and endless fields of undulating wheat, and then it isn’t.

Focus is painfully sharp. He immediately wants to retreat back into himself.

There’s a warm hand on his wrist. Peter fumbles the hair tie. It snaps onto fingers that are not his, rather than the thin skin over his palm.

“Stop that,” says Tony’s gruff voice, “quit it, kid, stop.”

Peter blinks. He turns towards Tony. He doesn’t know why Tony is in his apartment.

“School called,” Tony says, as if he reads minds. “You didn’t show up. They called May, and she called me to come and check on you since her shift isn’t up until twelve.”

Peter looks idly at Tony.

Tony’s hand skims over Peter’s forehead so lightly that Peter isn’t sure it happened. Peter thinks Tony’s palm is shaking. Peter thinks Tony’s eyes look heavy.

“One of those days?” Tony says.

Peter breathes. Somewhere inside his chest the answer is pulsating—it’s grabbing onto his ribs and rattling them like prison bars—but nothing. Nothing rises to his mouth.

Something, some great and primordial It, stoppers his throat, makes him stupid. Helpless. He fucking hates being helpless. All he does is try not to be.

He closes his eyes when his lower lip trembles. His throat is painfully tight. He hates feeling like this. He doesn’t get it. Nothing happened. Why does he feel like he’s sunk a foot into the foam of his mattress.

“Alright,” Tony says. “Hey, okay, I’m here now. We can fix this. I know we can. You know the first step? Because I do and I’m willing to share my answer with the class. Here it is: sit up. That’s the first thing. That’s always the first step. Come on, up, let’s sit up.”

Tony’s hand squeezes Peter’s shoulder three times, fast. Peter pushes himself up. He must. Because he’s sitting. His elbows feel strange. Too big. Too bendy.

“Hey, look at that,” says Tony. “You nailed it. Olympic gold worthy. I’ll contact the YMCA. You need a minute? Let’s take a minute. Step one, done. You earned a minute, I’m—here, scoot. Move that leg, I’m coming in hot like a mofo. Do the kids say that? I think I heard it on a TV show once and, frankly, it baffled me.”

Tony wedges himself onto Peter’s mattress and leans back against the headboard.

Peter looks at him, all decked in a massive hoodie and ratty sweatpants. His face is strange and blurry. Warped like he’s watching the bottom of a swimming pool writhe. Peter feels like he doesn’t recognize Tony. Peter feels like he would recognize Tony blind and backwards and upside down. He does not understand this feeling. It’s infuriating. He wants to reach down his throat and into his chest and pull it out like those clown napkins neatly tied in brightly-colored knots.

Tony sighs, settling against Peter’s pillows.

He gives a good show. As if this is normal. Any of this at all.

Tony turns his head towards Peter, then pats Peter’s cold kneecap.

He turns away again.

Peter thinks that if some magic spell could summon from his chest the sound that has been pushed so deep it would never otherwise be heard, it would be a guttural, fractured scream.

His finger loops around the hair tie.

Before he can snap it, Tony’s hand stops him. Cuffs around Peter’s wrist, all calluses and divots and swirled prints.

Peter can feel every rise and fall against his skin.

“How are we doing during our little interlude?” Tony says. “More interlude? Less interlude? Terminated interlude? All of the above are fine. Just keep me updated. A memo on my desk will suffice.”

Peter clenches his jaw.

“Oh, he’s mad. Okay. I can give you time. How about the next step for today is a shower? You look like you’re fucking freezing. Go take a warm shower. I’ll do that fancy thoughtful thing where I throw a towel in the dryer for you so it’s all toasty when you get out. Remember to wash behind your ears and everything.”

Tony slides off the mattress and stands beside it. He stares at Peter, open, patient.

Peter pushes himself off the mattress. The floor beneath his feet feels like a memory.

Tony says, “Hey, look at you! Nice. We’re making shit happen, folks. Into the bathroom with you, young one. Throw your towel out the door. I’ll go fix it up nice.”

Peter follows the instructions at half-pace.

In the shower, he finds himself sitting under the stream. He does not remember why he sat. He doesn’t feel lightheaded. Or nauseous. Or anything else at all.

He finds his footing. Stands. Soaps himself.

The garbled sound of the water calms him, even if he feels matted eight layers deep.

When he gets out, the towel is waiting beside a stack of his clothes. All of them are warmed.

He gets dressed and pads out of the bathroom.

Tony is standing at the stove. He’s cooking something. Peter cannot tell what it is.

Tony snorts. “You tuck your sweatpants into your socks? God, I shouldn’t be surprised. You do seem like the sock-tucking type. I bet you single-cuff your jeans or something. Fold your underwear in thirds. Hang your sweaters.”

The worst thing is that Peter has the comeback ready. Like a normal person? he wants to say. Like a normal person? sits on the back of his tongue. He can’t say the words. Neurotypical who? Not him.

God, even joking in his own freaking head sounds discordant.

Peter pushes himself up onto the counter and sits, legs dangling.

Tony continues to cook. Every once in a while, Tony will start to hum, then stop. He’ll get halfway into a verse and then quit as if he forgets the words.

Peter cannot pick up a single melody.

Tony is rather suddenly before him, plate in hand. It’s laden with eggs and turkey sausage. Two slices of toast. A peeled orange.

Tony peeled an orange without Peter noticing. Without smelling, even.

Peter takes the plate. It wavers in his hands but he rights it.

Tony does not begin to clean the cookware until Peter has stabbed a sausage with his fork and begun to chew it.

His mouth feels like it’s full of glue. His whole existence is a cotton ball. Fucking Christ. He’s so tired of feeling like this.

The next time Tony taps him, it’s on the elbow.

Peter starts.

Tony catches his plate before it can slip off his lap.

Tony taps Peter’s temple twice. “You’ve been—out there for a while. That place I can’t follow you. Food is getting cold. I expect it all to be finished. I know I’m the cool parent but I will not budge on this one.”

Peter stares.

“I know,” Tony says, voice breaking. “God, I know, Pete. It’s okay. Just some breakfast. It’s fine. You can do that, I know you can.”

Peter knows he can too. He knows he can, and he’s pissed because he feels like the crater punched into the earth’s crust that wiped out the dinosaurs, all smoking and empty and awful. He can finish a plate of fucking eggs. Toast. He loves oranges. He can do this.

It feels like he can’t. It feels like an undertaking. The epic sort.

He grits his teeth, stabs a chunk of egg, and does it. It’s like pulling himself along by the ends of his nails, but on the inside.

When he’s finished, he feels sick rather than bolstered.

But Tony takes his plate, grinning, and washes it for him. Whistling from between his teeth, now.

Peter’s finger hooks the hair tie. He knows that if he snaps it hard enough he’ll come back.

He does it once, twice. Nothing. He hears the slap against his skin. It feels like nothing more than a pinch.

“Hey, stop that,” Tony says, hands wet and sudsy as he takes the tie off Peter’s wrist.

Peter blinks at his skin. It’s mottled red, lightly bruised. He hadn’t realized.

It was supposed to fix him.

“I’m keeping this. I’ll personally give it back to Michelle. This isn’t May’s. It’s not May’s, right? She only uses scrunchies. She’s a child of the flowers, bless her hippie heart. Okay. Pocketing it. Let me finish the dishes. I need May to love me. Okay. Be right back.”

Tony pats Peter’s knee before he goes.

Peter watches the wet spot from Tony’s hand grow on the fabric of his sweats.

Tony brings him to the couch. The couch is not big. It is deep and too soft and sometimes, if you sit wrong, you get a butthole piercing from the springs.

Tony wraps him in a blanket. And then another. One is a quilt Ben made. The other is a blanket so enormous and thick that Peter is faintly sure it will smother him.

But he lets Tony wrap him up. Because he has no other choice. And because a little part of him—one tenacious bit who hasn’t lost hope—deeply wants Tony to fix this for him, and trusts that Tony knows what he’s doing.

Tony settles onto the couch next to Peter, tossing an arm across the back. His fingertips scratch Peter’s neck, along the knots of his spine.

“We could watch something,” Tony suggests. “I tend to think watching something after eating aids the digestive process. Gets the systems moving. Sound good? Let’s watch something fun. Let’s watch Ferris Bueller. God, that poor bastard. What mother would name their child Ferris? And he’s such a successful kid too. That’s overcoming adversity right there.”

Tony fumbles with the remote. He pulls up the movie. Peter sits in his blanket nest.

The film starts with the iconic monologue sequence.

Something in Peter settles seeing it. It’s so familiar to him, he could recite the whole script end-to-end.

Not now, probably. But usually.

It itches in his chest.

Tony hums rather than laughs during movies. A soft noise with his lips pressed together. A light smile.

He seems so calm. At ease. Peter doesn’t get it. Tony is always freaking out, especially when there’s absolutely nothing wrong, but not now.

Peter can’t make himself speak and Tony isn’t freaking out. That’s weird.

But maybe it’s good. Maybe. Because Tony acting normal might make Peter’s subconscious feel normal and then everything will click back into place and Peter can stop being so helpless and pissed and nonexistent.

It doesn’t reboot his subconscious. What it does is make him sleepy. The brush of Tony’s fingers, the familiar cadence of the movie—Peter drifts, and this time, he sleeps.

He’s shaken awake what feels like hours later.

He opens a bleary eye. Everything is moving.

A great mane of braided hair whacks him across the face.

He sputters.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Sorry, baby, just me, joining in on the cuddle sesh. Don’t worry, I changed out of my scrubs first. I know how much you hate being near my dirty work scrubs. Which astounds me, considering Ben saw you sneak a pizza crust out of the trash once when you were a kid.”

She settles next to him on the far side, where a snoring Tony isn’t.

She wraps her arm around Peter’s waist, strong and lithe and familiar, and Peter feels it.

It makes his eyes ache.

He swallows and swallows. He turns to May. He presses a firm kiss to her cheek.

“I love you too, honey,” she says, poking her nose into his neck. They’ve never needed words to communicate anyway.

He closes his eyes, warm enough to bake, surrounded on every side with stifling love.

He sleeps, chasing the sun across the sky, and when he wakes again, he wakes.

#my writing #fic request #irondad #irondad fic #hurt and comfort #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #may parker #ironfam #irondad angst

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retro-rezz-the-est · 4 years

Text

Brat Tamer (Roman Reigns/Reader smut)

Summary: The reader’s not a wrestler, but she’s being intentionally bratty bc Ro doesn’t come back home to her. Ro decides to take things in his own hands when she takes her brattiness and her teasing too far.

Word Count: 6,510

Warnings: voyeurism, a small tiny large ass bit of possession/possessive behavior, Roman being an absolute beast who I want to wreck me into oblivion, mutual masturbation and I believe that’s it??? Forgive me if I’m wrong.

(A/N: This was supposed to be for reaching 600 followers, but I’m re-purposing it so it’s now @writing-reigns’s birthday gift! To my lovely talented amazing fantastic beautiful sassy big sister: thank you. You’re an absolute delight to be close to and I hope you know how much I love you. Happy birthday, darling!)

(A/N #2: Bracket texts are Roman’s btw lol)

You never did like it when he was away for so long.

In fact, you hated it.

You knew this was a part of his job: the leaving for long periods of time, the sparse days that he spent with you when he was home with you, the repeated sadness of seeing him leave. But, you knew that he loved you and you loved him, so you supported him anyway.

It would always be months before you saw him again, all smiling and warm with him in your arms. Video calls and late night chats on the phone weren’t enough for you. You needed him here and at home with you.

You longed for his touch, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin at night when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. But now, his side of the bed was empty, and his babygirl would curl herself around his pillows to imitate the feeling of him against her.

You missed the way his hair would flop forward into his face and his constant struggle with trying to push it away, you laughing every single time because it was just too damn cute. Just thinking about all the little things he did just brought a smile to your face.

But, you also missed the more…sensual parts of your relationship.

He would always do things to you that none of your previous lovers ever did, and just thinking of them sent excited shivers down your spine. You missed the way his hands felt on your skin, pulling at your hair and tugging at your nipples as he too you with wild abandon and left you satisfied for hours.

You missed the feeling of his mouth on yours and his body pressed against you as he made love to you and made you cum more times than you could ever count on one hand. You missed the way he'd wrap a hand around your throat and hold you down on the bed as he pounded you from behind, banging the headboard against your bedroom wall as he called you his good slut over and over again.

He always had a way of making you feel like the most pampered princess in the world and the most dirty, naughty brat to ever exist and that was just perfect. You missed the sting of the marks from his hands on your ass whenever you misbehaved; doing it to yourself just never felt right at all.

You pined for his hands groping your slick breasts as he took you against the wall in your shower right after he got home from a long day at the gym, and you craved the feeling of him burying his tongue in your pussy whenever he woke up early on weekends.

All in all, you just…fuck, you needed him.

Which is why it hurt so much when he rang you up that night right as you were about to leave.

“Wait, what?! What do you mean you can’t come home yet?!”

“I mean, I can’t come home because I’m still on the road, babygirl,” Roman told you again, him sounding frustrated over the phone. You could hear the rumble of the bus he was on in the background, and the sound of the other Superstars chatting away right after.

“Ro, I’ve been planning this dinner for weeks! You said we’d go out when you got back, and that was supposed to be today!”

He was supposed to come home that Saturday afternoon, with his princess welcoming him at the door as he finally got back from the European leg of the company’s tour. It would’ve been your birthday the day he shou;d’ve been back and when you told him, he had promised to take you out for a nice dinner and left it to you to plan out the details.

You both were supposed to have fun, celebrate him coming back from the latest leg of the tour and you surviving another year on this planet, and come back to your apartment to reconnect after months of being away from each other.

It was supposed to be perfect.

But it wasn’t and he wasn’t here, and you were left without your man, fully dressed in the skin tight red sleeveless number he always loved, hair and makeup done with your heels on only to be left alone at your door.

“You can’t just cancel on tonight because of your stupid fucking job!”

You kicked off your heels and stormed into the living room, throwing your purse on the kitchen counter and stomping over to the couch. You glared out into nothing, hoping that he could feel the weight of your stare through the phone. “I literally got all dressed up for you to just ghost on me!”

“You watch your tone with me, babygirl,” Roman warned, venom seething from his mouth. “I’m sorry that I can’t just hop off this fucking bus, grab my bags and stow away on a plane for you and get there in five minutes! You said you supported me going away when we started dating, so support me.”

You’re full-on yelling at this point, red in the face and close to tearing his eyes out when he actually gets back. “How can I support you if you do shit like this to me?! You fucking promised-”

“Stop!” he shouted, shutting you up immediately. He never used his dom voice outside of the bedroom before and frankly, it scared you but you weren’t going to let down your front that easily. “Don’t fucking tell me what I promised, babygirl. I said I was sorry and Daddy will make it up to you when he gets back, as long as you stop being a fucking brat about all of this.”

“What-me? Being a fucking brat?! Excuse me, Roman, but I am completely justified in-”

“Babygirl, look,” he sighed, the deepness in his voice fading slowly. “I swear to you that I’ll make this up to you, okay?”

You could feel tears pricking your eyes. Whether they were out of pure anger or sadness, you couldn’t tell. “B-But Daddy-”

“No buts, princess. I’ll see you when I get home. We’re about to reach the hotel, and I’m really fucking tired. This conversation is over.”

And with that, he hung up, the dial tone beeping in your ear before you turnt your phone off.

You managed to call the restaurant and cancel your reservation, take off your dress and your makeup and remove your jewelry without throwing your phone across the hall or punching a hole through your bedroom door. Slipping on one of Ro’s old merch tees, you climbed into bed and sniffled, crushing his pillow against your chest and sighing angrily. You contemplated between tearing your hair out before you went to bed that night or just screaming into the pillow. So, you chose the latter.

“How dare he?!” you yelled. “Fucking hypocrite saying that he doesn’t break his promises, and yet goes and breaks one himself! And he called me a brat for being angry? The audacity!”

All he had to do was give you a warning beforehand, a message or anything but nothing! Nothing from him because he put so much attention on his fucking work that he never even thought about you at all!

You flopped onto your back and kicked the blankets away, grumbling and staring into the dark void that was your ceiling for what seemed like hours until an idea popped into your head. You grinned deviously as you began to weave the idea into a full-fledged plan and you rubbed your hands together maniacally.

If he wants a brat, fine. I’ll give him a brat. Let’s see how much good that does him in the long run.

Game on, Daddy, you thought as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, a grin slowly making its way across your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was in the hotel gym with a few of the other Smackdown Superstars when you had texted him that morning. Setting down the weights he was lifting, he paused his music and wiped the sweat from his brow. Just seeing your name light up his phone made him smile a little, even if he did insight the argument the two of you had a few days ago.

Y/n (Daddy’s Babygirl)

morning Daddy 😚😚

[Gmorning princess. How've you been?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

just missing u, that's all 🥺

[You know I'll be home in a few days. We've been over this]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

i know, but i can't help it. i miss having u here to take care of me 😢💙. ur babygirl's pussy is so wet rn & she needs her Daddy to come take care of her 🥺

[I'll take care of you and all your needs when I get back, just how you like it ;)]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

you better, or i may have to do it all by myself 😏😏😏

Roman looked down at his phone with wide eyes, sensing that you had something up your sleeve.

[Babygirl, what are you planning to do?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

nothinggggg 👀😏

[Don't lie to me now, princess]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

okay fine, you're no fun >:P. i'm rubbing my clit thru my panties rn. they're

the ones u got for me for my birthday, and they're *soooo* soaked rn 💦💦

i'm all wet and aching and needy bc i miss u, Daddy 🥺

He could feel his eyes getting darker by the second and quickly got up, saying his goodbyes to everyone in the gym before grabbing his gym bag and speed walking through the door. He made his way to the elevator and felt his phone vibrate again, cursing to himself as the doors opened and he leaned against the back wall.

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

fuuck Daddy it feels so good but it doesn't feel the same

i miss your big fingers, Daddy. mine are too small and yours make me

feel the best 😻

[Princess, did I tell you that you could touch yourself?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

...no???

[Take your fingers away, princess. I didn’t give you permission]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

...no

[What did you say?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

i said no 😈😊

fuck, my pussy is so wet for you, Ro. i’m sliding my fingers thru my folds and they’re so wet for you 😩

i have to text with one hand bc lefty’s busy with my slick hole rn

[You better stop teasing me like this or else]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

or else what? you’ll punish me? i already have two fingers in me, about to be three

She’s really testing me today, isn’t she? Roman thought as the elevator doors dinged and opened on his floor. He quickly walked to his room, placing the keycard in the door and swinging it open. Throwing his gym bag somewhere near his suitcase, he walked outside onto the balcony and swiped a hand over his face, imagining you in one of his merch tees with your legs spread and your folds wet and swollen for him.

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

i can’t hit my spot like you do, Daddy. you always finger-fuck me so good

fuck, i feel like i’m gonna cum already from this 😩💦

[Babygirl, I said no]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

too late, Daddy. i’m pushing in my third finger ;3

it feels so damn good Daddy. i can’t wait until you get back anymore

His eyes got dark and clouded over with lust as he felt his cock grow in his gym shorts. Fuck, what is she doing to me?

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

i’m rubbing my clit with my thumb now. dragging my nail across it too

i’m picturing it as your teeth bc you love to use them when you go down on me 🥺

[I said to fucking stop already. Listen to me, (Y/n)]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

Hmmmm….how about…no 😋

i’m about to cum Ro. gonna squirt all over my fingers for you 💦

Is she really going to…? No, she wouldn’t disobey me like that, would she?

[(Y/n), you better not or else you’ll regret it when I get back]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

shit, i’m cumming Daddy fuuuuck

His mind is immediately bombarded with the vision of you soaking your bed, your juices flowing from you and staining your sheets. He heads back inside, closing the balcony door before throwing his phone on the bed and sitting down himself.

[You done having your fun, princess?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

mmhm ^^

i came so hard for you, Ro. you wanna see?

He gets a picture right after, opening it to see your inner thighs glistening with your juices, your hand forming a peace sign as your digits are coated with your cum. Growling deeply, he closes his texts and moves to call you, the phone seeming to ring endlessly in his hand before going straight to voicemail.

“Hello person calling my phone, you’ve unfortunately reached the phone of (Y/n). Someone must’ve pranked you or something, because this is obviously the wrong number. But, if you meant to call this number, I’m clearly busy with something important so if you need me, leave a messa-”

Roman hung up quickly, throwing the device next to him and sighing, flopping onto the sheets and staring at the ceiling defeatedly. The concentrated throbbing of the hard-on in his gym shorts made him angry. You were testing him, teasing him, and he was buying into it big time. The phone buzzed next to him suddenly, making him grab at it and lean his head up.

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

gotta go, Daddy. i’m gonna go take a nap. byeeee 😚💗

[You’re really gonna do this to me?]

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

yep ^^. Talk to you soon 😘

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For almost a full week now, he’s had to deal with the torture you put him through, showing up to press talks and photoshoots and working out non-stop with a constant hard-on from the things you’ve been sending him. For a full week, the sexts became an almost daily thing as you recounted all of the things you were doing to yourself behind his back: touching yourself constantly in the bed you shared, grinding against his pillows and taking selfies with only his shirts on, sending him pictures of you in your newest dresses.

The “home movies” you sent him were equally as troubling, showing him exactly how well off you were without him there to take care of you and please you by teasing him with the various vibrators and dildos that you had in your chest.

You even had the nerve to call him during a meeting with Stephanie and tell him that you were wearing the vibrating panties he bought you last year for your birthday while you were out with friends, causing him to shoot up in his chair and try to hide his erection.

And for a full week, he’s been pent up with sexual energy, counting down the days and waiting for when he can finally come home to you and punish you for what you’ve been doing to him.

But, they’ve also been dragging on for what seemed like an eternity. So when he pulled up to the arena that Friday night, Roman was more than a little pissed off. You tagged him in a selfie you took on Instagram of you in a fitted black and turquoise lace bodysuit with a black lace collar, posting that you “had a surprise waiting for a special when they finally gets back to you”.

He felt a hot streak of possessiveness run clean through his system when he shut off his phone, and his fingers twitched with the need to let everyone know that you were his as he read through the comments. But he persisted, gripping the steering wheel of his rental tightly before getting out with a plan in mind. Grabbing his bag from the trunk, he pushed the doors open and walked inside with a grimace on his face as he tried to maneuver around the various stage crew and other wrestlers that littered the hallways.

Roman was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t seem to acknowledge bumping into one Mustafa Ali and walking straight through the man. He fell back with a yell, rubbing his shoulder as the Samoan continued on his way with his suitcase rolling behind him.

Rising to his feet, Mustafa brushed himself off before chasing after the other man, cupping his hands over his mouth to yell over the countless voices around him. “Hey, Roman! Hold up, man!”

Oh fuck, he groaned internally as Ali pulled up beside him, a smile on his face as he tried to match Roman’s pace. “So, how you been, buddy? It’s been a minute since we last talked, huh?”

Roman grunted, brows furrowed as he ignored him. His phone buzzed in his pocket again - most likely another message from you - and his mind immediately went back to you, thinking about how delicious you looked in that bodysuit.

She’s gonna fuckin’ get it when I get to the locker room, he thought, his hold on the bag’s handle tightening as Mustafa continued to try and speak with him.

“Ok, not much of a talker today. That’s fine. I just wanted to discuss our strategy for our match tonight. You know, for our tag match against Ziggler and Corbin? I was thinking that maybe you come out first and give ‘em the verbal one-two hit before I come out since they don’t know I’m your partner yet, but we could change that if-”

“It’s fine the way it is,” Roman replied, moving some stray hairs from his face before making a left towards the locker room and finding the one with his name on it. Before opening the door, he turned around to see the smaller man looking back at him holding his thumbs up and smiling.

He entered the locker room and shut the door, his mood somewhat lightening as he rolled his bag into the corner. Shoving his hand into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his phone and opened the newest message from you.

Y/n (Daddy's Babygirl)

(photo attached)

bought another one for you, Ro 💜💜

Roman walked over to the bench and sat down, taking his hair out of the messy bun he put it in earlier with his free hand and sighing as he felt the crotch of his jeans grow tight. There you were, spread out on the couch on your back wearing a lavender keyhole lace teddy with one of your legs bent towards the camera. You were smiling back into it and biting your lip, which made him groan and tug his hair a little as he ran his hand through it.

[You’re really milking this teasing thing, aren’t you?]

Y/n (Daddy’s Babygirl)

Why yes I am. This is why you don’t lie to me, Daddy

[Oh, you’re gonna fucking get it later, (Y/n)]

Y/n (Daddy’s Babygirl)

Can’t wait for it ^3^

He smirked deviously when he read that, loving how coy and innocent you sounded but knowing how wet you became just from him sending that. He did secretly love this game you were playing with him, riling him up with texts and pictures and videos, but as your Daddy he had to put you in your place. You had to know who was really in charge.

Standing and shoving his phone back into his pocket, he walked back to the door to unlocked it, only to hear the sound of someone suddenly knocking on the other side. He opened it to find a stagehand standing in front of him with a clipboard.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Reigns?” she started, tapping her fingers nervously on the board, “I know this is kinda sudden and we only have, like, an hour and a half until the show starts, but the big man and some of the other guys upstairs switched around some of the matches on the card for tonight’s show.”

“And? What does that have to do with me?”

“Your tag match was one of the ones moved and, well….it was moved to the beginning of the night. Like, right after Baron’s segment. So, you’ve got to start getting geared up since some of the people in the film crew wanna start shooting some of your pre-show promos in a bit.”

She then turned on her heel and scampered away, reaching in her back pocket for a pen and clicking it to scribble something down.

He sighed, closing the door as he looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed that he only had a few minutes before someone else came knocking. Roman walked over to his suitcase and turned it over on its side to open it as he sighed.

Guess I’ll deal with you later, babygirl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowd was roaring in his ears and he was loving all that energy, soaking it up like a sponge as he knew you were tuning in to watch him fight. He loved knowing that you could see the Big Dog in his natural habitat, watching him kick the crap out of anyone he was put in front of and feeling the apex of your thighs tingle from how turned on you were becoming.

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins throughout the entirety of the match, from when he slapped the taste out of Corbin’s mouth before Mustafa made his presence known to when he finally pinned Ziggler after hitting him with a third Spear during the nearly 15 minute long tag match.

Seeing “King” Corbin pull his new lackey from the ring and scamper to the back while holding him by his arms brought a quick smile to his face as he yelled “You can’t handle all this!” and the ref raised their arms in victory.

“I’ll see you around, okay? You were awesome out there!”

“You too, Ali,” Roman said smiling, panting slightly as the duo made their way through the curtain. Promising to check in on him some time later on, the two pounded fists and shared a brief hug before Ali began limping to the back with one of the medical personnel in tow, leaving Roman by himself.

“Now,” he told himself, smile dropping and eyes narrowing as he tore his way through the halls to get to his locker room, “time to take care of business.”

He immediately locked the door when he got inside, ripping his tactical vest off and throwing it into one of the open lockers before going over to his bag and unplugging his phone from the wall next to it.

His chest was shiny with sweat underneath the fluorescents, so he grabbed a towel that one of the stagehands left on the bench inside to wipe himself down. Drying off his hair with one hand, he used the other to unlock his phone and video call you, with you instantly picking up after only two rings.

“Hi, baby! You were so great out there during your match tonight! That was probably one of your best this ye-”

Your voice died down when you saw the look he was giving you: eyes holding yours in a steely gaze, neck vein starting to pop out a bit and a clear glint of mischief running across his entire face, but he disguised it all with a smirk. It sent shivers down your spine to know that secretly, you were the one to do this to him, to get him like this.

“How’s Daddy’s favorite little tease doing?”

“A tease? Me?” you feigned shock, mouth dropping open as you placed your hand on your chest. “Why would I ever have the gall to tease you in any way? I’m a good girl, remember?”

Roman’s face deadpanned and you had to stifle a giggle from bursting. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me, (Y/n). You’re not slick, and your Daddy isn’t a dumbass.”

His eyes flowed down to your chest, and how you were starting to angle the phone to show him more of what you were wearing. He chuckled at your latest attempt to get him riled up but unluckily for you, he was filled to the brim with pent-up energy and was all too ready to take it out on you.

You pursed your lips and blew a kiss to him as you crossed your legs on the bed. What seemed like miles of red mesh ran up your legs to your upper thighs and was held up by a frilly garter belt, leading his eyes up your body as the other two pieces of the red lace lingerie set hid all of your goods from his heated gaze.

“You like it? I bought this little number a while back and I was gonna send you a pic of it as a congratulations gift but since you called me, I figured now was as good of a time as any! So, what do you think?”

He could feel the crotch of his ring pants grow tight as you giggled again and stuck your tongue out, dropping the towel next to him as he ran his hand over the newly formed bulge. “I think,” he started, moving towards the bench and sitting down, “that it’d look much better on the bedroom floor. Speaking of which, take it off.”

“Huh?”

“The bra. As much as I love how it frames your perfect breasts, I want it off. Now.”

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you placed your own phone on your bedside table and angled it against the lamp that stood there before reluctantly reaching around and unsnapping the lacy piece, sighing as the room’s cool air made your nipples perk up. You tossed the discarded garment in the direction of your closet, smiling faintly and awaiting further instruction.

“Now, since you wanted to tease me for over a week with those fucking texts, those videos, those tags on Instagram, now I’m gonna do the same damn thing to you. And this time, you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Oh shit was the only thought that ran through your head as you gulped and felt your fingers twitch.

“So, what I want you to do is take out that cute little toy chest you have under your bed-”

“How do you know about that?!”

“-and take out the dildo you got molded for me. You know the one I’m talkin’ about, right?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you muttered under your breath as you stood up, wondering how in the fuck he found out about it and turning around to bend over suggestively and give your man a show. You could hear the jingling of his belt clasp and heard him suck in a breath, smirking to yourself as you pulled out the black box from underneath your bed frame.

For Roman, he loved the view that he was given, loving how the lace and the garter belt framed your ass as you reached into the box to pull out the silicone toy and show it to him. It was shaped and colored to look exactly like his own cock but before he could say anything, you climbed back onto the bed and sat cross-legged with it in your lap. He could see a slight flush dusting your cheeks and he laughed darkly.

You could see him fully now, his arm with his phone in his hand partially outstretched while his other hand held his half-hard cock as he coaxed himself to full hardness. Looking down at the dildo resting on your legs, a shudder went through your body. Although your new toy will never compare to the original, you’re gonna make damn sure that your money is well spent.

He watched as you let out a shaky breath, moving to lay down on our back at the head of the bed and picking up the dildo. You raised it to your lips and suctioned your lips around the head, getting it nice and wet for him before trailing it down your neck and circling it around your breasts and nipples until they were shiny with your spit.

With wide eyes, you looked back into the camera and asked, “What do you want me to do now, Daddy?”

“Cut the innocent crap, babygirl,” he sneered, making you moan softly. “Trail that thing down your stomach and run it over those pretty panties you bought.”

You answer him with a “Yes, Daddy” before doing as he told you, dragging the dildo down over your stomach and circling your belly button with it before running the head over your pelvis and throwing your head back with a moan.

It felt good running it over your skin like that, almost as good as if Roman was actually there with you and teasing you himself, but you’d never say that to him outright. Raising your hips to meet it, you slid the toy’s shaft in-between your legs and ran it over the thin strip of fabric that kept it away from your lower lips. You could already feel how wet you were becoming, seeing as after a few seconds of this that the dildo was faintly glistening with your juices when you held it up.

“Babygirl, don’t you fucking stop until I tell you to,” he growled over the line, making you jump out of your own little fantasy world. He was angling his phone downwards towards his hard-on, showing you how he’s already leaking cum onto his fingers as he touched himself at your expense. “Keep rubbing that dildo over that wet little pussy of mine.”

You spent the next few minutes running the toy over yourself, grinding it against your clit and moaning but taking it away when you got too close to cumming as to prolong what you had going on. The arch in your back became more prominent as time went on and as sweat began to bead on your own temple, making every moan made and every breath you took much heavier.

He finally told you to stop, seeing how he could spot your juices staining your inner thighs from where your phone stood on the bedside table. “Pull those soaked panties to the side, (Y/n), and fuck yourself with that toy for me. I want you to be fucking dripping and soak that thing so badly that I can see your cum from my end.”

You can audibly hear him stroking his cock now, his pre-cum making it easier for him to pump and twist his thickness. A smile broke out onto your fae but by the look in his eyes, you knew it wouldn’t last as you pulled the red panties to the side with your free hand and rubbed the head of the toy between your lips before sliding it into you slowly.

A heady groan rang out from within you and your eyes snapped open as you began to fuck yourself with it, pressing the silicone balls against your clit to drive you to climax quicker. Moving back into your own little world, you could feel it moving against your inner walls and running against every spot that made you tick.

You threw your head forward with a moan, both of you watching how perfectly all of it fit within you in one go and how quickly you started thrusting it. You raised your hips to meet it with every pass, sighing whenever it filled you to the brim.

You were so lost within this space, your mind so cloudy with arousal, that you almost didn’t hear him call your name.

“Slower, babygirl. I don’t want you cumming yet. You’re not the only one who wants to drag this out.”

So from that point on, he directed your pace and your every movement, telling you to go slower or faster and leaving you hanging on a damn thread every time. Roman laughed heartily when you huffed and puffed out your cheeks, calling you adorable despite being a teasing brat.

“I’m only giving you what you asked for, so don’t blame me for any of this.”

He made you grind down on it every time the dildo went balls deep, making you cry out when he made you take it out right after and pass the sticky head over your clit. You were balancing on nearly nothing at that point, a heavy sheen of sweat now covering your body and seeping into the mesh tights you were wearing until he finally tossed you a bone.

“Now ride it. Ride that fucking toy like you will once I step through your goddamn door. Ride that dildo until you’re screaming my name and letting everyone on your block know who fucking owns you.”

He says this with a snarl, tightening his grip around his shaft and stroking himself quicker as you rose to your knees and moved a pillows between your thighs to suction the dildo onto it. You sunk down on it immediately, your juices making it much easier for you to slide it in and your walls hugging it closely. You grabbed another pillow and moaned loudly into it as you started bouncing, bits of your hair flying around your face and lightning running through your veins.

Your hands started to move in opposite directions; one drifted towards your breast to pluck and pull at your nipple, and the other fell to your pelvis as you began rubbing at your clit with your fingers. Looking at Roman through the phone didn’t do you any better at all, him showing you how hard and thick and ready he was for you.

His chest and forehead were covered in a thin layer of sweat as he stroked himself to a climax throwing his head back with a moan and tugging at his long hair. You could see thick streaks of white fly from the head and splatter his chest and stomach, making you moan as he lowered his head and looked straight back at you. His eyes were cloudy and lost but still dominant and utterly him which made you close your own eyes to keep yourself from reaching that peak.

But despite that, you could still feel it building up in your abdomen as the dildo hit all of your deepest spots and made you cry out to the heavens. Words could no longer spill from your mouth when you felt that twinge of arousal run directly through you and drive you closer and closer to that edge you were seeking. He was finally going to let you cum after what seemed like hours and hours of teasing…

...which is why it shocked you so much when Roman told you to end it.

“Stop.”

“....wait, what?”

“Babygirl, I said stop. Take the dildo out now.”

Even through your daze, you could hear him clearly. His eyes were nearly black, clouded fully with lust as he gripped the phone with one hand and held his softening cock with the other. Isn’t this what he said he wanted? You were so close, why should you stop now?

So you kept at it, grinding the toy down harder as you moved closer to the phone so he could see. You arched your back and pretended not to hear him, lost in your own little world of pleasure and dipping your hand back to your hard bud to rub at it furiously.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna-”

“(Y/n), I said to fucking stop.”

And stop you did, ceasing all movements and quickly taking your hand away from your clit. The tone he used surprised you as he never really used his dom voice outside of the bedroom, so you knew he was fucking serious.

You moved to grab the phone from its place on the bedside table and whined as you slowly slid off the toy, the crotch of the lace panties a deep marroon as your walls clenched around nothing. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you put the dildo next to you and were sure to get it in frame, all shiny and glistening with your juices.

“Now what, Daddy?”

“Pick it back up and clean it off, baby.”

You did so without hesitation, moaning obscenely as you made a show of picking the toy up and running your tongue along its sides. He let out a low moan as he watched you watch him while you licked your juices off of it, swirling your tongue around the fake head like you would’ve if he was laying right there with you.

He hummed, the deep noise sending shivers down your spine as you placed it next to you and held the phone up before resting your head on the pillows behind you.

“All done,” you said coyly, biting your lower lip again as he ran a hand through his hair on the other side of the screen. Always did love when he did that.

Roman told you to put the toy back in the drawer where you found it and to change - both of which you did, dropping the dildo back into your toy chest and swapping out the soaked red panties for a tank top and silk shorts.

That’s future me’s problem, you thought when you noticed the wet spot staining your sheets, wearily moving around it before slipping under your blanket.

“I miss you, Ro. When are you getting back? Like, actually?” you asked, pouting your lips.

“I’ll be home in a week, babygirl,” he told you, out of breath and nearly falling back into the open lockers behind him. “You better not touch yourself until I get back.”

Your eyes went wide and you scrambled to sit up. “Huh? Why not?”

He ignored your question, moving over to his left to grab the towel that laid on the bench. Wiping off his chest again, he said assertively, “Your Daddy’s giving you a command, (Y/n). Follow it, or else I’m gonna put the belt on you for as long as I want.”

You gulped audibly, holding your tongue as your eyes grew wide. After a few seconds, you let out a soft “Ok” and he nodded in approval.

“That’s my girl. Now, be a good girl for me, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

He didn’t even wait for your reply, hanging up the call and shutting off his phone. Roman threw it back into his bag and sighed as his deep brown eyes wandered to the ceiling and he slumped back against the wall next to it.

She’s gonna end up killing me someday, he figured, wiping his hand down his face, but what a hell of a way to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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crewhonk · 5 years

Text

Only Happy Accidents (8)

Warnings: fluff. Holy shit so much fluff. happy Steeb and YN. Nursery decoration.

Songs: “Better Man”-- James Morrison

AN: lol, a short chapter and I wrote this a while ago so rip. Octobers chilled out from here on out (three midterms and two reports are out of the way) so I'm not promising more frequent updates but keep ur eyes peeled!

Masterlist

_________________________

March 27, 20th Week

Life was good, Steve thought, as he woke up on YN’s chest, her hands scratching his scalp absently as they both woke up. His hair was getting longer, and his beard was growing thicker and his abs were disappearing slightly and there was no rush to change any of it since YN made worshipping his incoming dad body a part of her daily second-trimester-hormone routine.

He and YN had gone to another appointment yesterday, and the pictures f the baby’s face were getting more and more clear— the baby definitely did have her chin, and he definitely had his nose and despite him being so squished, Steve thought his kid was going to be the prettiest thing on the world.

“Morning, Sweetheart.” He murmured softly as he breathed in deep, eyes opening finally and looking up at his girl.

“Morning, handsome. How you feeling?” She asked. They’d gotten carried away the night before and knew they would both be sore for a handful of days after. It was true— his thighs and hips were sore and judging by the look of the red swollen marks on her breasts and neck, she would be sore too.

“‘M perfect.” He replied, kissing her softly and making her sigh.

“Yeah you are.” She chuckled and he closed his eyes again.

“What’s the plan today, Ma?” He asked, and she hummed.

“Well, we have the cake testing, the flower picking and the centre piece arrangements to finalize and then I wanted to get started on the nursery cause all the furniture is supposed to arrive today.” She hashed out and he crooned, kissing her chest and up to her neck.

“What times are the appointments?” He asked, making his way up to kiss her jaw and cheek and chin.

“Nine.” She whispered, scratching his scalp harder and making him grunt. He looked over to the clock and smirked, he had plenty of time before she’d want to leave at eight. So, he pulled the covers over them and kissed her soundly— in this temple made of sheets, he would make his best girl pray.

_________________________

“You’re glowing. Really you are—are you sure you’re not the one that’s pregnant?” Sam asked, laughing as he slammed Steve hard into the mat and knocking the air out of his lungs. Things at the Rogers-YLN house were really, really great and it showed in the way Steve walked, and spoke, and fought and breathed. If Sam, Bucky and Natasha weren’t so damn happy for him, they’d want him one million miles away, and even then it wouldn’t be enough to get out of the glow that surrounded Steve.

“Nah, he’s just finally bucked up and made his fiancee have an orgasm for the first time in five months.” Natasha called out, making Bucky choke on his water and Sam drop his grip on Steve as he tried to help him up.

“Wait, what?” Bucky choked, and Steve flushed red.

“Yeah, he and YN hadn’t had sex since Halloween and I finally convinced him he wouldn’t hurt the baby or YN if he got his dick wet.” Natasha jested and rubbed Bucky’s back who was still trying to clear his windpipe of water. Sam only laughed harder, falling onto the mat beside Steve.

“You’re so stupid, holy shit.” Sam crowed and didn’t even protest when Steve shoved him two feet across the floor.

“You know what?” Steve said, smiling despite his friends making relentless fun of him. “I have a beautiful girlfriend at home who is pregnant with my child and hyped up on pregnancy hormones. I don’t have to put up with this.” He laughed and swiped his towel from the floor beside the benches. Natasha joined Sam in his giggles and Bucky snorted.

“You’re like a catholic rabbit, Jesus Christ.” Bucky chuckled, watching as Steve’s cheeks deepened in colour and as he held his water bottle in front of his groin. “You’re nasty.”

Steve’s eyes flickered over to Natasha who was snorting at his expense and raised his eyebrows at the couple. “You’re both no better— Sam tells me everything, especially about the noises you two make on a daily basis.” He pointed his finger accusingly at his life partners and Sam only laughed harder as Bucky and Natasha avoided eye contact with each other. Steve, on the hunt for blood, turned to Sam who was still on the floor and kicked him lightly in the ribs.

“And at least me and those two are getting some.” Steve grinned down sneakily at Sam as his face warped into something that resembled offence. Steve clapped his hands and pulled his sweater over his head.

“Now, I’m going to go home and help my baby mama start setting the nursery up.” And with a salute, Steve left the gym, awed silence in his wake and a skip in his step.

___________________________

“Ma? I’m home! Where are you?” Steve asked, walking through the foyer and into the living room, stopping short at the sight of countless boxes that had arrived yesterday and were now destroyed. There was wrapping across the room and it looked as if a tornado had swept through the apartment.

“Babe?” Steve asked, throwing his keys and wallet onto the counter. YN’s head poked up shortly, and a wide smile appeared across her face when she saw him. With little difficulty, YN heaved herself off the floor and stumbled over boxes to Steve. Steve only had a few seconds to take in her maternity overalls and baggy sweater (both of which showed off her stomach) before he wrapped his arm around her waist, cupped her neck, and kissed her sweetly.

“I forgot how hard it is to build Ikea furniture.” YN smiled, excitement radiating off of her person. She pulled him over to her mess (organized chaos, she said) and began pointing at things.

“This is the diaper station— that only took two hours and then now, I’m working on the crib, which I had to already take apart once because I tried to do it in Spanish but I forgot most of the Spanish I learned in university so— woo!” She yelped as Steve spun her around and pulled her to straddle his lap on the couch.

“Hi.” He smiled up at her and she seemingly melted into his lap, hands coming to scratch his scalp the way that made him purr. He tilted his chin up and pursed his lips, hinting for a kiss when she snorted at and leaned in, meeting her lips with his and sighing happily. Her hormones today were less of an issue, but that didn’t mean they didn’t wake up like a dormant beast whenever she caught a whiff of Steve’s musky post-training smell.

“I need to get off of you because if I don’t we won’t get anything done ever.” She hummed, pecking his lips twice and once more for good luck before stumbling off of him and returning to her place in front of what would be the place his son would sleep. Before his heart could flutter and his knees could go weak at the idea, YN looked up at him.

“Your paints came in if you want to get started on the walls— I know that’s something you wanted to do, and I think I’d actually kill you if you tried to help me build all this.” She smiled and he jumped up and walked over to her and crouched down, pulling her into an elated kiss, making her giggle against his mouth.

“I love you. Thank you.” He murmured, kissing her again and standing, walking back to the hallway.

“Hey, Steve?” She piped up and he turned to look back at her. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing in there?”

“Nope!” He replied, smiling at her scoff.

“No guns or American flags, Captain!” She called out and despite himself, he threw his head back and laughed, closing the door to his used-to-be-office and opening the window. There were paints there already, in all colours and new paintbrushes he’d ordered online, and a record player he’d put there last night along with his favourite records. Today was a good day.

This was a good life.

_____________________

The two spent a few hours doing their own tasks, reconvening in the kitchen for brief snacks and glasses of water and stolen kisses on countertops. Then, after one of the two managed to pull away from the other, there would be a tap on the bum accompanied with a quick smirk and farewell before disappearing in a pile of paints or boxes.

YN shut the door behind her, leaning against it and catching her breath. The elevator was down for maintenance, and knowing Steve would probably lecture her on it, had brought down all the boxes and packaging to the dumpster by herself. It had only taken three trips, but she was well and truly tired now and ready to just crawl into bed with her boyfriend and sleep for years.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t seen him in a while. She walked through her neat rows of white baby furniture lining the hallway and came up to the closed door. She pressed her ear to the door and smiled softly to herself at the sounds she heard. There was the scratching sound of Steve’s record along with the cool-far away sounds of the city outside of their small paradise of warmth.

And Steve’s voice.

It was a little flat, a little off tune, but perfect all the same as he sang softly to the song playing on the record. Somehow, his voice sounded like a perfect pair with the crooning, warbling sound of Billie Holiday— an everlasting, classic sound that made YN’s heart flutter in her chest. In only a few months time, she could be hearing this same scenario— just opening the door this time to see Steve in all of his hulking self curled around the smallest baby girl and cooing soft songs and poems to her as if she was his whole damn world.

The back of her knuckles rapped against the heavy oak of the door and his singing stopped immediately.

“‘Lo?” He called.

“You almost done, baby? ‘M goin’ to bed soon.” She called back and she could hear Steve place his brushes into the jar and shove some garbage into a bag before the door opened just enough for his face to poke through.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and she giggled before doing so, feeling the breeze of Steve opening the door and stepping around her, covering her eyes with his hot hands and leading her into the room. It seemed they were walking forever before they stopped, and YN could have vibrated with the excitement she felt. She could smell the scent of acrylic and oil and gouache.

“Steve can I look?” She whispered eagerly and he kissed the crook of her neck before stepping back. She could hear him move slightly behind her, but she kept her eyes closed obediently.

“In three, two, one, open your eyes, Ma.” He said, a nervous shake in his voice.

What YN saw made her heart stop in all its entirety. The room was no longer the pale grey of his office, but was now filled to the brim with vibrant colours of the jungle. Detailed trees crowded the walls and seemed to somehow make the room three times bigger. There were animals in and around the trees, and she walked forward to look at them closer, a hand covering her mouth in awe. There were small rodents hiding around the frame of the window, large eyes looking as if they would blink at her if she stared too long. Curled at the base of a tree, there was a brightly coloured tiger with individual hairs and eyes that made a chill go up YN’s spine. Her hand fell to her belly as she continued to walk around the room, staring only at the walls. There was an elephant against the adjacent wall, and a monkey in the top corner— on the other side of the room, there was a gorilla with a baby strapped to her back, and Yn sniffed and wiped her eyes, turning to Steve who was still standing behind her.

Except he wasn’t standing at all.

He was on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand and an impossibly nervous look in his eye.

“Steven Grant.” YN whispered, shaking from head to toe, rooted to the spot several feet away from him.

“YN, I know we’re already technically engaged, but please. Hear me out.” He waited for her to make any form of protest and when she didn’t, he sucked in a nervous breath and began to talk.

“On Halloween when I had taken you home, I’d never expected for any of this to happen. I never expected to end up with a family. I never expected my life would feel so full and I never expected I would ever be this happy. Most of all, I never expected that I would love you as much as I do.” He started, and YN walked a few steps closer as he opened the box. The ring was simple— a single gold band with one single diamond on it— classic, beautiful.

“But I do love you more than I ever thought I could and that love grows more and more each passing day. You make me a better man— the man my mom would have always wanted me to be. You make me a man who I’m proud to be. You, in all your glory and kindness and sass and unbent beauty make me a better man, and I want to be a better man for you for the rest of my life if you’ll let me.” He sniffed, tears flowing freely from his eyes. YN whimpered, hand on her belly and over her mouth to stop the sobs boiling in her chest and ruining his speech.

“YN YLN, I know we’re already engaged, but I want you to have this ring. I want to genuinely marry you because I’ve fallen so, helplessly, unfalteringly, unabashedly in love with you and I want to marry you, so, I guess I should ask, huh?” He cried, wiping his face with his sleeve and looking up at her. She nodded eagerly, bouncing eagerly from one ball of her foot to the next like an over-excited puppy.

“Will you do me the honour of marrying this old man?” He asked and YN stood, eyes glued to the ring in his hands, frozen.

“YN?” He breathed nervously at her lack of response.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you— I mean I was already gonna marry you but yes.” She cried, falling to her knees in front of him. They wrapped their arms around each other, and cried. She pressed her mouth to his in a desperate kiss and he swallowed her sobs, replacing them with his own.

“I love you, baby.” He sobbed, pulling back and grabbing her hand. He took her still-bare ring finger and slipped the ring on like it was always meant to be there. It glittered softly under the lighting of the Jungle Room they were kneeling in the middle of and she pulled his face closer to her, kissing him again softly.

“I love you more, Steve Rogers. How did I ever come to deserve someone as good as you, huh?” She whispered, wiping her tears with the tips of her fingers and wrapping her fists in the soft grey fabric of his t-shirt.

“Well I was just about to ask out he same question.” He smiled brightly. Steve Rogers was getting married to the love of his life. Getting married to his Persephone, his Eurydice, his Jane Eyre, his Elizabeth Bennett.

His YN YLN.

And as he coasted her around the room in his arms, their faces tucked into each other, Steve Rogers swore he never existed before this moment.

____________________

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl /

#steve rogers x reader #rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers series #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers drabble #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #Dad!Steve #dad!steve rogers

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athina-blaine · 4 years

Link

Jon goes on a business trip.

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 1,692

Tags: Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Long-Distance

Jon threw his backpack onto the hotel bed and slumped into the desk chair. It boggled him how he could even think about sitting after being trapped in an uncomfortable airplane seat for the last 12 hours, but he just didn’t have the energy to stand.

Weak, grey lighting wormed through the ratty curtains, washing out the already muted yellow walls and doing nothing to lift the temperature of the room. The second hand of the analogue clock twitched in place.

You get what you pay for.

Martin had insisted he would stay up late waiting for Jon's call, but guilt still twisted his stomach as he dialled his number. He wished Martin would have chosen to get some sleep instead, but, then again, the thought of going another day without hearing from him didn’t feel particularly good either.

The call clicked.

“Hello? Jon?”

“Evening.”

“I believe you mean, good morning."

"Shut up."

"Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting around for ages.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be getting in until around 7. If anything, I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just kind of hoping you were exaggerating how long it would take. You know, so if you get there a bit early, it’s like a nice little surprise.”

“Martin, if you’re expecting an airport to ever being running ahead of schedule, I’m sorry to say, you’ve already lost.”

Martin’s laugh was staticky in the receiver. “So, what’s it like? Sample any cuisines? Are the locals friendly?”

“Yes, I’ve had a bagel sandwich from a coffee shop at the airport, and the cab driver who escorted me to the hotel shouted at me.”

“What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Ah, well, you know, you can be a bit— And it’s not your fault! You’ve just been in a flying metal box for the last day, so it’s totally reasonable to be grumpy. But you can be a bit tetchy at times.”

Jon sighed. “I suppose I was a bit more aggressive expressing my umbrage at the way he handled my bags than was strictly necessary.”

“Jon.”

“My laptop was in there! He threw it.”

“Of course, dear.”

Jon curled up in his chair, wrapping his arm around his knees. “So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Just rewatching old episodes of Emergency Contact. Couldn’t you have at least waited until Monday to fly across the world so we could watch the new one together? Kathy is finally going to find out what happened to her fiancé.”

“I'm sorry, eldritch fear monsters have very little respect for broadcast network scheduling.”

“Pity.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. What’s the point of knowing some big secret if you don’t have anyone to talk to about it? And don’t just try to know it, either!”

“That would be a terrible misuse of my abilities.”

“Since when did you give a toss about that?” Martin yawned, smacking his lips gently. “Well, I guess I should let you go. You must be exhausted.”

“Not really.” Jon didn’t sleep much these days. “But you need to get up early for work, so …”

Martin hummed. The second-hand of the clock continued ticking pointlessly. A film of dust was beginning to settle on the back of Jon's throat. What a terrible hovel this place was.

“Oh, wait, before you go, I wanted to tell you, you won’t believe what Melanie found while digging around for the Davis case.”

“What is it?”

“Okay, so, you know how the guy was acting super weird and it’s, like, yeah, he definitely killed his ex-wife, right?”

“Yeah?” Jon said, pulling the thin blanket off the bed before settling back down.

“Well, guess what Melanie found in the storage closet of his mechanic’s shop?”

“Her dismembered corpse?”

“What? No, his toolbox. What’s the matter with you? You’re so morbid.”

"Oh."

“That’s a joke, I’m joking. Melanie didn’t find anything, was talking my ear off all day yesterday about it. Absolutely exhausting. I mean, I get it, Brighton isn’t exactly close, but remember when I had to go all the way to bloody Plymouth?”

Jon did, but he let Martin remind him anyway, and closed his eyes.

Snow crunched under Jon’s feet as he limped through the street, a packet of files tucked under his arm. The custodian at the Federova Research Centre had been furious at the hour with which he asked for one of their documents, but she had quickly reconsidered when she helpfully told him about the gambling ring she was running.

He still felt terribly guilty about it, but it got a little easier every time. He didn’t know if that made it worse.

A gust of icy wind sliced through his coat, chilling his bones. His nose burned as he breathed down the arctic air. He had been entirely unprepared for this miserable weather and fantasized about his dry hotel and a cup of hot coffee.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he took it out and opened the screen.

>aaahhhh!! im burning up!!! help!!!

Attached was a picture of the sun shining in the middle of a blue sky. Smiling, Jon typed a response, the tips of his fingers already uncomfortably numb.

>Be sure to wear plenty of sunblock

He angled his phone at the night sky, blanketed in thick, dreary clouds, taking a picture and sending it.

>oh, yikes. you sure im not the one on vacation?

>You know this isn’t a vacation

>yeah, going on vacation would require you taking that stick out of ur arse

> ):<

>im sorry, it’s a nice stick

>Thank you

>also why are you awake??

>Research. Need I remind you that you were the one who texted me?

>i was expecting you to see it tomorrow!! go to bed!!

>Yes, darling

A light snowfall had begun. Wild animals skittered by in the distance, dark shadows in the corner of his eyes. Tucking his phone away, he continued his trudge, the bruises on his left leg throbbing.

He’d go to bed once he got these documents sorted.

The black ooze caught Jon’s foot and he crashed to the ground, shoulder crunching under his weight. The creature crept up to his knee, squelching as it latched onto his other leg, gelatinous and soggy. Hissing sharply through his teeth, he clawed the dirt, pulling himself forward. His foot had grown numb.

The creature had reached his waist and his fingers sluiced through the wet soil, his body too heavy to move. Pins and needles crawled up his legs before he lost feeling in them entirely. Though it had no mouth, the creature groaned, the sound of satisfaction one might make as it bit down into their meal.

He grabbed his phone before it ate his pocket and made a call. It rang.

It went to voicemail.

The desperate words died on his tongue. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his face into the ground and breathing in the musty earth.

“Um, hello.”

A slimy tendril crawled along the back of his neck, leaving a damp trail in its wake before creeping into his hair. It would never wash out.

“Just wanted to see if you were awake. Of course, you aren’t, it’s like 4 AM. Not your fault. Nothing new on my end.” The creature squeezed, pressing his ribs against each other. “No, no, that was a lie. I’m currently being attacked by some kind of blob monster. Didn’t want to worry you, sorry. That was stupid of me.”

The scent of sweet organic fumes struck him, and he stiffened, stomach churning.

“I am trying very, very hard not to die right not, but just in case, figured, should give you a call. Seemed like the right thing to do.” He chuckled, which turned into a splutter as the thick sludge began filling his mouth and his nose. “I’m sorry.”

He ended the call, hand falling limp, still cradling his phone. It was swallowed shortly after.

The airport was fit to burst as Jon worked his way through it, suffering bumped shoulders and crying children the whole way. The lingering smell of floor cleaner and cigarette smoke made his world spin on an axis, but he pressed on.

He was home. He was home, and he’d be in his bed within the hour. He pictured changing into his pyjamas and crawling under his cosy bedsheets, being held, as he was shoved through customs by sour faced security guards who wanted to be there even less than him and wanted him to know it.

When he reached the airport lobby, something barrelled into his chest.

“Finally,” said Martin, squeezing Jon hard enough to make his eyes pop. “You were supposed to be in two hours ago.”

“I told you it was delayed,” Jon said, resting his cheek on Martin’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of his own lemon detergent and had a vision of Martin cycloning through their flat in a cleaning frenzy. “You said you were going to wait at home.”

“I lied and you knew it.”

“I did not."

Martin looked up, a gentle smile on his lips. It trembled, his eyes growing misty, before it cracked. “So, um, I know this is going to sound really crazy, but …”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could just, you know, never, ever leave again? Ever?”

He looked so small and scared as he said it. Jon had done this to him. Again.

Jon pulled him back into his arms. “I can’t promise that. But it sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” Martin sniffed. “And I don’t mean just these little jaunts to the other side of the flippin’ planet where you try and get yourself killed. If you go to Tesco, I'm gonna be on your arse. Right? Got it?”

“Of course.”

“You can still go to the bathroom by yourself, that’s okay.”

“Perfectly reasonable. You're dizzying me.”

Martin pinched his arm and pressed his mouth against Jon’s, slow and hungry, before dragging them towards the exit gate.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

#the magnus archives #tma #themagnuspod #jonmartin #jonathon sims #martin blackwood #fic #fanfiction

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years

Text

Loud Words Silent Aftermath

Alex Law x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: thoughts of cheating, break up, drinking

Author’s Note: Wow my love for Alex is like over the moon and I didn’t realize how much making angst to fluff made me happy cause the fluff damn

Requested: by anon, can we get some angsty alex law w a happy ending? i just love him so much!! have a nice day ur the best🥺🥰

Summary: the request

Genre: angst and then fluff FLUF

(not my gif)

You brushed your hair out of your face and wiped the mascara that had dripped down your face off. Your cheeks were wet with tears that were still flooding, despite your want for them to stop. The longer you looked at yourself in the mirror the more they came, annoying you further to the point where the tears only kept coming.

“Pull. Yourself. Together!” you screamed at your reflection in the mirror. Your grip on the vanity table was so hard that your knuckles had turned white.

You never really thought you and Alex would break up. You really thought that you were going to be that couple that dated in their twenties and got married and traveled the world with shitty jobs and a happy marriage. You had been dating for so many years you had forgotten that there was ever a possibility that you could break up. That was for couples who were faulty, fought a lot, didn’t compromise. Not you and Alex.

Sure, you bickered sometimes but you could count on your hands the amount of times you had really gone through it when you fought. The night still played in your head like a broken tape.

The slam of a door, the smell of alcohol in the air, screaming voices that weren’t really saying anything. The same old small bickering thing about him and Juliet. You never liked Juliet, you thought she was a bit weird if not to normal. You didn’t worry about the fact that she lived in the same apartment as your boyfriend just because you trusted him that much. Sure you joked about it darkly sometimes but David approached you, saying his girlfriend had slept with your boyfriend...words that refused to leave.

You asked him about it of course and you were so angry you figured you had forgotten to be civil. You didn’t really want to believe that he and Juliet had been together but it seemed obvious at the time.

And then you didn’t realize he had gone drinking, you didn’t realize he wasn’t in the right state of mind until he was yelling at you, hands flailing. You left and hadn’t been to the apartment since.

That had been a week ago.

You’d venture to say that’s the longest you and Alex had been away from each other since you started dating.

Alex sat in bed, watching the time click away on the clock. Each passing second felt like a knife in his throat and he sniffed, refusing to cry any more than he already had. He was still surprising his anger at David for ever putting that idea in your head. He knew you trusted him to the end of the earth and he hadn’t handled the situation well enough for you to believe him.

He cursed himself for ever going out drinking without you and with Juliet. It was completely friendly and it had been all through that night. But he hadn’t invited you and he should have.

Alex wanted to punch David’s lights out and curl in a ball and die. He swore before that he’d rather die than lose you.

The clock continued to tick.

The tears pooled even if Alex didn’t want them too.

You wiped your face one more time and left the apartment before you could retreat back to your room. Your two roommates gave you a look of pity as you wordlessly left down the few flights of stairs and out into the nightlife.

You waved down a taxi and had it take you to a club you had frequented with Alex. You wanted to be near him again even if you weren’t near him.

You supposed there was a part of you that wanted him to be there. To be drinking his problems away. When you entered the lifeless bar on a Tuesday you saw he wasn’t there and couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You ordered a drink and sat down on a stool.

“Alex, she isn’t going to be there,” David said, not looking up from his newspaper. Alex stopped, the door halfway open and stared at David.

“Fuck your fucking face for making her leave in the first place,” he sneered. He was this close to losing his temper again and he wouldn’t have any regrets hurting David like he did hurting you.

“I didn’t make her leave, you fought her.” Juliet entered the room and gave Alex a sympathetic look.

“Just go. Who knows maybe you’ll get lucky,” she said with a shrug. Alex gave David one more look of anger and slammed the door behind him, stomping down the stairs.

Alex shoved his hands in his pockets after pushing open the bar door. The air was heavy with the feeling of regret and Tuesday blues. He almost missed you, sitting on the bar stools, finishing an icy drink. You wiped your eyes of what he assumed were tears. He wasn’t sure if he should go over and talk to you or not but eventually his feet just moved for him and he sat in the stool beside you.

You looked surprised to see him if not a little relieved. You missed him. His hair, his eyes, his smile, his voice, his hands. He was in the same boat. Seeing you made his stomach bubble with warmth.

“I didn’t sleep with Juliet,” he stated. You gave him a small defeated smile.

“I know.” There was a second of silence as the bartender was making Alex his usual drink. You just watched him sit there and felt better despite not knowing where he stood on the relationship aspect of you.

“And i handled it really shitty and I just want to say I’m sorry,” he muttered like a hurt puppy. You looked at your empty glass, only the first one of the night.

“I was hysterical when you came home and I knew it wasn’t true I just spiraled. I’m sorry too,” you whispered. He wanted to take you in his arms. For a moment he worried he’d never be able to do that again, fear that the giggle make out sessions that had become a staple of his personality were no more.

“Can you ever..can we..is there a chance...fuck,” he started then stopped unable to find the words.

“Can you take me back?” you finally stumbled out and he let out a heavy breath of relief. He nodded quickly.

“Yes please. Yes.” He couldn’t stand it anymore and leaned over so that he could kiss you. You could feel where his tears were still damp as you cupped his face and almost wanted to cry for him, hating that you ever made him hurt.

“That’s the best kiss you’ve ever given me,” he whispered. You smiled and he realized how much that smile made him ache inside. He loved it.

“Even better than our bullshit first one in the rain?” you asked quietly.

“So much better.” You slid off the stool and he got up so that you could hug him, resting your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. He hugged you like you might disappear.

“I'm never letting you out of my sight again,” you muttered. He laughed a little and was thankful the bar was nearly empty so no one could see him blushing like a mad man.

“Can I sleep at yours tonight?” he asked and you nodded quickly.

“The bed is so cold without you,” you told him seriously and he didn’t bother hiding his goofy smile.

“Are you called me hot Y/L/N?” he whispered like it was a dirty secret and you laughed hitting his chest and pulling away from him a bit.

“Oh fuck off Alex.”

Ewan: @daphne-fandom-writing , @satanslov3r @records-and-stardust @broodybats @starwarsprequelfangirl

#alex law x reader #alex law imagines #ewan mcgregor x reader

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 6 years

Text

I Lied - Frank Iero x Reader

Request: could u please do like maybe a punk!frank high school au fic? with like idk angst i guess.... thank u!! ur lovely ;)

Word count: 3 466

Being friends with Frank was always spending the breaks together with his arm flung over your shoulder, sitting next to each other in every class, never caring about the evil stares and always ready to tell each other a joke.

Being friends with Frank were sleepovers and watching movies until the early hours of the morning before falling asleep in the same bed or cuddled together on a couch.

Being friends with Frank was sitting in detention together because he spoke his mind in class and got detention and when you said that this was unfair you also got detention. It was a tradition by now.

Being friends with Frank also were rides in his old car, windows down, riding through the night and feeling infinite to the sound of your favorite bands. It was standing on a hill in the middle of nowhere, shouting lyrics at each other, dancing around and feeling powerful enough to take on the entire world. It was sinking down on your knees, when you were out of breath, high from the adrenaline flooding through your veins and slowly finding calm comfort of knowing you would always be there at each other’s side.

Being with friends with Frank was mostly loud and rebellious, it was you going to every single one of his concerts, sitting backstage on a table and dangling your feet to the rhythm of the guitar riffs or the drums.

It were his puppy dog eyes when he needed help sewing a new patch to his jacket, and sweets snuck into your locker to surprise you.

It was the exchange of annoyed looks on the sports field when you both had to do things you hated and/ or sucked at. It was him finding you crying behind the school after physical education, because girls continued making fun of you when you were not good at what you had to do. It was him wrapping you in his beloved, patches covered jeans jacket, taking you in his arm and guiding you back inside, daring the others to make fun of you again.

It was you stopping him from beating up bullies who took the sandwiches from younger students, even though they would have deserved it, but you did not want Frank to get into trouble.

It was exchanging foods at lunch you did not like; he got your olives and you got his green beans.

Being friends with Frank was sitting on the small sofa in your room on Sunday evenings, knees pulled up to your chests, quietly imagining which horrors school would confront you with this time. It was wiping tears of each other’s cheeks, assuring each other that live would get better, even if you did not believe it yourselves. It was feeling lost in the small room and being unimportant in the big, wide world.

It was helping Frank when he had an anxiety attack that made him curl into a tiny ball, sitting on the floor and shaking. You would wrap your arms around him, hold him tight and stroke his hair until he had calmed down.

It was getting him out of bed when nothing else would because his depression was kicking him down again.

It was sitting in silence next to each other, taking comfort in knowing you were not alone.

Being friends with Frank was sometimes silent.

Being in love with Frank was different. It was your heart racing every time he touched you, breath hitching every time you saw him. It was the urge to touch his hair when he was asleep or cuddle into him. It was heartbreak when you were falling asleep on your own, because you knew that nothing in the world would make it possible for you to be with Frank.

And it was guilt. Guilt because you knew you lied every time you promised to tell each other everything. You did not want to lie to Frank, but you could not tell him either. You were terrified he would find out one day and that he would hate you for it. You could not lose your closest, your best, your only friend over a stupid, stupid crush.

Sometimes you could forget that you were in love with him, or pretend that he was in love with you too, that this story would have a happy end, at least while he was with you, while you only had to extend your hand and could feel him by your side. You lived for the moments in which you could be carefree at his side, the moments he treated you like you were the only one in the world that mattered for him. But you died in the moments in which you were alone and realized that it was only friendship, that once you were done with high school, you would probably never see each other again. Your heart broke over realizing that after graduation he would go on tours to pursue his music career while you would go to college. Sometimes your mother checked on you to see why you were crying in the middle of the night. She brought hot chocolate and asked why you did not talk to Frank about it, since she did not know about how much in love you were with him and how impossible it was for you to reveal that to him. So you told her he could not help, and she patted your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

~*~

It was already late at night. You sat on Frank’s bed, legs crossed, humming the tune of one of his songs that was stuck in your head. You could hear the shower running in the bathroom. You had been to one of his concerts again and because it was late he had offered you to stay over, as always. Now he was taking a quick shower while you ran your fingers over his blankets, trying to stop the spinning thoughts in your mind. You did your best to focus on the pattern on the sheets, pushing the thoughts of Frank’s bare, wet chest out of your mind. One day you would probably go crazy over the boy. The image of his dripping, black hair appeared in front of you. Quickly you focused back in the pattern on the blanket. It was okay to have these thoughts when you were alone in your bed, as okay as it could be to imagine your best friend like that, someone who you were supposed to have a completely platonic relationship with. But you could not think about these things while he was next doors. You sighed quietly and let your eyes wander over the walls of his room. There were still the same band posters you had known for years and a few newer ones as well. An amplifier stood in the corner of the room next to one of Frank’s guitars. On the window above his desk he had written lyric ideas with white-board pen. In one of the corners was a small doodle of a dog. His wardrobe was covered in photographs. Some of them were pictures he had taken at concerts, some were of him on stage and over the last time there were more and more pictures of you as well. He loved to take pictures with you in them. Sometimes he spent hours staging a picture, sometimes he just pulled out the camera and took a quick snap. You stood up, curiously scanning the collection of pictures of you he had put up. There was one from the rehearsal for drama, in which you stared absentmindedly into the spotlight. Another one was from the performance of the play. It captured a moment in which you had to throw a plate across the stage. Your face was contorted with anger, the plate was shattering on the floor into a thousand pieced and the light made each one of your stray hairs shine. The picture was amazing, and if you had not been the person portrayed, you would have even liked it. The next picture you noticed had been taken by one of Frank’s bandmates. Frank was hugging you tightly right before his new band Pency Prep, in which he was lead singer, played their first show ever. There were a few more pictures of you with the band, laughing backstage or during rehearsals. One picture had been taken by you and Frank together when you were sitting in his garden and played around with his new camera. Another one was from a BBQ both of you had attended. His one arm was wrapped around your waist loosely, both of you were laughing. You smiled at the picture and ran your fingers over the smooth surface before you noticed something else that drew your attention to it. It was a picture on the bottom corner of the wardrobe. It took you a moment to realize that it was a picture of you sleeping in his car, probably you had fallen asleep after one of the car rides. Frank must have had taken the photo before waking you up. You bent down to inspect it further, but in that moment the water in the bathroom was shut off and you quickly stood back up, your heart pounding slightly too fast from the discovery you had made. You wondered why he kept a picture of you sleeping on his wardrobe, without having it shown to you earlier.

When Frank exited the bathroom, you were sitting on his bed again. He wore a shirt and sweaters, just like the clothes he had given to you so you did not have to sleep in your day clothes. His hair was still damp from the shower and his face red from the hot water.

“Sooo,” he jumped onto the mattress next to you, sitting down, “What do we do now?”

You looked up at him, still wondering about the picture, but you decided not to mention it.

“I don’t know, you were the one insisting that I come over…” you looked at him with wide eyes, expecting him to suggest something, but he just let himself fall on his back and stared against the ceiling.

“My mind is blank,” he told you. After a few moments of silence he spoke up again. “Have you ever wondered if life is just passing by us without us noticing? We could change so much in the world, but we just sit in school and rot.”

He sat back up and stared at you wide eyed.

“Sometimes… but I mean… I really don’t do anything to change the world…” you stared back at him, trying to find the right words. “But you, you make music, right? You play in a band, you make a difference.”

“You think?” Frank looked at you proudly. “Wow, that is really a nice compliment.”

“It’s true,” you told him with a smile. You sometimes saw the kids in the crowds he was playing to. They loved the music, and if they were anything like you, the music carried them through the day until they were safe from whatever was haunting them.

Frank continued staring at you, nervously biting his lower lip. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You glance snapped back up at him and you felt a blush rise into your cheeks. “You know I haven’t,” you answered confused. Of course he knew, why was he asking? His question made you dizzy and your heart pound painfully.

“Neither have I…”

“I know, so what?” You tilted your head and looked at him, hoping for an explanation.

“I was just wondering…” now it was his turn to blush, “you know, most people at our age have kissed someone and… I mean it would be embarrassing to kiss the person you like for the first time and you really suck at kissing.”

You furrowed your brows. You had thought about that too, but because you always thought about kissing Frank and you knew that he had no experience either, you had never worried about it.

“Who are you planning on kissing,” you asked instead, trying to sound playful.

“Nobody!” Frank grew even redder. “I just thought, maybe… we could try it out, you and me, you know?”

You could have sworn your heart stopped in that moment. Was he really asking to kiss you?

“Come again?”

“I mean, we could try and tell each other what we liked and what we didn’t like and that way…” he was waving his hands around helplessly.

Your mind was spinning. You wanted to kiss Frank really, really badly. But you did not want it to be just like that, you wanted him to like you the same way you liked him. And you were certain that if you kissed him without your feelings being returned, there would be an awkward tension between the two of you until the end of time. An awkward tension you did not want. So if you had to die without ever having kissed Frank Iero, but with an intact friendship, that was the way it was going to happen.

“I don’t think I want that,” you told him hesitantly.

The disappointment on his face was visible immediately, even though he tried to hide it.

“Oh,” he whispered, clearly ashamed. His shoulders sunk down and he lowered his gaze on the mattress.

Great, now this was even more awkward. You waited for him to say something but he kept quiet. Maybe you should just kiss him; at least the awkward tension of the moment would be gone, maybe. But it would be even worse later. You shimmied uneasily around for a moment and were about to speak up, just to say something, anything, when Frank suddenly spoke up.

“You know how we always promise to tell each other everything, no secrets and stuff?” His eyes were still fixed on the blanket in front of him while he fiddled around with the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, scared that Frank had picked up on your feelings for him.

“I’ve been lying to you,” he suddenly admitted, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You tilted your head slightly, asking wordlessly what he had been lying about.

“I’ve always told you how much you mean to me as a friend, but I’ve never told you that I actually love you and that the only reason I started talking to you in middle school was because I had a huge crush on you. And then I got to know you and you became my best friend and all the while I was still pinning for you and I know this changes everything, I’m completely okay if you don’t wanna be friends anymore and I know things will probably never go back to how they used to be, but I just can’t do this anymore, you know?”

He looked at you, eyes pleading you to understand him, to let him down gently, but your mind was too occupied putting the puzzle pieces together.

“Is that why you took a photo of me sleeping,” you wondered.

Frank groaned quietly, covered his face with his hands and sunk back on the mattress without answering.

You thought about a way to best confront him about your own feelings.

“You know, you might be right, things will probably never go back how they used to be.” Your voice was calm and you could see Frank pulling his knees slightly towards his chest.

“Maybe you should leave,” he told you, his voice monotone.

You pretended not to have heard him. “But I really wanna stay friends, if that’s okay with you.”

You sat up from the blanket and crawled to Frank until you were over him. His face was still hidden by his hands and you were not sure if he was crying or just listening quietly. Anyway you were pretty sure he wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

“We could, of course, be a bit more than friends,” you told him, surprised by how calm your own voice was.

It felt like your body was moving without you ordering it to. It just carefully pulled Frank’s tense hands away from his beautiful face, while on the inside you were totally freaking out. He looked surprised at you words, eyes widened and lips slightly parted. The blush was still burning on his cheeks.

“And considering I lied to you too, about my feelings for you, I’d like to take back the ‘I don’t wanna kiss you’ part and actually do it.”

Frank’s eyes scanned over your face, then he leant up and connected your mouths, your eyes fluttered shut. You were both shaking slightly at the foreign sensation. His lips were warm and soft against yours. For a moment it felt like you were frozen in spot, too overwhelmed by what was happening to react in any way. You felt him place a hand at your waist, a gesture you were used to, but this time it sent a bolt of electricity through your system, making you shiver slightly. With one swift motion he turned the two of you around so he was on top. You caught a glimpse of him smiling before he leant back down to you, connecting the kiss again. This time he seemed to have more courage and slightly moved his lips against yours. Since you had no idea what you were supposed to do, you just copied his movements. You were fascinated by how gentle he was and how perfectly your lips fit together. Your insides felt fuzzy as you wrapped your fingers into his still damp hair. It was really soft and his curls perfectly rolled around your finger. Your heart leapt into your throat as you felt his tongue press against your lips slightly. You left him hanging for a while before you opened your mouth for him. You could feel him smile into the touch and relished the feeling of his hands at both of your sides, holding you gently in place. For a while you let him explore your mouth with his tongue before you got too curious yourself. He fought for dominance for a few seconds before giving in, allowing you to kiss him deeply yourself. It was a strange feeling, but strange in the best of ways. It was warm and wet, soft but also strong and the taste of his lips almost blew your mind. You wished you could taste him like that forever while your nose was filled with his delicate scent and your hands wrapped into his beautiful hair. The tiniest of moans escaped him before he took back control, gaining confidence and kissing you harder than before, pressing you into the mattress, trying to balance his bodyweight so he would not crush you.

You only noticed how breathless you were, when he pulled away and rolled off to the side. A giggle escaped both of you while you were trying to catch your breaths. You turned to face him, his cheeks were flushed a beautiful red, his perfect lips were slightly swollen and crimson. A smile played around on the corners of his mouth and you could tell that he was as high on adrenaline as you were, but exhausted at the same time. He extended his hand and ran his fingers over your cheek, a grin lighting up his face.

“You’re blushing,” he told you, his hand wandering from your cheek to your hair, softly stroking it.

“You should see yourself,” you told him cockily and he giggled.

“Sooo… does that mean you like me?” he asked hopefully.

“I just kissed you until I almost fainted from lack of oxygen, I think it’s safe to say, I do.”

He giggled again and you knew he was about to say something really stupid. “Ugh, (y/n) likes a boy,” he mocked.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you playfully hit his arm, making him giggle even harder.

“Guess what, I like you too,” he whispered, suddenly serious again.

He pulled you close to him, until your chest was resting against his. He nuzzled his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, humming softly. You placed your cheek against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. The last thing you registered was how he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead before sudden tiredness overwhelmed you and you fell asleep in his warm embrace. He felt you relax to his touch and how your breath got even. Sleepily he closed his eyes, his heart skipping a few more beats when he reminded himself of what was just happening before sleep overwhelmed the young musician as well and he was gently covered by the soft blanket of restorative slumber.

#fanfiction #fanfic #Frank Iero #frank iero fluff #frank iero x reader #romance #punk!frank #high school #high school au

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significant-what · 7 years

Note

92 solangelo texting?? or not texting??? just do whatever you feel like, i'll love it anyway :^)

92. “Are you drunk?”

Will wakes up to a tapping sound. He’s not sure he actually heard it at all - it’s raining outside, and windy, and if there ever was any tapping it was probably a branch hitting the window, nothing else. He turns over and tries to fall back to sleep, but his phone decides otherwise, blinging with an incoming message and sounding too loud in the otherwise silent room.

With a sigh, Will reaches over and blinks at the bright light. The clock says it’s barely 2 am, he’s been asleep for less than an hour.

>>from: nico: willll open ur windpw

Will stares at the text for a good ten seconds before anything registers to him. It’s not the first time Nico has texted him in the middle of the night, and not even the first time the text barely makes sense. Even asking Will to open his window isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but it’s September, it’s raining cats and dogs, and again, in the middle of the night. Will is confused.

The tapping comes again, and this time Will gets up and walks to his window. There, sitting in the tree just outside the glass, is Nico di Angelo, soaking wet in his leather jacket, pale hands gripping on the window sill for dear life.

Will doesn’t waste any time and hurries the window open to help Nico inside.

“What the hell, Nico?” he whisper-yells as soon as he closes the window, Nico clinging on him and getting him all cold and wet, too.

“Will, thank god, you’re such an angel!” Nico isn’t nearly as quiet as Will, talking against Will’s neck and slurring his words. “A literal angel! I’d probably be dead without you.”

“Well, I’d say”, Will admits, thinking of how dangerous it must have been to climb the tree in the rain, the bark wet and slippery under Nico’s sneakers. He shivers at the thought of what could have happened. “Nico, what’s going on? What are you - “ It’s then that Nico’s swaying and slurred words and the faint smell of alcohol catches up to him. “Nico, are you drunk?”

Nico di Angelo giggles. Honest to god giggles. It’s both the most terrifying and the most beautiful sound Will has ever heard in his seventeen years of existence.

“No!” Nico says, too loud. Will shushes him, and Nico shushes right back. “Okay, maybe little. Like, three percent.”

“You’re three percent drunk?”

“Mmh.” Nico buries his face to Will’s neck again and exhales softly, like he finds some kind of comfort digging his sharp chin painfully to Will’s collar bone. “Will, I’m cold!”

Will rolls his eyes and pets Nico’s hair that curls when it’s wet like this. “That’s what happens when you stay out in the rain so late in the fall, idiot.”

He gives Nico something dry to change in, an old t-shirt and sweats, and helps him quietly down the hall to the bathroom, trying not to wake anyone up. It’s a real task, what with Nico’s constant giggling and lack of coordination, but they manage, and Will stays guard outside the cracked door while Nico changes before making the way back to his bedroom.

Knowing he won’t get any answers when Nico’s so intoxicated, Will grabs an extra pillow and tugs Nico in bed. He rummages his desk drawer for painkillers and places them to the night stand for the morning, then climbs in bed and under the covers, too. Nico’s hair is still wet, but his body is a lot warmer when he snuggles close to Will and sneaks an arm around his waist.

“You’re so good, Will”, Nico mumbles against Will’s skin, and for a moment there he sounds almost sober. Will pecks his forehead fondly. “You’re so good for me. And so pretty. Will, how are you so pretty? It’s not fair.”

Will laughs a little, thinking of Nico’s reaction when he talls him all this in the morning. “You’re quite pretty yourself, you know.”

Nico’s head snaps up, and his face shines brightly, like it did when they were kids and his dad told them they could build a tree house to the old oak in the back yard. “Really?”

“Really.”

Kissing drunk Nico is strange. It’s a lot like kissing sober Nico, Will supposes, with additional guilt of taking advantage of him. Drunk Nico is sloppier, though, and seems to use a lot more tongue than sober Nico. Will tries to keep the kissing slow and sweet, but it’s difficult when Nico gets handsy and all but suffocates Will with the enthusiasm.

“Nico”, Will warns and pushes Nico away, careful not to let Nico think he’s been rejected entirely. “Neeks, you’re drunk. You need to sleep it off.” Nico makes the most pitiful noise Will has ever heard leaving his mouth, then pouts so adorably he almost gives in. “Tell you what. Tomorrow when you wake up, if you feel like it, we can continue right where we left off. Deal?”

Nico seems to consider this for a long while, and Will keeps stroking his hair and face because honestly? Nico is a piece of art, and drunk or sober, Will is in love with him and is going to appreciate every second with him.

Finally Nico seems to give up and sags against Will’s chest. “Deal.” They cuddle in under the duvet, Nico burying himself in Will’s chest and Will wrapping his arms around him, and it’s familiar and comfortable and Will doesn’t even mind that Nico’s toes are freezing against his calves.

“Love you, Will”, is the last thing Nico mumbles before falling asleep, so quiet against the fabric of Will’s shirt that if they weren’t so close Will couldn’t possibly have heard him.

Will smiles and kisses Nico’s temple. “Love you, too.” The rain tapping on the window lulls him back to sleep.

(thanks for the prompts, i think i have enough for now, my inbox has never been in the double digits before!)

#solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #nico di angelo #will solace #fic prompt #soft solangelo is the best solangelo

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haroldslovekitten · 7 years

Note

you find texts from kendall and u think they are back together while ur dating him so u run away to a hotel and he finds you extra fluffy and maybe smut if u dont mind

There’s no smut, but I think it’s sufficiently smutty! Hope you like it!

Cherry Wine

Steam flows into the bedroom as Harry showers and I rest onthe bed flipping through a new book. I can hear him hum a little tune and I smile,distracted from the words on the page. The scent of his body wash flows intothe room, almost as intoxicating as the scent of him. As I begin to get lostinto the world of the story, I’m pulled from the bliss by the sound of Harry’sphone ringing in the bathroom.

“Hey, love? Could you get that?” He calls to me and I rollmy eyes with a grin as I hop off the bed.

Walking into the bathroom I do everything I can to stop myselffrom peeking my head in and giving Harry a little once over. I pick up hisphone and my stomach drops instantly.

“Who is it?”

“Uh…it’s Kendall…” I utter, annoyancealready making itself obvious as my blood starts to boil. “Why is shecalling you?” I spit.

“I don’t know, why don’t you answer it and ask?” he saysinnocently though not oblivious to my anger.

“Hello?” I say as I answer the call.

“Hi, who’s this?” Kendall asks,chipper and not quite sensing the hatred in my voice.

“Uh, it’s Y/N, Harry’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, hi! I know we’ve never met, but I’ve heard a lot aboutyou! I was just calling to see if Harry is going to come to Cara’s party thisweekend? She misses him!” She is completely civil and sounds excited to hearme, but I can’t help feel incredulity as I think about the fact that she wantsto hang out with Harry at a party.

“This is the first I’m hearing of it, let me ask…” I mutterinto the phone. “Harry, baby, are you going to Cara’s party this weekend?” Iask, making sure she can hear the fondness in my voice. Harry’s with me now,not her.

“Do you want to come with me, love?” He asks, peeking hiswet head out of the shower with a grin on his face. “I’d love to see you alldressed up,” he winks.

“Yeah, Harry will be there. Can you text when and where?Thanks, Kendall,” I reply, false sweetness lacing mywords.

“No problem! Can’t wait to meet you!”

She hangs up with a click and I grunt in annoyance, justloud enough for Harry to hear before slamming his phone down and storming intothe bedroom again. Of course he wants to go. Kendallwill be there looking like the most gorgeous thing ever. He doesn’t give twoshits about whether I get dressed up or not, so long as he gets to see her.

“Want to join me, love?” Harry calls and I roll my eyes.

“As if!” I shout before returning to my book, unable toactually focus on anything.

A few minutes pass and I hear Harry turn off the shower. Itry even harder to focus on my book in order to ignore him, but it doesn’twork. I’m aware of every sound he makes as he dries off and brushes his teeth.After a minute he walks into the bedroom, white towel hanging low on his hipsand I struggle to keep my eyes away. As angry as I am, that man isirresistible.

“Why the long face, gorgeous?” he asks, walking over to myside of the bed and placing a hand on my head.

“You know damn well why.”

“Hey, look at me,” he whispers.

“No.”

“Come on, did she really upset you that much?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, queen of the one word answers aren’t we?”

“Maybe.”

He huffs and shakes his head, droplets falling from his haironto me.

“Hey, you’re getting me wet!” I shout angrily.

“Oh am I?” he asks, his tone laced with seduction and I knowI’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.

“Not like that, jerk.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” I shout, throwing a pillow at him as he walks away. Ican just imagine the smirk he has on his face.

Harry dries off and throws on a pair of boxers and I can seeout of the corner of my eye that he’s doing everything he can to get myattention. I turn the pages of my book pointedly so he knows that I’m notpaying attention. When he leaves the bedroom I finally allow myself to closethe book and break down. Tears well in my eyes as I think about Harry and Kendalland their past and everything that went down between them. I know he was neverin love with her, but he has admitted time and again how he enjoyed the timethey spent together. Maybe he’s not quite finished with her. Maybe there isstill something between them. I’d rather not wait around to find out. I pull myt-shirt down over my pudgy belly, angry at the fact that I am not her. I’m notand I never will be some tall, skinny, gorgeous model…I’ll never be exactlywhat Harry deserves and it drives me wild. No matter how sweet and fun Kendallis, she will always be competition and I can’t compete with that…I just can’t.

Harry walks back into the bedroom, two glasses and the bottleof cherry wine we bought at the farmer’s market last weekend in his huge handsjust as I get up and start grabbing some clothes.

“How about we take a bit to relax, baby?” he says as hecloses the door behind him. When he finally looks up at me, stuffing a dufflebag full of essentials, his face falters and he rushes to my side, setting thewine and glasses down on the bedside table.

“Hey, hey, hey, beautiful, what’s wrong?” He asks, his handsgrasping my face, thumbs wiping away my endless tears.

“You know damn well what’s wrong, Harry.”

“Y/N, please” he sighs, “we’ve talked about this before. Youhave nothing to worry about with her. We’re just friends. Yes, we were romanticin the past, but she wasn’t the right fit for me. You know that. You havenothing to be worried about,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“How can you say that? She’s fucking perfect and I’m…I’m me,”I sob, not holding anything back at this point. “I’m leaving, Harry. I can’t behere right now.”

“Where the hell are you going!?” he shouts, genuinely angrynow.

“Away from you, okay?” I yell as I slip on my shoes andstorm out the door.

“Y/N, come on! Let’s talk about this!”

“No!”

I run out of the house and into my car as fast as I can,knowing he’ll be just behind me. As I peel out of the driveway, I see himjumping into his own car in his pyjamas with a bag of his own. I drive wellfaster than I really should to the nearest hotel. I know Harry’s right on mytail as I pull into the hotel, but I’m faster. I get a room quickly and askthem not to let anyone up to my room. Just as the elevator doors begin toclose, I see Harry storm into the lobby, anger and sadness all over his face ashe sees the doors close between us. I know he’s probably pleading with thehostess to tell him which room I’m in, and I’m praying to god that she takes myinstructions seriously.

I settle into my room, sure to lock it, and turn my phoneoff not wanting to deal with Harry right now. It is a matter of minutes beforeI hear him knocking on my door pleading with me to open it. Damn that woman. Hemust have charmed the shit out of her, just like he does out of everyone.

I shut myself into the bedroom and blast my music as loud asI can to drown out his knocks, hopefully without disturbing the neighbors.After a few hours of being curled up in bed, tears staining the sheets, I realizeI won’t be able to sleep. The idea of dreaming of Harry and Kendall haunts me,and tears sting my eyes. I can’t actually stay here all night. I get up,stretch, and know it’s time to confront Harry about all of this. I need to knowif he and Kendall are still together.

Once I’m dressed, I grab my bag and unlock my door only tofind a sleepy Harry leaning against it. His eyes are red and bloodshot lookingas if he’d been crying.

“Harry?” I ask incredulously.

“Hey, beautiful. Can I come in?” he asks, his voice thickwith sleep.

“Yeah…” I whisper, turning back into the room, shocked thathe’s still here. I move into the bedroom and sit on the bed, arms crossed notlooking at him as he walks in with his stuff.

“You’ve been there this whole time?” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Harry…” I shake my head unable to believe him. “Are youseeing Kendall again?”

“Y/N, you’ve got to be kidding. Of course not!”

“Harry I swear to god if you’re lying to me…” I say, unableto finish the sentence.

“Why in the world would I risk what we have for her?” heasks, his turn to be angry.

“Because she’s fucking perfect and I’m not! I’m just me andshe’s fucking Kendall Jenner!” I say, exasperated as I begin to sob again.

“Exactly! You’re you and I love you, more than anything inthis world. I don’t want her, not even a tiny bit. I want you. You’re my life,Y/N, I swear.”

“You’re lying. I can’t compete with her, I just can’t.”

“Stop. You don’t need to compete with her. You don’t need tocompete with anyone, love. You’re all I see,” he pleads with me, pepperingkisses over my face to try and convince me. “Come to the party Saturday and I’ll show you.I’ll only ever have eyes for you. Can you do that for me?”

“Why?” I hiccup, tears still streaming down my face butfeeling slightly better.

“Because I want to show you just how much you mean to me andjust how over her I am…Come on, we’ll go out tomorrow and find you a dress thatmakes you feel as beautiful as you are. In the meantime, let’s have some wineand watch a movie and cuddle, alright? I love you and only want to be with you.Up, up,” he orders as he climbs onto the bed to sit behind me.

“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” I ask, noticing the clocksays it’s 3am.

“I don’t want to sleep. I just want to be with you,” hewhispers, brushing his lips against the top of my head.

I scoot forward allowing him to wrap his legs around my hipsand pull me into his chest. He leans over to pour us each a glass of wine and handsmine to me with a gentle kiss to my shoulder. He hands the remote to me, a signthat I’m supposed to choose whichever movie I’d like. I scroll through themovies until I find Pretty Woman and settle myself against him, his scentoverwhelming me as I take deep breaths to calm myself. He has one hand aroundmy waist holding me close, the other sipping at his wine. He presses his lipsagainst the back of my head as he peers over me to watch the film, and I canfeel him breathing me in, the way I’m breathing him. The scent of him, hisheartbeat against my back, the aroma of the cherry wine all calm my soul and Istart to look forward to this weekend.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against me and I nod, forgiving himfor making me doubt. As we watch the movie, he places kisses against my head,shoulders, and neck occasionally, just a reminder that he’s there and he lovesme. Only me.

#answered anon #harry fluff #harry smut #harry styles #harry

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