#i’m gonna pass away from sleep deprivation
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Restless Dreams
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: leon gets home late after another hard day at work to you having some extra sweet dreams.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, somnophilia, wet dream
word count: 3.6k
a/n: hey everyone!! hope you all enjoy this :) i guess i've been into soft leon with somno lately idk LOL. i was kind of tired myself when writing/editing this, so forgive any errors pretty please. new divider from here. thank you for any comments and reblogs <3
tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus
“So what time do you think you’re gonna get here?” you ask before blowing on the drying polish that coats your nails.
“My shift finishes up at 12, and then I gotta file some reports. I’ll probably be done at 1, so not too long after that,” Leon explains through the phone. Despite his attempt to lay it out for you, there’s still a pause, one he came to recognize as your reaction of displeasure. A smile plays on his lips. “But you know the real answer is as soon as I can.”
You look down at your phone on your vanity, a pout forming on your face. Obviously, it wasn’t his fault he had to work so much now. He’d warned you when he started at the police station a few months ago, but it didn’t prepare you for how much you’d miss him.
It made you feel dumb, that nagging, achy feeling of longing in your chest. It wasn’t like he was off to war or something. You still saw him almost everyday. But more and more of his time was consumed by work now. Even when he was with you, he was often exhausted.
Sometimes all you could think about his new job was that he was your boyfriend, not theirs. You’d mentally scold yourself for being so immature when that happened, but the sentiment still lingered in your head.
“Ok…” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. He hears the dejection in your tone though.
“Baby,” he coos in that voice that sent warmth through your spine and got you to agree with everything he said, “You know I’d rather be with you. I’m just new and have to take the time to learn. Plus, with the caseload and the number of officers here, they need me at the station.”
“I need you more,” you say. You try to pass it off as playfulness, but it comes from real feelings. Your heart was beginning to tense with resentment for the RPD for taking him away so much. You knew the job meant a lot to him though which is why you would never unleash your admittedly petty frustrations.
A low laugh leaves him, and you can hear that loving smirk on his face as his voice comes through your phone’s speaker.
“Do you now? You’re really missing me that much?” he teases, leaning back in the driver’s seat of his cruiser.
He knew that you did in fact miss him that much. And even though, since starting at the police station, he tried to project the image of a tough guy, he missed you just as much. That’s why he started calling you during lulls in his shift.
“Mhm. It’s not fair. It’s like I’m sharing you with the station. And I don’t like sharing,” you say with an exaggerated huff.
“Oh, I know you don’t,” he chuckles. He sighs happily, checking the time to calculate how much time was left before he could have you in his arms again. “But not much longer, baby. Then you get me all to yourself for the whole weekend.”
“I better,” you grumble with a smile.
“I promise you will,” he says genuinely. A light on his dashboard flickers, alerting him that his attention is needed elsewhere. “Just don’t stay up too late waiting for me tonight, ok? Your rest is important.”
“Seeing you is more important,” you respond.
“I know, but I prefer my girl when she’s not all cranky and sleep deprived. So try tonight, sweetheart. For me?” he asks.
“I guess,” you concede. Your heart already aches, knowing he’s about to hang up.
“I love you, baby,” he says softly, “I’ll see you later.”
“I love you too,” you tell him before he disconnects the call.
The silence that falls over your room makes it feel even more empty. You tap the glass screen of your phone, scanning for the time before you finish getting ready for bed. Your mouth curves downward when the numbers light up on the screen.
Only 10:30. Too much time till you’ll hear him come through your front door, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You haphazardly go through the rest of your routine before dragging yourself over to your bed and getting in.
Sliding between the soft pink sheets, you flop down against your pillow and stare at the ceiling as you contemplate how to kill the time. Nothing grabs your interest because none of it’s him. It’s all just filler.
And worst of all, you were starting to feel sleepy. You wanted to wait up for Leon so badly, but you also went through a whole day of your own that tired you out. Plus, your bed was just so comfy with your plush blankets and full pillows, stuffed animals and frilly decorative cushions scattered on one side.
Thinking it would help to keep your eyes actively focused on something, you try to read. Your eyes scan over the words, and it isn’t long before you realize you’d made a horrible mistake. Moving your eyes along the page only made them more drowsy.
Next you turn on the tv and put on something you didn’t really have to pay attention to. But the soft glow of the tv casts across you and the low chatter of the characters becomes background noise, making it even harder for you to keep your eyes open.
You lazily reach across your bed and grab the bunny stuffie Leon had bought for you a few weeks prior. Tucking it beneath your chin and close to your chest, your drooping eyes fall shut and your breaths become soft and even. Barely any time has gone by before you’re sinking into slumber.
Leon glances down at his phone, the small numbers illuminating 2:04 in the darkness of the hallway. He enters your place with the key you gave him and shuts the door as quietly as possible. He knows you’re sleeping from seeing the dark bedroom. Already feeling guilty for taking longer than he’d expected, he didn’t want to add to that feeling by waking you up.
He makes his way to your room, padding silently down the hall. Once he reaches the door, he pushes it open with almost no force in an attempt to avoid even the slightest creak. You’re where he expected you to be, curled up in your bed, completely peaceful as you slept. He knew he probably looked like a little lovesick puppy right about now, eager to hop into bed and snuggle up to your side, but he didn’t care.
It takes him no time to shed his police uniform. He makes quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off. His pants and shirt crumple up at the foot of your bed next to his belt and socks. Finally, once he’s got on a pair of sweatpants he kept at your place, he climbs into bed with you.
He shoves your stuffies and extra pillows out of his way with a playful roll of his eyes and gets as close to you as he can. His arm drapes over you, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, planting a few kisses on the base of your head. You smelled so good, felt so soft, perfect to come home to.
His body melts into the mattress, and he’s ready to give into his own urges to sleep. That is until he notices you’re not as peaceful as you appeared from the doorway. His eyebrows raise as he feels your legs squirming. Restless movements from your feet beneath the covers and your thighs shifting aimlessly against each other.
He’s ready to brush it off at first. ‘Must just be having some wild dreams,’ he thinks with another kiss to your head. But then he hears the faintest sound, so quiet that he probably would have missed it had he been focused on anything else. It’s a whimper. A gentle, tender squeak that slips from between your lips into the cool air of your bedroom.
Now, his face conveys his concern. He worries you’re having a nightmare. That at any moment you’ll wake up with tears in your eyes and your heart pounding out of your chest. Immediately, he begins stroking your arm, kissing your temple, murmuring “It’s ok, baby. I’m here.”
But you make that little noise again, and this time it paints a different picture in Leon’s head. This whimper didn’t sound scared or stressed, like you were crying out for his protection. No, this sound brought to mind images of you writhing beneath him, nails marking his biceps with small crescents as he pumped himself in and out of you.
He shakes his head because that couldn’t be it. That’s just his horny mind creating things that aren’t there from being so pent up.
At least that’s what he tells himself until you make the noise again. It brings the same memories up, but this time he’s even more sure of it. He lifts his head off of yours to look down at you and try to figure out what to do next.
You look so cute, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted. As he brushes some hair from your face, he notices your fingers clutching your stuffed rabbit a little tighter. Your breath hitches for a moment before you let out a soft, sleepy whine of his name.
It’s unmistakable now what’s going on. He smirks and traces a finger over your lips. The pad of his index finger drags on your bottom lip slightly, turning your mouth into that pout he loved so much. He leans and kisses your cheek as you whine again.
“Please.”
He chuckles at how needy you sound even in your sleep, but at the same time, your voice has blood rushing to his cock while his head swirls with desire. He shifts his own hips, subtly pressing his erection against your ass. His eyes flutter at the minute pleasure. He grows more bold, and his hand rubs your hip before coasting up your side to your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze.
You whimper louder and squirm. He squeezes again softly while lowering his head to your neck to lay some tender kisses on the side of your throat. His palm leaves your tits and smooths down over your tummy in the direction of your shorts.
Cautiously, he maneuvers his hand past the waistband and dips into your panties. He cups your pussy, feeling the heat radiating off the area. A single finger slides between your folds in almost an exploratory touch. He feels your slick all over his digit. Clearly, this dream was a pretty good one.
He begins to use another finger, sliding the two up and down through your wetness. You roll onto your back, your breasts rising and falling as your breath gets heavier. Your thighs spread a little as if you subconsciously sensed his presence between your legs.
In your dreams, Leon was doing a lot more than rubbing you with his fingers. After you had fallen asleep, it felt like no time had passed. All of the sudden you were just on the table in your dining room, spread out for his rapture.
You didn’t realize you were dreaming, everything felt so real. To you, he was really there, looking down at you with those loving yet lecherous eyes. Hands roaming your exposed body, lips caressing your skin all over. Everything seemed light and airy while also feeling heavy and thick. Your head, filled with clouds, slipped in and out of the moment. The sensation of him rutting his cock between your thighs and sliding inside of you was your reality at the moment.
In actual reality, Leon continues to move his fingers slowly, swiping them over your entrance and taking them back up to circle your clit. You mewl when he applies some pressure, sending sparks through you. Your squirming becomes more motivated, and he can tell your drifting away from your restful sleep back toward consciousness.
“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice huskier with arousal this time around.
You hear his voice in your dreams. The deep rumble enters your ears as you envision his hips pistoning into your wanting cunt. You mumble something in response, but he can’t understand the sleepy babbling. He rubs your clit a little harder with some more speed. You twitch in response, yet your eyes remain closed.
“I know, baby. I know it feels so good,” he coos and kisses behind your ear.
More incoherent words fall from your mouth. He sucks love bites into your neck, and you tilt your head back, craving more of that feeling. The dream version of him began mimicking the actions of the real Leon as you neared waking.
Whining louder, your fingers dig into the smooth fur of your plush bunny before letting it go. He nips at the sensitive skin of your throat as his fingers travel down and push inside your heat.
The feeling rips a moan from you and causes your eyes to open. Your back arches as he works them deeper. Your hips wriggle a little as you make sense of what’s happening.
“Leon?” you whimper. Your sleepy eyes struggle to stay open after being torn from the fog of sleep.
“That’s right, baby. It’s just me. You were having some nice dreams, weren’t you, pretty girl?” he says.
“Mhm,” you hum mindlessly.
“About me?” he teases, eyes watching your body fidget with the pleasure you felt.
“About you,” you confirm before he leans down and kisses your lips. They were so soft against his own. He slowly moves his mouth with yours and languidly slides his tongue against yours.
You moan into the kiss as his fingers curl within you and hit your favorite spot. Your feet lightly kick at the sensation. Your hips rise a little as you feel the flood gates holding your release about to break.
You’re too sleepy to tell him out right, but he knows the signs. He keeps working you there until your body seizes and arches off the bed. You let out a throaty moan and turn your head to bury your face against his shoulder.
“There you go. Let it all out, sweetheart,” he whispers and kisses your head.
You ride out the high on his hand, and by the time you’re done, you’re ready to fall asleep again. Your mind is hazy with the fog of release. You’re drifting off as your body settles without even realizing it.
You’re only yanked back to reality by Leon scooping you up into his lap. He’s sitting with his back to the headboard, and he situates you between his thighs, back against his chest. His arms keep you caged in nice and close, safe and warm.
“Don’t fall asleep again just yet, babydoll,” he murmurs while kissing up your neck.
Your head lolls back against his shoulder. The fight to stay awake gets a little easier as his hand returns to your soaked panties. He doesn’t tease this time, just slides in two fingers and starts moving them in and out.
The new angle makes you squirm and whine, but he holds you tight in place with his free arm.
“Gotta work you open, honey. Can’t just slide my dick in you with no warm up,” he says with a smirk.
His voice pulls you towards lucidity a little more. Your hands wrap around his free arm for support while your hips instinctively roll into his blissful touch.
“I missed you,” you choke out between gasps and whimpers.
“I know you did,” he teases, grinning against your throat. His cock throbs against the small of your back as his ears latch onto the sound of your slick around his fingers. “Came home to cuddle with my sweet girl, and I find her having such dirty dreams.”
Your cheeks heat up as you start to piece together what had happened. You fully realize now that your escapade on the kitchen table was entirely in your mind. You feel embarrassed for a moment, but the feeling dies pretty quick as you rapidly approach the edge for a second time.
“Not my fault,” you whimper shyly.
He chuckles and kisses your temple once more. “I know it’s not. If anything, it’s mine. I think I’ve been neglecting my baby,” he says with a mocking lilt in his voice.
You cry out as his fingers brush against those same spots that brought you to the finish last time. Your hips twitch, and you grip his thighs as your peak rises within you. Moments later your cumming all over his fingers, sucking in a harsh breath as a second release courses through you, even more intense then the last.
His free arm keeps you secure against his chest while rubbing your side soothingly. The heel of his other palm roughly massages your clit as his fingers pump in and out.
“Good girl,” he coos, “That’s it, just one more and then I can put you to sleep how you deserve.”
As soon as you seem to be coming down, Leon lifts you up again, tugging your clothes off and moving your body around like a doll to get you in the position he wants. You were definitely more pliant after two orgasms, but you could also see how his training had been paying off. Maybe this new job wasn’t all bad.
He has you on your back now, thighs against your chest and knees hooked over his arms. Again, he had no patience to tease right now, so after pushing his sweats down to mid thigh, he takes his cock and slides it in you with no hesitation. He groans as your hole takes him in, your walls pulsing around him even after he bottoms out.
“So wet. I can just slide right in,” he mumbles as his own hips twitch.
Your eyes droop at the stretch. It always felt so satisfying, having him buried balls deep in you. As close as he could possibly be. No fear of him leaving or pain of being separated. You whine and reach up to pull him closer.
He follows along and rests his face against your neck as he begins thrusting. You hear him panting right in your ear. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there’ll be marks.
“Perfect pussy’s made for me,” he grunts while snapping his hips, “Miss it every second I’m not inside it.”
You nod lazily as you continue to clamp down around him. After two releases, you didn’t even feel a building ecstasy anymore, just a constant stream of pleasure.
“Leon,” you whine, “Harder. Wanna feel it.”
He moans at your plea but indulges you, grabbing you harder, pressing your legs higher, filling you deeper.
“Wanna be sore after, don’t you, sweetheart? Want a reminder of me while I’m at work. Something to tide you over till I can do this again. Won’t have to rely on dreams then, right?” he says.
“Yeah,” you whimper. Your bed creaks as he picks up the pace, but your moans mask the sound as they grow in volume.
He fucks into you over and over, stoking the flames within himself, trying to build to that explosion. You were so tight, so warm. He hums another low moan and whimpers softly as he feels it right there. He gasps softly before holding you tighter and muttering in your ear.
“Ready for another one, honey? Gonna be the last one and then we’ll get you comfy and off to sleep.”
“Yeah,” you moan again, unable to say much else.
“Good… good girl,” he moans before his hips buck wildly and he finally releases.
You finish for a third time. You cling to him tight as the euphoria washes over you again. Locking your legs around his hips, you keep your face pressed to the warm skin of his neck as it goes through you. You feel the hot flood of cum he fucks into you. His chest is heaving now too as he recovers from the high.
He stays on top of you for a moment before pulling out. You cling harder upon losing that full feeling. He smiles at your desire to be close to him and gives you one more kiss before sitting up.
“So sweet to me, baby. I hope that made up for the late night,” he whispers and strokes your hair.
“It did,” you say with a nod. Your eyes were already shutting again, ready to go back to sleep after being fucked so good.
He looks at you with all the love in the world as he pulls his sweats up. He then helps you pull your panties and shirt back on, trying to laugh at your sleepy, half-assed movements.
After that, he gets you all tucked in next to him, snuggled up in his arms like he originally intended. He even grabs that stuffed bunny he got you and fits it close to you in case you want it.
“Get some rest, honey. You need it,” he whispers while rubbing your back.
“Mhm,” you respond tiredly, “You too. You’re all mine for the weekend, and I don’t want you tired out the whole time.”
“Alright, but I’m gonna be tired out if we do some more of that again tomorrow,” he jokes. He pulls you close to him and shuts his eyes, nestling his head against yours and settling in to rest.
That puts a smile on your face and you nuzzle him once more before letting yourself fall asleep for the night.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#resident evil imagines#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy imagine#resident evil smut#smut
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Whumpuary 2024 Day 14
14. (Jan 27-28) Flinching / Breakdown / Sleep Deprivation
cw past trauma, implied noncon/torture, hurt/comfort, aftermath of whump
“You’re slower than usual,” Hero teased when they pinned Villain to the wall. “Lost your edge after that little vacation you took?”
Villain was breathing heavily. Their hands grasped at Hero’s, which were fisted in the front of their suit, but Villain lacked their typical strength. “Wasn’t a vacation, you jerk,” they huffed. “And I’m doing my best here.”
Hero pulled one of their hands back, and their heart jumped when Villain flinched away from them; they’d never reacted like that before. The instinctual fear was clearly visible in their eyes.
“Whoa, hey,” Hero said softly. “I was just gonna—your mask is slipping.”
Villain looked down, frowning. “Sorry. I just...go ahead.”
Hero raised their hands slowly and adjusted Villain’s mask, noting the sharp intake of breath when Hero’s fingers grazed their cheek. As they put it back in place, Hero could see a dark bruise hiding under the mask. The slightest bit of purple spread up their cheekbone.
Villain was trembling when Hero stepped back.
“Are you okay?” Hero asked. Logically, they knew they should take advantage of Villain’s weakness and bring them in. But they just couldn’t bring themself to be that cruel.
“When I was gone this week,” Villain whispered, “I was...Supervillain took me hostage. I’ll spare you the details but...they did some shit to me I wouldn’t even do to my enemies.”
Hero felt their heart ache at the admission and the pained expression in Villain’s eyes when they looked back up. “I’m sorry, I—I had no idea.”
“Not your fault,” Villain said with a shrug. They tried to force a smile as well, but it didn’t quite work. “But it messed me up pretty good. I can’t sleep. I can’t move without remembering their hands on me.”
A sick feeling curled in Hero’s stomach as they imagined what the normally collected Villain must have been through to have them on the verge of tears at the memory. They slowly reached out, giving Villain enough time to stop them—but when they didn’t, Hero pulled them into an embrace. “It’s over,” they muttered into Villain’s hair. “You're safe now.”
Their words seemed to open the floodgates, and suddenly Villain broke down. Hero didn’t know what to do, so they just held their nemesis as they cried. The fact that they’d been in the middle of a fight passed through Hero’s mind, but it didn’t matter now. They were a hero—their job was to help people. Even if those people regularly made their life hell.
“I’m sorry,” Villain choked out. “This is pathetic. And I—I deserved it.”
“No one deserves to be hurt like that,” Hero said, rubbing their back in soothing circles.
Villain tried to steady their breathing as they looked up at Hero, eyes glistening with tears. “Thank you. Just—give me a minute, and we can get back to it.”
“What do you say we get a rain check,” Hero asked with a small smile, “and you let me buy you a coffee instead?”
Villain sniffled and rolled their eyes. “As long as you promise to reschedule. Because I was looking forward to kicking your ass.”
Hero laughed. “Okay, deal.”
Although the coffee may not have truly fixed anything, it was a welcomed comfort.
taglist: @morning-star-whump
#whumpuary2024#whumpuaryno14#flinching#breakdown#hero x villain#hero villain writing#hero caretaker#villain whumpee#implied torture#implied noncon#aftermath of whump#past trauma#hurt/comfort#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#snippet
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A Point of War
Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader RPF
Summary: Chris plays dirty when you have your first big fight as a married couple.
This is part four of the A Starting Point Series.
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, RPF. Consensual angry sex, edging, cock warming, orgasm denial, voice kink, angst, a lil bit of degradation, a lil bit of pain kink, back scratching, thigh riding, oral, (m/f) receiving, sloppy toppy, Angst, sexual day dreaming, breeding kink, kiss and make up. Not Beta’d.
A/N: I have so many WIPS, but this ask made me break a long streak of not writing.
Thank you Nonnie! ❤️
Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.
DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.
Chris awakened you early to make you late this morning. You’d only had two hours of sleep, but he didn’t care. Sleep deprivation was a tactic of war.
He languidly rocked his cock deep inside you, stroking his heavy member through your folds until you were both almost insane. Chris had edged you both all morning, stopping before either of you could cum, and making you warm him until he was ready to do it again.
After three times of bringing you both to the edge of heaven, both of you were desperate.
“Please Angel… just say you agree. Then we can both delight in married bliss.”
Chris was between your legs, digging you out, your legs around his waist as his thick mushroom cap and veiny shaft sleeked in and out of your tight, wet channel.
“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. And you’re so beautiful for me when you c-”
Chris looked in your eyes and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t speak. It was almost enough to make you cum. But you just shook your head.
He shook his in response and frowned, moving his lage hand up to cup the side of your face. You pouted and he pushed his thick thumb between your lips and you sucked it greedily, causing him to pulse inside you.
He stopped and you could feel his cock pounding. You whimpered around his thumb and your saliva slipped down your face and his palm.
“I can’t.. I’m gonna…. Don’t you wanna…?”
The Boston came out as you were stripping away his resolve. You opened your mouth wide and swiped your tongue around his thick digit lewdly, then closed your mouth to suck if from palm to fingertip. You moved your hips to try and get him going and Chris’s hand gripped you tightly, sure to leave marks later.
“My feisty, stubborn Angel. It only makes me want you more.”
You glared at him.
“The answer is still no, Chris…
Chris squeezed his eyes shut as a drizzle of precum escaped out of him. He started panting as he fought the urge to let go and fuck you into the mattress. He needed release as much as you did, but you were both too stubborn to relent.
Chris rolled his eyes at the sensation and saw the clock on the wall.
“Shit, Angel. I’m gonna be late.”
He bent down and whispered into your ear, knowing what his voice did to you.
“All you gotta do is say yes, and we can both get what we need.”
He rotated his hips to give you all of his dick. You gripped his shoulders and drew your nails down his back, drawing welts and a little bit of blood. The sensation made him groan and pump into you hard a few times, giving you hope of victory until he stopped.
Chris slipped out of you and rushed into the shower, dodging your epithets and the pillow thrown at him. You tried to make yourself cum, but you were so frustrated and needy that it didn’t work.
When he got out, you just walked past him into the shower, dodging the kiss he tried to give you as you passed by.
When you emerged, he was gone, leaving you a note that made you cry.
Now, seven hours later, you shifted in your seat and felt how deliciously sore you were. You wanted to relent, but the principle of the matter was what was important, not your wanton body and his huge, thick dick hitting your spot….
Damn. It would feel so good to just give in. You sighed. You were angry at him after this morning; not just angry, you were incensed.
It didn’t help that you were trapped in an ASP partners meeting ahead of a big campaign for mid-term elections. So, you sucked up all your feelings and tried to be professional, sneaking a look at him through your lashes.
You frowned slightly to find him watching you with a barely perceptible smirk.
Damn him.
You took a breath, hitched with desire, and straightened in your seat. From the corner of your eye, you saw Chris open his mouth slightly to breathe, and it was your turn to smirk.
“Alright, on to the next order of business.”
Mark looked around the table as you looked down at your notepad, trying to collect your thoughts on the meeting. You were not trying to make eye contact with Chris. You’d managed to avoid him most of the day, and had come into the conference room at the last minute to be on time for it, grateful that the only seat available was across the table from him.
You were on the edge, and Christopher Robert Evans put you there. Before you knew it, you’d spaced out. Your pussy throbbed as you thought of the last time he skillfully ate you out as you sucked his cock. 69 was his favorite position, and you knew that putting the end of your pen in your mouth might just remind him. You subtly flicked your tongue around the fat end of the Montblanc pen and heard Chris cover a moan with a fake cough.
Chris’ deep baritone made your clit quiver when he spoke up.
…” I don’t know, Joe. Why don’t we ask Mrs. Evans?”
You glared at Chris and then realized everyone was watching. You cleared your throat and suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at him. You sat up even straighter.
“Run that back for me again Joe?”
You ignored Chris’s smile as Joe made his point again and you answered him, giving your opinion on the issue and a possible solution so smoothly, everyone would think that you were the calmest person on the planet. But you were plotting war.
You successfully ignored your husband as the meeting was wrapped up and started to leave the conference room as Chris called you over to him, Joe and Mark.
“Y/N! We want to talk about your idea for a second.”
You gave Chris a bright, fake smile and he subtly shook his head at you. Mark spoke up when you made your way over to them.
“You made some very salient points, y/n, let’s get moving on those right away.”
Mark was impressed with your work, as always.
“Agreed,” intoned Chris, who nodded at you and tried to hold your eyes. You narrowed yours, knowing that he’d made his voice a little deeper on purpose.
But you weren’t going. The tension was obvious. You continued.
“Thanks guys. I can do that, but I would need…”
When you gave them your list, they all nodded.
“Sounds reasonable, let’s you and I sit back down at the table and hash it out. Mark, Joe. Can you guys take the 4:30 call for me? Give them my apologies?”
Joe nodded and proceeded out of the room.
“They’re gonna be disappointed, but I’ll try to do my best impression of you.”
Chris and Mark laughed at Joe’s joke, but you just continued to smile.
Then Mark made to leave, smiling at you two, knowing, but amiable. He and Joe admired the way you handled the press and lack of privacy since your relationship with Chris was announced.
You’d weathered the whirlwind of a three month engagement and an equally short marriage to one of the most famous men in the world like a champ. Once Chris’ friends and partners were told what was up, they saw the bond between you and Chris and it all made sense.
What Mark also sensed was that Chris was about to get the business, so he left you two alone.
When the door closed, you dropped the smile and moved to the furthest point away from Chris on the conference room table, sat down, and opened your pen again, ready to get to work.
Chris sighed and walked toward you.
“Let’s hash it out then.”
You’d started writing even though you knew what he was referring to. You saw America’s Ass sit down on the table next to your notebook out of the corner of your eye. You kept writing.
“So are you giving me the silent treatment?”
You looked up at him, the look in those blue eyes threatening your resolve.
“I’ve responded to everything you’ve said to me Christopher.”
You held his stare, your own jaw ticking under your clenched teeth.
He drew in a breath.
“‘Christopher.’ Damn, I am in trouble.”
Chris chuckled, but you were resolute.
“Maybe I should call you, ‘Mr. Happy Wife, Happy Life.’”
Chris stood up.
“Why are you still so adamant? You want the fight. Am I that wrong for wanting you to take my name? I’ve been waiting to call you Mrs. Evans for what seems like forever. Excuse my giddiness for finally being hitched to the woman I love more than anything in the world.”
You looked up at him and studied the look on his face. He looked wounded. But you didn’t buy it. You stood up as well.
“You’re good. Acting the victim. Except for the fact we talked about this, Chris! “
You wanted to keep your maiden name for your professional life. Chris didn’t like it at all, but didn’t push it until late last night, the night before your first day back in the office together as man and wife.
Hence the argument that lasted until very late and then the hours-long edging session early this morning. That was war. You thought he was incorrigible when you were dating, Chris was so much more frustrating as your husband. You felt that nothing you could do would satisfy him.
“I’m sorry that I’m not living up to your fantasy of me. But you knew what you were getting. And still you insisted on getting married.”
Chris’s face contorted. His heart was in his throat.
“Why do you insist on doing that?”
Chris threw his hands up and raised his voice, moving toward you. You cringed. He immediately backed up and sighed, running his hands through his hair.
“I love you Y/N.. I wanted you to be my wife from the moment I saw you. And I just wanted…”
He sat down in the nearest chair, loosening his tie.
“It doesn’t matter what I wanted. Never mind. I don’t care what you call yourself. As long as you’re by my side.”
He looked up at you and you could see that he was genuinely hurt. Your heart sank as he looked down to his lap.
“You win. Ms. YLN.”
He looked broken. And you felt terrible.
You walked toward him and stood between his legs.
“Chris.”
He was silent.
“Mr. Evans.”
Still no answer.
“Boss.”
He huffed and smiled slightly, shaking his head. He looked up at you.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. You have a right to be called anything you like.”
He was sincere.
You leaned over and kissed his forehead, brushing away the hair that had fallen there after his hands wrecked it.
“I just want to be called yours.”
You kissed his nose, and then his lips as you sat down on his knee. One of Chris’s hands went up to curl around your waist and the other rested on your thigh at the hem of your pencil skirt.
“I love you. And I just got scared. I’m sorry.”
Chris’s eyes searched your face as his hand slid up your knee, long fingers almost reaching your moistening heat. You remembered your earlier hunger.
And so did he.
“Angel…Let me make it right, baby.”
He moved his lips to your neck and started peppering it with kisses, his hand reaching for your breast and teasing your nipple. You moaned as you arched your back, causing your rear to shift and make contact with the bulge in his pants.
Chris deftly moved you facing away from him, so that your legs were separated by his knee and your warm cunt was against his thigh. Both hands were on your blouse, fingering your now achingly hard nipples through the silk and the lace of your bra.
You whined and started to move on his thigh, arching your back into him and kissing him over your shoulder. You pulled away and he chased your lips as you started unbuttoning your blouse. You turned your head as Chris leaned down to your neck again.
“You know, I’ve had a fantasy of sucking you off under this table?”
Your voice was a sexy rasp that made him rock hard. Chris swallowed as he rubbed your breasts in the sheer lace La Perla bra. His forefingers and thumbs tortured your nipples as he hummed in your ear.
“Hmmmmmmm?”
“Can I suck you off under this table?”
His eyes moved over toward the door. Yours followed his.
“How much do you want to bet that no one would dare come in here knowing we were in here. Most of them have gone home. Mark and Joe are across the building. And if anyone finds us, so what? We’re married.”
You smirked as you stood up and took your shirt and bra off. The late evening sun through the windows shone on your skin as you sank down on your knees, clad in only your skirt, and cast your eyes down. Your nipples were hard as you waited for Chris to summon you. He admired you there and then moved quickly.
You smiled slightly as you heard his belt buckle clank and his zipper being opened.
“Suck me off, Mrs. Evans.”
You looked up and smiled at the impressive organ in front of you, crawling back between his legs as he slid his hand up and down his shaft a few times. You kissed up the side of his cock to the tip, which you took into your mouth before letting it slip out to moisten your lips. Then you spit on it and slurped it up again, bobbing while looking up at Chris. You moaned and deep throated it, causing Chris to moan deep in his own throat.
You enjoyed your power, so you took his cock out of your mouth, kissed it, smiled and spit on it again and started sucking hard, slurping and jacking it with your hand.
“Ah! Fuck!”
You pushed it deep in your throat and pulled him out slowly, going further and further until your nose was at the base of his cock.
You started up again, and Chris let you slurp and tease him as you jacked just the tip into your mouth. When you spit on it yet again was when Chris finally pushed your head down, causing you to roll your eyes and gag.
“Swallow.”
He held you down and you spluttered and spit on him as you came up for air.
“Choke me with it, Boss.”
Chris obliged, cursing softly as you felt his cock pulse precum down your throat.
“So sloppy in the office. Such a nasty slut for my cock, Mrs. Evans.”
“Ummmhmmmm,” You moaned and then pulled off and started sucking his balls as you jacked him faster, your saliva the perfect lube for the hand job.
When you started sucking his cock again, looking up at him as you went deep, you felt his balls draw up.
“Those eyes, Angel, shit. I need to cum.”
You straightened up and rubbed your breasts around him, smothering his dick into an erotic hug.
“You gonna fuck my face?”
“Shit!”
Chris grabbed your head and pistoned up into your mouth and down your throat, gagging you and soon shooting warm salty cum for you to swallow.
You swallowed it all like a good girl, and then leaned back on your knees smiling up at him. Chris grabbed your arm and hoisted you up on the table, pushing your skirt up around your waist, spreading your legs and moving your panties to the side. His head was between your legs in an instant and you moved your skirt out of the way as you watched his tongue slide out to meet your pussy.
As if in revenge, Chris looked up at you with those blue eyes of his as he lewdly licked a stripe from your ass to your clit, circling and then drawing it between his lips to suck. Then he closed his eyes and moaned.
He made out with your cunt until you saw stars. When he inserted two long thick fingers, palm up, easily reaching that sensitive spot inside you. You were gripping his hair at the roots with your hands and his fingers were deep in your pussy.
Both your fingers and Chris’s were curled and giving each other pleasure, causing both you to shoot your slick into his eagerly awaiting mouth. And his dick to be rock hard again.
Chris stood up and smiled at you as he wiped his mouth which was wet with your slick.
“Love that Angel food.”
Chris winked and you laughed, but not for long, because Chris spun you around and bent you over the conference room table and moved your panties to the side again.
“Talk about fantasies about this table. This is mine…fuuuuccckkkkk…”
Chris lined up with your sopping wet cunt and pushed in completely in one stroke, your wetness easing the way, but your orgasm having made you tight around his cock.
Chris dropped his head to your back and huffed for a second as his dick jumped.
“I… you never give me a chance to think…”
Chris kissed along your spine as you arched your back and tried to wiggle your ass to encourage him to move. His hands held you still.
“I know you had your implant removed….I just want to be sure… I don’t want to force you…”
Chris finally had to move because your whining and your movement was too much for him.
“Do you wanna have my….. Fuck…. Angel….”
Chris started pounding you like his life depended on it.
“Do you really wanna have my…. Shit.”
His hips stuttered.
“My baby…. Gotdamn it…”
Meanwhile, you were grabbing the table, trying to find something to hold on to before you floated away. You reached back for Chris’s tie, which had been dragging up and down your back as he fucked you. You pulled it, making him lean down toward you.
“Fuck yes… I want to be full of your babies, Chris…. Please!”
Chris started going even harder, tapping on the door to your cervix with his long, thick cock.
“Yeah? You want to be pregnant, Mrs. Evans?”
“God…yes…. Please…”
“Gonna be full and round with my kids?... Fuck… Tits all full… shittttt…..”
Chris licked his lips. He couldn’t take the image of you pregnant and shot his spend against your walls. He slumped against you and you sighed, happy beyond words.
“Can we get this moved into the house…”
You giggled as you said it and Chris laughed with you, relieved that you were on the same page.
“We’re gonna have to do something with it. It’s a write-off now.”
He stood up and got himself together while watching you lay on the table with a smile on your face.
Then, he straightened your panties, making sure to cover your cunt to keep his cum inside you. He picked up your bra and your blouse, and carefully helped you to get dressed as you sat on the table. Finally, he kissed you on your nose and your forehead as you stood up, legs wobbly. You hadn’t realized that your strappy heels were still on your feet. Chris had.
“C’mon, let’s go finish this at home.”
Chris moved to leave and you pulled on his tie again.
“Hey. I love when you call me Mrs. Evans when we’re not at work.”
Chris raised his eyebrow.
“And when we’re fucking at work.”
Chris chuckled.
“How about Mrs. YLN-Evans in professional settings?”
Chris smiled at you.
“That sounds amazing.”
You gave him a sweet peck on the lips then you pulled back to look in his eyes.
“And our babies. They’ll be Evans all the way.”
Feedback is a joy forever! TIA for comments & reblogs! 💕
#chris evans#ask dj#chris evans smut#chris evans imagine#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x black reader#asp fic#a starting point fic#chris evans fan fic#chris evans x reader#a starting point series
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confession // Captain John Price x reader
summary: a mission gone wrong leaves you in the hospital and Captain Price hasn’t come to see you yet.
warnings: descriptions of torture and injury. language. angsty, fluff at the end
a/n: tbh i just really wanted to write a Price thing <3
“It’s been a month, boss,” Gaz leans in the doorway of the hospital room, his voice pitched low. Next to him, John Price stands with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving your sleeping form under clean, white, hospital linen.
“I know that, sergeant,” he murmurs, glancing for a second at his subordinate before returning his gaze to you. “What’s your point?”
“She thinks you’re pissed, sir,” he pauses, seemingly considering his words before adding; “Are you?”
“Am I what? Pissed?” the captain turns his sapphire gaze on Kyle, who nods. “Yeah, I’m pissed. I’m fuckin’ furious. They could’ve killed her, an’ when I find ‘em-“
“She thinks you’re pissed *at her*,” Gaz clarifies, gesturing to you. “Sir.”
“Christ, ‘m not. How’d she get that into her head?” John returns his focus to you, watching you roll halfway under the covers before wincing and rolling back.
“Well you haven’t come to see her when she’s awake. For all she knows, you haven’t even been here,” John nods along with Kyle’s words. He’s right. A second passes before John speaks, voice almost completely absent of his typical commanding tone.
“I’ll stay, talk to her when she wakes up,” he claps a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, a tight smile on his face. “You should go home, get some rest.”
“Yes, sir. Be careful with her though. She’s been through it already,” Gaz casts a last look over you before nodding at the captain and taking his leave.
John sighs, quietly entering the room and sitting in a very nearly comfortable armchair next to your bed. He knew you deserved better than his last month of treatment. The memory of *that* day was fresher than he’d like to admit.
You’d been infiltrating an enemy base. It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, low hostile count. Easy.
What a joke.
They’d set up on two buildings: Ghost and Soap on one, Price and Gaz on the other, ensuring overwatch cover. You had been sent into the bulding. Alone.
Christ, John wished he could take that order back.
At the time, it’d been a good move. The target building had open floorplans and cieling high windows. They should’ve had no issue covering you. Until you’d radio’d in:
“Cap, there’s a stairwell going down in the back corner of the first floor. Wasn’t in the floorplan,”
And you’d gone down.
The dead air time alone was enough to make the ever-stoic Captain John Price sweat in his fatigues. And after 20 minutes of incrimental “What’s your status?”-es, he finally received a response.
“Boss, I fucked up,” your voice was hushed over the comms and Price’s heart dropped.
“Status, sergeant?”
“This place is crawling. Fifty hostiles, maybe more. Entrance is blocked and there’s not another way out,”
“Find another way out, now. That’s an order,”
“Can’t. ‘m sorry. Gonna cut comms and strip my fatigues. They won’t know who sent me. Won’t give anything up. Promise,”
Before Price could stop you, the snap of the walkie cord and static filled his ears.
It took a week to get you back. They found you in a back room, ankle chained to the bars of the dog cage around you. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived.
It took everything he had to look at you long enough to recognize the muzzle flash burns on your temples and telltale scars running aross your chest and legs from cigarettes being put out against your skin.
Now, your muffled voice drags him from his thoughts. You look better, curled into the stark white sheets. Your cheeks are regaining their fullness and color, and the dark circles under your eyes have all but vanished.
Can still see the scars on your temples though. He shoves that thought away, willing his blood to a light simmer instead of the boiling rage that threatens to consume him.
“Sorry, what’d you say, kid?” His eyes find yours, now fully paying attention.
“Water, please?” you rasp, gesturing to the cup on the bedside table. He nods, grabbing the cup, gently pulling you into a half-sitting position and holding the straw to your lips.
You take a few sips, wincing a little before nodding, a gesture that your finished for now. John sets the cup down, eyes on your throat, brows furrowed.
“They waterboard you?” his voice is even. Clinical. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses your face, however.
“Yes,” you mumble, turning to face away from your superior. “Is that why you finally showed up? To get my report?”
“No, no it isn’t,” he closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “I’m sorry, for not being by ‘til now.”
“S’fine. What are you gonna do now?” your voice grows softer and he can hear tears in the back of your throat.
“About what?”
“To punish me,”
John’s gaze snaps to yours, only just catching a tear on your cheek before you wipe it away.
“You—you think you’re in trouble?” he asks, voice dropping to a deadly low tone. You nod, face contorting at the motion for a brief second. John shakes his head. “Bloody hell, you’re not—I’m not mad at you.”
“Then why have you been avoiding me? I’ve been in here a month and I haven’t even seen you,” now your tears flow freely, streaking down your cheeks. “For the first week, I figured you had paperwork to do, but after a month? Even Ghost came by and you know how he is about going out.”
You curled your arms around yourself, bringing your knees up to your chin, sobs ripping from your chest in a hellish attempt to keep you from breathing evenly.
“I’m sorry, lo-“ he stops himself. He can’t say it, the ‘L’ word. Even as a nickname, it could open the floodgates.
“Tell me then,” you whisper, hiccuping through your tears. “Tell me the truth, why would you stay away like that?”
“Christ, I just-I couldn’t. It was too hard,” he drops his gaze the the floor, suddenly finding the linoleoum tile fascinating while waiting for your response.
“Hard? It was too hard? You don’t think it was hard for Soap or Ghost or Kyle? He’s been here every goddamn day!” your tears begin running down your cheeks, hot and fast as anger replaces sorrow. “You don’t think it was hard for me, sitting in this fucking room thinking that my captain was mad at me because I messed up our mission and lost the intel and got tied up and beaten and—“
“I know that, love,” John snaps, standing quickly and turning away. “I know that it’s been hard. And I know I should’ve come sooner. And you want the truth?”
You nod, eyes wide. John drops back into his seat, reaching out to brush some of the tears from your cheeks with calloused fingers.
“You almost died. You’re lucky you didn’t. An’ the whole time you were in surgery I knew that if I saw you, I’d say something stupid,”
“Why?”
“Because-Christ-because I love you. An’ I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m your captain. But I can’t lose you, knowing I never said it, hell. I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ll never bring it up again. An’ if you wanna put in for a transfer, I’ll approve it. Promise,” he slumps back in his seat, looking more defeated than you’ve ever seen him. His hardened outer shell has worn hundreds of missions and storms and losses, and this is what broke him?
You start to laugh, a small giggle, but it grows and John’s head snaps up. You look happier than you have in a while, even before the incident, and warm blue eyes widen in wonder at your sudden change.
“Say somethin’ funny, did I?” he grins, charming and a little bashful and it only makes you laugh harder. After a minute, the sound dies down, leaving you to ask for your water again, throat shredded from the rollercoaster of emotions.
“I’m sorry, just-didn’t expect you to say that,” you quietly start, hand venturing from under the blanket to find Price’s much larger one. “I, um, I love you. Sir.”
“Don’t-have to call me ‘sir’. Not when it’s just us,” then a pause, his eyes find yours and he lets out a slow breath.
“Will we get in trouble?” your voice trembles a little and John winces, knowing you might cry again.
“No, no, I’ll-I’ll talk to Kate, sort something out. Promise,” he gently moves his fingers tighter around yours, thumb brushing over you knuckles. You smile, brighter than the sun and he swears he gains ten years on his life everytime he sees it.
“Can you kiss me now then?” you ask breathlessly, and John laughs, standing and leaning forward. His lips gently press against yours. It’s chaste and soft and short, but it’s perfect.
-—————-———-—-
“They’ve been like that since I got here,” Kyle Garrick stands in the doorway to your hospital room, arms crossed. Soap is leaned against the opposite doorframe, while Ghost sits in a chair a few feet away.
“‘Bout time too, I swear they’ve been makin’ eyes at each other for ages,” Soap shakes his head, gesturing into the hospital room.
The topic of conversation there, you sleeping soundly in the haze of white linen around you, fingers holding the hand of their captain, who’s snoring at a truly ungodly volume from the chair beside your bed.
“Laswell, 10 o’clock,” Ghost mutters, glancing at Gaz.
“I say we let her try to wake up the captain. ‘Cause I’m not gonna,”
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Chapter 4: Every Time You Smile, You Laugh, You Glow
Collaboration with my ultimate soulmate, @corroded-hellfire 💚
Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.
Chapter Summary: Eddie's determined to help Sunshine wake up, but when she does, will the truth break them apart or bring them closer together?
Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, angst, hurt/comfort
WC: 6.3k
Divider credit to @firefly-graphics
It seems like years pass before the doctors come out and report that they’ve been able to stabilize you, but that you need your rest and can’t have any more visitors today.
“Her body has been under immense stress, physically and mentally,” Dr. Sanoj explains patiently. “You can come back during tomorrow’s visiting hours and see her if she’s strong enough.”
If she’s strong enough. The words grate at Eddie, chipping away at his resolve to remain calm. Of course you’ll be strong enough; you’re the strongest person he knows.
He and your mom wordlessly make their way out of the hospital. Maybe it’s his eyes, red-rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, but it brings out a sympathetic side of your mom.
“You should get some rest, too,” she says gently. She manages a small smile. “No sense in going in there tomorrow all sleep-deprived.”
Eddie nods, mutters a, “you, too,” and hurries to his van. The last thing she needs is to have to comfort him while her own daughter’s life hangs in limbo.
To his credit, Eddie does try to take a nap. He tosses and turns for forty-five minutes before giving up, swinging his gangly legs over the side of Gareth’s couch and walking over to where Sweetheart is regally perched on her stand. He strums a few unenthused chords, attempting to muster up some semblance of ambition. Nothing he plays seems right anymore, like every note is out of tune. If he’s honest, it’s how his life feels without you in it.
He thinks back to the day you formally met Dustin, Robin, and Steve. The way they insisted that there was something between you two. Jeez, Harrington went as far as to call it a spark, like a budding relationship could explode at any moment. And Robin had made that joke about how sad he got when the nurses “took his Sunshine away.” Like that song Wayne always sang around the house.
Eddie hums the tune now, trying to match the pitch and find the right chords to play. He slowly picks them up, but there’s something still…off about the way the sweet, mellow song sounds on the electric guitar.
“Hey there, Ed.” Wayne comes through the front door, wiping his boots on the welcome mat. “Got some good news for ya.”
“Mm,” Eddie murmurs, still entrenched in his music.
Wayne holds up a manila envelope. “You’re officially cleared of all charges related to the Cunningham girl,” he announces, a big grin spreading across his typically stoic face. “Chief Hopper was able to pin it all on the Russians; easy enough, considering what happened at Starcourt last summer.” Wayne shakes his head at the memory. “‘M tellin’ you, boy: you’re real lucky the Chief of Police is also involved in this monster hunting thing.”
With the help of his friends, Eddie explained the truth about what happened to his uncle as soon as he got home from the hospital. And while Wayne was certainly skeptical—who wouldn’t be, with a story about an evil supervillain from another dimension?—he’d believed every word.
“That’s good,” Eddie says now, no trace of enthusiasm in his voice.
Wayne frowns. “What’s up your ass today? You’ve been cleared of murder charges, and you don’t so much as crack a smile?”
Eddie sighs, finally looking up at his uncle. “Even if they don’t charge me for the crime, people are still gonna think I did it. That I’m some kinda Satan-worshiping cult leader, or whatever.”
Wayne sits down on the couch next to Eddie. “Let me get this straight,” he says, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m supposed to believe that the same kid who would fight to the death over a traffic ticket doesn’t care that he’s no longer wanted for murder?”
“I fucked up, Wayne,” Eddie chokes out, brushing the tears from his eyes. “I fucked things up with Sunshine, and now there’s something really wrong with her, a-and she might not wake up, and I can’t get this stupid song to sound right with this stupid guitar!” He pulls Sweetheart over his head angrily and places her back in her stand.
“Well,” Wayne says, dropping a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I may have only met her a few brief times, but even I could tell that she’s a fighter, that one. And just because someone’s not awake, doesn’t mean they can’t hear ya. Remember we’d sit by your mom’s side in the hospital and you’d tell her about your day? She’d wake up a few hours later and, like magic, she knew what you said to her. Pretty sure Sunshine’s got that same magic. When you go back there and visit her, tell her what’s on your heart. She’ll hear ya.” Wayne pauses and takes a deep breath. “Now about this song business…I dunno how to help you with that one. You and I both know my musical ability ends at putting records on. What song are tryin’ to learn?”
“You Are My Sunshine,” Eddie grumbles, not taking his eyes off of his feet. Wayne can’t help but smile at that. He always knew his nephew was a softy deep down, but there weren’t too many times that he’d let anyone on the outside world see that.
“S’a good song,” Wayne says. “And I ain’t known you to never get a song just right before. Keep fiddlin’ with it.”
Wayne pushes himself off the couch, but before he can leave the room, Eddie calls out to him. “Wayne? What, um, what should I say when I go visit her?”
His uncle shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just speak from the heart, boy. Keep it real honest and tell her how ya feel and what’s been on your mind.”
“Thanks,” Eddie says. Wayne gives him a nod and heads into the kitchen. After staring at Sweetheart for a few moments, Eddie picks her back up and starts to strum. He sit and practices for hours, occasionally massaging the back of his neck when it starts to stiffen up from staying in the same position for so long. He’s so enraptured in perfecting the song that he doesn’t even hear Wayne come back into the house.
“Ed? You still at it?”
“Unfortunately,” Eddie mutters, standing up and stretching his back with a groan. “You can come in if you want. I need a distraction before I fling myself out of the window.”
Wayne peeks his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. “Good thing we’re on the first floor then, huh?” He laughs at his nephew’s inevitable eyeroll. “C’mon out; I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.”
Curiosity getting the best of him, Eddie follows his uncle to his rusty old sedan. Laying in the backseat is an acoustic guitar. It looks a little beat up, but definitely playable.
“Where–how did you–” he starts, unable to speak because he’s so stunned by Wayne’s kind gesture.
“Ya can’t play a sweet old song like that on the electric guitar. Need one of these,” Wayne says proudly, pointing towards the instrument. “Guy at the pawnshop said she just needs a bit of a tune and she should be good to go.”
Tears spring to Eddie’s eyes, and he envelops his uncle in a tight hug. “You’re the best,” he says, voice muffled by his cheek being pressed against Wayne’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the easiest to deal–”
Wayne dismisses his concern with a wave. “Enough of that. I’m just glad to have you back here, alive. Now,” he says, the joyful glint returning to his eyes, “go learn that song so you can get the girl and leave the damn house once in a while.”
Eddie’s unable to suppress the smile that grows on his face. He’d never thought of himself as someone who would “get the girl,” but then again, he’s never felt about anyone the way he feels about you.
Re-energized by his gift, Eddie brings the acoustic guitar inside and starts to practice again. Right away, he can tell the difference.
“Much better,” Eddie says to himself. Wayne was right, as usual—not that he’d ever admit that to his uncle. Before, Eddie felt every second drip by as he tried and failed to make the song sound right. Now, the hours were flying by faster than Eddie even realized. Footsteps march into the living room and Eddie reluctantly looks up to see Gareth standing in the doorway.
“Yeah?” Eddie asks.
“Do you know what time it is?” Gareth asks, raising his eyebrows. Eddie shakes his head and goes back to strumming. “It’s after three in the morning. Dude, if you don’t get any sleep, she’s going to think you look like shit tomorrow.”
Gareth managed to find the one thing he could say to make Eddie put the guitar down. He didn’t have an official place to put this one, since Sweetheart was already resting in the stand. Standing up, Eddie grabs his guitar case from behind the couch. Gareth shuffles back down the hallway towards his room as Eddie flips open the latches of the case. He sets the acoustic down inside and smiles as he looks down at it. His first precious guitar has a name, and now he has the perfect idea for the next.
“Goodnight, Sunshine the Second.”
When Eddie arrives at Hawkins General Hospital the next morning, he’s not surprised to see your mom already by your bedside. He winces when he notices the tubes in your nose, another painful reminder of your weakened state.
“Any changes?” he asks softly, a pang of disappointment settling in his chest when she shakes her head no.
“No better, but no worse,” your mother reports, running her thumb over your hand, carefully avoiding the needle in your vein. “How’re you holding up?”
“All right,” Eddie shrugs, peeling the guitar case off of his back and setting it down. “Wish she would wake up, though.”
Your mom laughs kindly. “You and me both, kid.” She takes notice of Sunshine the Second and smiles. “Did you just come from band practice?”
“Nah,” Eddie shakes his head bashfully, letting his messy curls brush his cheeks. “I, um, wanted to play her a song. If th-that’s okay.” He’s never been good with parents; they’ve always written him off as some punk or, worse, trailer trash. He anticipates disapproval, so he’s pleasantly surprised when your mom’s face brightens and she encourages him to play.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” she excuses herself, giving his shoulder a maternal squeeze.
Eddie clears his throat. “Hi, Sunshine,” he starts, pausing briefly to give you a chance to reply, but the silence dashes his hopes. “I’m so fucking glad you’re alive. I kept thinking about you, and this song, and I—I wanna play it for you.” He unzips the case and slings the guitar strap around his body. Tuning it quickly, he starts to sing:
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You’ll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away
He’s not sure what he was expecting; it’s not like his warbling voice would heal you. But he can’t help the disappointment that sinks into his chest like a bag of rocks in a river when you remain perfectly still.
He strums absentmindedly, playing whatever songs he can remember off of the top of his head. His usual repertoire of Metallica and Black Sabbath don’t sound right on an acoustic, so he thinks about some of the folk-y music that Wayne listens to.
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
‘Cause I’m leavin’
On a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go
The mention of an airplane reminds him of the argument you two had had before he was discharged. “I know you weren’t sure about if you wanted to fly with me to California and try to make it as a dancer,” he murmurs, “but whether or not your plans include me, I really think you should.”
He sighs, continuing to play random chords as he speaks. “Feel kinda bad right now. I mean, if you were awake, you might tell me to fuck off. And I wouldn’t blame you, honestly. But you can’t tell me that, so I’m just pouring my heart out whether you care to listen or not.” He laughs softly.
Eddie’s fingers are moving of their own accord against the strings, his mind drifting off in a thousand different directions. It isn’t until his ear catches on the familiar notes that he realizes he’s playing a new song, one he heard a lot growing up, thanks to Wayne.
Woah, my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?
I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love to me
His voice catches on the last few lyrics, his throat constricting and his eyes become heavy with unshed tears. Taking a deep breath, Eddie keeps strumming the guitar because he needs something to do with his hands. He slips his eyes closed, trying to compose himself, but it doesn’t do much. When he opens them again, a few stray tears escape down his cheeks.
“Sunshine, wake up,” Eddie pleads. “I don’t like this. Sunshine, wake up.”
He switches gears, going back to the original plan for the acoustic guitar. What he practiced for hours so it would be just right for you.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You’ll never know dear
How much I—
Eddie is cut off by the gentle fluttering of your eyelids. His heart stalls in his chest, his breath freezes in his lungs as he stares at you. In reality, it’s about four seconds of you blinking before your eyes are fully open. To Eddie, it was an agonizingly long wait. His hands are still on the guitar, too shocked to move. You’re looking up at the white ceiling above you before blinking a few more times. Slowly, your head turns towards Eddie and when your eyes lock with his, all of the emotions that have been swirling around and building up for days now hit their breaking point. The tears surge and Eddie sets the guitar down to wipe them from his eyes. He’ll be damned if anything keeps him from looking at you, alive, awake, wonderful you, even if it’s his own damn tears.
“Sunshine,” Eddie breathes out, a rush of breath and a sigh of relief all wrapped up in the nickname. You look slightly groggy still from all the medications, but Eddie can tell you’re looking into his eyes, which is all he needs. Gently, taking care of the needles and wires hooked into you, Eddie takes your hand. “Sunshine, can you hear me?”
Your mouth opens and you go to speak, when a look of pain flashes across your face.
“Shh, no, no. Don’t speak. Just squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” Eddie says.
The soft pressure of your delicate hand tightening around his is enough to bring another round of tears. These, he scrubs off with his sleeve before they can make it too far down his face. Once his vision is clear again, he looks down to see you smiling at him. He’s not sure if you’re genuinely glad to see him, or you’re still so hopped up on drugs that you would’ve been happy to see Pennywise standing over your bed.
“M-Mom?” you whisper, and your head is filled with sandbags as it lolls to one side.
“No, Sunshine, it’s me. It’s Eddie.”
To his horror, you start to cry. He doesn’t know how to interpret it, so he quickly stands up. “I can go get her, okay? You don’t have to be scared.” Running over to the doorway, he pokes his head out towards the waiting room, catching your mom’s eye as he waves her over.
“She’s awake,” he tells her, watching her body visibly decompress with relief, “and she’s asking for you.”
Your mom rushes into your room, heaving sobs wracking her body as she takes in your open eyes and small, chapped smile. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs. “I’m here now.”
Eddie awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other, not wanting to intrude on such a sensitive moment but not wanting to leave. “I can come back later,” he offers, but your mom shakes her head and pats the seat next to her. The two of them sit in silence as you go in and out of sleep, waking to ask for some water before dozing off again.
After an hour, you finally claw your way out of a groggy stupor, focusing on the two people by your bedside. “Wh-What happened?” you manage.
“Honey, you had trouble waking up from your surgery,” your mom reluctantly tells you, sharing an uneasy glance with Eddie. “Your, um, your heart stopped; they had to revive you. We didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
“We should’ve known,” Eddie chimes in, offering as much of a smile as he can. “I mean, you’re a total badass. If anyone can cheat death, it’s you.”
It takes you a moment to piece together what’s going on. The last time you saw Eddie, anger and disappointment marred his normally cheerful disposition. There was no trace of the young man who theorized about future soap opera plotlines or who fell asleep with his cheek nestled against your shoulder; there was only hurt.
The Eddie sitting before you now is different altogether. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears at the sight of you, like he wants to hold on to you and never let go.
There’s so much still left unsaid, and your head swims at the mere thought of such an intense discussion. Instead, you opt for a more obvious question: “Is that a guitar?”
“Eddie was playing some songs for you,” your mom explains, looking between the two of you. Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he’s sat down, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop any time soon. “I’m gonna grab something for him and I to eat; maybe he can play them again?”
“You don’t have to–” Eddie starts, but your mom waves him off with the promise of whatever sandwich looks the least unappetizing.
“You always sing for your mortal enemies?” you ask wryly, a hint of teasingness in your tone that you hope carries over.
“Just your run-of-the-mill sacrifice chants,” he jokes back, and you audibly sigh at the easy slide to your usual back-and-forth banter. He lowers his voice and takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together as he says, “and you’re not my mortal enemy.”
“I’m really sorry that I lied to you,” you tell him, a misty film covering your eyes. “I just didn’t wanna disappoint you. And if you saw me sad, then you’d get sad...”
Eddie lightly presses his palm to your cheek. “Sunshine,” he says mournfully, “I never wanted you to hide your feelings from me. You’re my Sunshine because you’re you, not because I thought you were happy all the time.” He uses his free hand to rub behind his neck. “But I could’ve asked. I guess I was just so in my own head, thinking about myself, that I took you for granted. Poured my heart out to you, but never gave you the same chance,” he chides himself.
“Or I could’ve spoken up,” you point out truthfully. “I could’ve said, ‘Hey, I need a bunch of surgery and I may never dance again, and I’m really fuckin’ sad about it.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. You may never dance again. And there he was, blowing up on you because he thought you didn’t want to run away and pursue your dream; the whole time, your dream may have been yanked from your grasp.
“Can you play me one of the songs?” you interrupt his thoughts, and he just nods wordlessly as he positions the guitar on his lap.
“It’s kinda lame–”
“Just play it. Or do I have to almost die again?”
“Sheesh, all right,” he chuckles, latching his gaze to yours as he sings:
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You’ll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away
You’re giggling and crying at the same time, a sight that must seem completely absurd. You don’t want to think too long about what Eddie’s making of the way you look right now. His voice is rough and gravelly from years of metal covers at the Hideout, but it’s soothing nonetheless. But it’s the way he sings one particular part that replays in your brain over and over.
You’ll never know dear
How much I love you
Maybe it’s just a song lyric. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. He just sings it, not even remotely flustered, as though his love for you is common knowledge.
“So,” he says sheepishly, “what’d you think?” When he realizes that you’re cry-laughing too hard to respond, he grins. “Oh, Sunshine. What did I do to your heart–fix it, or break it?”
“I’m not sure,” you half-joke, because if you get your hopes up that he does love you the way you want him to love you, and then he doesn’t, it might shatter into a million pieces. “That was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Eddie pauses, biting his lip nervously before he speaks again. “Can I try something?” When you nod, he cups your jaw and lets his thumb graze over your lower lip. You cringe at how dry they must feel, but he doesn’t seem to care as his mouth presses to yours. It’s a quick kiss, over too soon for your liking, but it still leaves you breathless.
He leans his forehead on yours, smiling as he caresses your cheek. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he confesses, “and it kinda scares the shit outta me.”
“Only kinda?” you tease, nudging your nose to his.
Eddie leans back in his chair, letting out a shaky chuckle and rubbing his palms on his worn-out jeans. “I want us to be honest with each other. I don’t want any more secrets. From either of us,” he clarifies, so you know he’s not only talking about you. “Starting with what really happened the night of the earthquake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you trust that I’ll tell you the truth?” he asks, and you nod. “Okay. So, um, shit, where do I even start? I guess…well, the earthquake…it wasn’t really an earthquake.”
Your eyes widen as he plunges into a story that sounds like it could be one of his D&D campaigns.
“It was the first time I’d ever seen anything like it,” he tells you, explaining how some monster nicknamed “Vecna” had snapped Chrissy Cunningham’s bones like twigs. How he’d hidden in his drug supplier’s boathouse—a detail you’ll have to unpack later—until Dustin Henderson tracked him down. How the whole town was convinced that he was some kind of heinous murderer, when he’d never hurt a fly.
All of that pales in comparison to the World War III-esque scene that awaited him in the Upside Down, an alternate dimension controlled by Vecna. “Every moving part was connected to him. Like a hive mind,” he says now. An arachnid-shaped force called the Mind Flayer that could possess anyone with a painful jab of its long pedipalps. Thick vines, far more dangerous than the poison ivy that showed up in your backyard each spring. “Nancy, Steve, and Robin—they almost died from them,” Eddie says somberly, and you sit up as much as you can and rub his back.
“Is that how you…?”
Eddie cuts you off with a quick shake of his head. “Henderson and I were supposed to lure the demobats from Vecna’s lair. That’s all we had to do. And we did it,” he flashes a sad smile. “But all I could think about was being a hero. Saving my friends. Finally facing danger instead of running from it.”
They’d just made it back to safety before the storm of bats surrounded the trailer, busting through vents and shaking the foundation. “Henderson went back first, an’ he was calling my name. Everything in me was screaming to climb the rope, get myself back to the real Hawkins.” He’s sobbing, and you have to lean in closer just to understand what he’s trying to say. “But I cut the rope and I went back.”
“To the Upside Down?” you interrupt, blinking back tears of your own.
Eddie nods. “Those little bat fuckers got me good. I thought I was gonna die, right there in that weird, fake Hawkins. But my friends dragged me out, got me to a hospital…and here I am,” he finishes, trying to muster up a smile.
“Here you are.”
“Scariest shit of my life,” Eddie says with a sigh. “But it landed me in the same hospital room as this really beautiful girl, so I guess something good came from it after all.”
His compliment brings a shy smile to your face, and your mind starts to remember all the laughs and conversations the two of you had in that room. A room, you assume, Max is still in.
“So, uh, is this all how Max went blind?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, his eyes dropping down to your hand in his. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, taking care to avoid your IV line. “When Vecna targeted Max, she started levitating like Chrissy did. Her bones started to snap and her eyes started to bleed. When Vecna was torched, she was released. But the damage had been done. Lucas—her boyfriend, swears she died while they were waiting for an ambulance. And she was in a coma here for a little while.”
“She seems like a good friend. Loyal,” you say.
At that, a small smile curls on one side of Eddie’s face. “Yeah, Red’s a good kid.”
“When they brought you in,” you say, lacing your fingers with his. “What did they tell the doctors was wrong with you? It’s not like they could’ve come right out and said you were attacked by multidimensional bats.”
“Steve and Henderson were arguing the whole way here about what their story should be. In the end, it didn’t matter though. The hospital was so overwhelmed by patients that they just wanted to know what my injuries were and didn’t even ask how I got them.”
“This is all so insane,” you say with a shake of your head. Eddie’s brow pinches up and you’re quick to reassure him that you believe his story. “Eddie, what you had to go through was insane. The fact that there’s this whole other dimension existing alongside ours. Why is this shit happening in Hawkins of all places? Land of the boring doesn’t seem like the type of place that evil creatures would want to strike. At least, not according to most of the monster or disaster movies I’ve seen—and there have been a lot.”
“Before Vecna became…well, Vecna. He was just some kid who lived in Hawkins. With weird as shit powers he used to kill part of his family,” Eddie says.
“That’s almost more morbid than the killer vines,” you say. “So, he chose to create a new dimension?”
“Not exactly. He was…banished there, more or less. By this badass little superpowered girl that all my friends know. I haven’t gotten to meet her yet, though. But she sent Creel there and he corrupted it to his liking, apparently.”
“Wait, did you say Creel?” you ask. “As in, The Creel House? Victor Creel?”
“His son, actually. Henry Creel. Henry is Vecna,” Eddie explains.
“Jesus,” you say, leaning back against your pillows. “I know this whole thing is all pretty unbelievable…but do you know what part is bothering me the most?”
“The fact that there are worse creatures around here than regular old spiders?” Eddie teases, getting a giggle out of you.
“No,” you say. “Though that doesn’t thrill me either. It’s that the stupid people in this town would actually believe you’re capable of murder. And why? Because you like metal music? Because you play D&D? That’s such bullshit.”
Eddie can’t help but smile at your words. How could he ever have thought that you were like all those other assholes in this town? Well, he knows the answer to that, unfortunately. It was bound to happen over the years of bullying and abuse he endured, that now he’s just become paranoid that people are always fucking with him. Trusting people becomes a harder process, but falling for you is oh so easy.
There’s a gentle knock on the door and your mom sticks her head in. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Eddie says, his politeness towards your mother ever more endearing now that he’s kissed you.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” your mom says as she sits down in the chair next to Eddie. She has a plastic container holding a sandwich in each hand. “I’ve got ham or turkey. Take your pick.”
“I’ll go with turkey,” Eddie says. Your mom hands him the sandwich and the two of them tuck into their food. You let your eyes roam around the room, which is smaller than the one you shared with Eddie—and then Max. Hopefully, you’ll get to move back into that room once you get a little strength back. But this room isn’t bad. It’s private, quiet, and you have a nice view out the window to your left. Dragging your eyes back across the room, they land on Eddie’s guitar laying next to his chair.
“So, you play guitar,” you say, staring at the instrument. “Electric and acoustic, I take it?”
Eddie nods as he finishes the bite of food in his mouth. “Mostly electric. Just got this bad boy yesterday, actually. But it’s pretty much the same. You can play one, you can play the other.”
“Do you play any other instruments?” you ask.
“Nah,” Eddie says. “I tried piano when I was younger, but the white keys…the black keys…too many to keep track of. What about you?”
“I was in band in middle school. Played the flute, but that was about it,” you say and your mom lets out a guffaw of laughter.
“I don’t know if I’d consider what you did ‘playing’ the flute, hun.” She leans in towards Eddie. “Those concerts were brutal.”
Eddie laughs and you feel your face warm up. “Thanks, Mom.”
The conversation lasts for another forty-five minutes before your Mom decides to head back home. She thanks Eddie for being there, enveloping him in a warm hug. It’s loving and maternal, and not frantic like when they were both anxiously awaiting your prognosis.
“So,” you say, peering at Eddie through your eyelashes, “is it my turn to tell you what happened to me?
He shakes his head. “Another time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft and kind, and you never want him to break contact. “I had something more fun in mind for the rest of our afternoon.”
Your cheeks flame, and you press your lips together shyly. “Um, I don’t think I can do that for a little while,” you whisper.
Eddie’s eyes widen. “No, shit, that’s not what I meant. I mean, eventually, hell yeah, but not right after you rose from the dead.” He crosses his arms over his chest and gives a dramatic pout. “D’you really think I’d try to get in your pants now?”
You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe you have, like, a coma fetish.”
He wrinkles up his nose as he stares down at you. “Is that a thing? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He scoots on the edge of your hospital bed and proudly announces, “I’m taking you on a date.”
“Eddie, I can’t leave the hospital,” you say, gesturing to the litany of wires you’re hooked up to. “Not sure if they’ll even let me leave my room.”
“Only one way to find out,” Eddie says. He gives you a mischievous smile as he stands from your bed and strolls out of the room. You try to situate yourself so you’re able to see out the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever Eddie is up to. A few minutes later, he steps back inside, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Raising his eyebrows, his eyes dart from you, down to the chair, to you again, as if saying impressive, huh?
“Whatcha got there, Eds? We going somewhere?” you ask.
“On our date, m’lady. You’re cleared to go downstairs.”
“What’s downstairs?”
“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?” Eddie asks as he parks the wheelchair next to your bed. “Let me ask you one. Do you like coffee?”
“I’m a college student,” you say. “I need it to live.”
“Well, Miss College, would you accompany me to the cafeteria for a coffee date?” Eddie bows at the waist, offering one of his hands to you and the other rests against his back. “I may also buy you a cookie.”
“Spoiling me, I see. I would be more than happy to go on this date with you.” You push the blanket off your legs and move to sit on the edge of the bed. Before you go to step off the bed, a frown comes to your face.
“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, standing up straight again.
“I feel a little weird about leaving my room in just my hospital gown,” you admit, face heating up.
“Not a problem.” Eddie shucks his leather jacket off and holds it out in front of him. The smile that lights up your face is involuntary at his sweet gesture.
You stand up and reach behind you to keep your gown closed. “No free show,” you tease him with a smirk.
Eddie chuckles and lays the jacket over your shoulders. “I mean, I am paying for your coffee…” He lets out a yelp as you playfully swat at him with your free hand. He helps you get seated in the chair and once you’re comfortable, you slip your arms into the sleeves. The scent of Eddie surrounds you as you're enveloped in his jacket. It feels soft against your skin and you just want to snuggle up in it.
He unlocks the wheelchair brakes and gently begins pushing you out the door, carefully navigating the frame so he doesn’t bump you. “Never thought I’d see the day that I was a responsible driver,” he quips, and you giggle. “Now, how do we get to the cafeteria?”
You crane your neck to look up at him. “How am I supposed to know? I didn’t exactly ask for a tour when they carried me in on a stretcher.”
“Ooh, feisty,” Eddie teases, continuing down the hallway until he finds a map of the hospital. His eyes scan the figure until they land on his destination. “Aha! Looks like we have to turn right at the end of this hall, then take the elevator down to the first floor, and it’ll be on the left.”
“Onwards!” you command, and Eddie gives a little salute as he brings you to the elevator.
You reach the cafeteria, and he wheels you over to a table. “How do you take your coffee?” When you give him your order, he repeats it over and over again.
“If you forget, just call out and ask me,” you reassure him, but he shakes his head.
“Wayne told me once that you should always know how your girl takes her coffee,” he explains. “‘S like one of the Ten Commandments or something.”
A grin spreads across your face. “Your girl?”
“Y-Yeah, if you want?” he stammers, shoving his hands in his back pockets and rocking back and forth.
You crook your finger, beckoning him down to your level, and you kiss him passionately. He relaxes into you, deepening it and parting your lips with his own. “Yeah, I want,” you say softly, twirling a strand of his hair around your forefinger.
As he walks towards the carafes of lukewarm coffee, you admire him. Your boyfriend. He claims that revealing what happened to you won’t make him like you any less, but you have a niggling feeling that it might. He only knows you as Sunshine, and the one time you showed any emotion other than optimism, he left without a word. What if he decides that it’s too much? That you’re too much?
Maybe he’s better off without you and your baggage dragging him down. As if he can sense you getting in your own head, Eddie slides your coffee in front of you and plops down in the seat next to yours.
“My girlfriend gets the cutest little crease right between her eyebrows when she’s thinking too hard,” Eddie says.
“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish smile. You take a sip of your coffee and let out a hum of approval. “Perfect.”
“No overthinking on our first date. Wait for the third or fourth for that.”
“Sounds fair,” you acquiesce.
Eddie looks at you before taking a sip of his own coffee. “You know you don’t have to hide anything from me, right? I don’t run away. Not anymore.” He reaches out and strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
You swallow your nerves, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Okay,” you agree slowly. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”
--
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RED FLAGS ║ PART 10
CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)
Summary: You and Steven try to get used to your new life together without Marc. Or alternatively: Marc is playing (the not ridiculous and totally mature version of) Hide and Seek.
Content: mild angst, implied mentions of child abuse (blink and miss it), reminiscing about fish death, otherwise quite tame for me.
Word Count: 10,000 words
Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist
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You
Steven and I were at a bookstore today and I saw a very grumpy pug that reminded me of you.
Steven wants a dog now. If you don’t want that you need to come back because I’m not gonna stop him.
Weeks have passed since Steven’s prodigal return.
It’s almost been a return to how things were before, with Steven picking you up from work, occasional romantic dinners out, and evenings cuddled up in bed reading together or watching documentaries on the sofa.
It’s almost perfect.
It ought to be perfect.
The only thing missing from your previous routine is waking up to the quiet noise of clutter in the kitchen and the smell of breakfast filling the room, to Marc.
Your intuition had been correct: Marc is avoiding you. Despite the fact that you’ve practically moved into Steven’s flat, you’ve not seen him once.
According to Steven, Marc still fronts in the middle of the night sometimes, but to do what, you don’t know. It’s one more thing Steven “can’t tell you right now” because it’s Marc’s business. And as frustrating as that is, you don’t push—at least, not with Steven.
Instead, you’ve focused your energy on attempting to lure Marc out. Texting him at random times of the day. Cluttering up the space, leaving yours and Steven’s clothes in random spaces, putting the dishes away in the wrong order—things you know will drive him mad.
You’ve even tried staying up all night in hopes of catching Marc in the act, but the only thing you caught was sleep deprivation. It’s left you exhausted and cranky in the morning, mistake-prone at work and ready to bite everyone’s head off.
Recognizing the futility of continuing to bash your head against the wall of Marc’s stubbornness, you’ve reluctantly settled into the new status quo while you consider what to do.
Tonight you and Steven are staying in. The rain is pouring down outside, making London wet and miserable, but you’re safely ensconced in the warmth of Steven’s flat, propped up in bed while he sits nearby in his worn leather armchair, reading glasses perched adorably on his nose as he peruses a thick tome.
But for once, his studies don’t seem to be capable of holding his attention, and you keep glancing up to find him staring off into space, brow furrowed, the book abandoned in his lap.
The first time you followed his gaze to the fish tank, you’d felt a stab of worry that you’d find Gus II floating belly-up in the water, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary that you can see.
The orange goldfish is swimming across the length of the tank, happily oblivious to his predecessor’s fate and the fact that he’s being observed. The journey continues until his little fishy head bumps up against the glass panel, and he turns around, repeating the process in reverse, only to do the same thing on the other side.
It’s hardly a riveting sight, but Steven seems entirely engrossed. He looks a million miles away, lost in his thoughts.
“Do you think,” he says eventually, “that goldfish ever get lonely?”
“Oh, um…” You blink at him, a bit startled by the soft question, though you’re not sure why. It’s hardly the first time Steven has expressed concern about the wellbeing of an animal—he’s a vegan after all—and you’ve seen him beside himself while watching a killer whale hunt down baby seals on an arctic beach on Animal Planet.
This feels different somehow.
“I’m not sure actually,” you hedge, wracking your brain for a proper answer, “I know guinea pigs get lonely and are meant to be kept in pairs, but I don’t really know if the same is true of fish.”
Steven nods solemnly, and turns back to the fishtank, eyes wide and melancholy, an unhappy slump to his shoulders.
Watching him watch Gus II’s lonely, pointless vigil back and forth, you wonder if it’s Marc that Steven’s thinking about now.
If he feels lonely, having effectively lost his newly revealed other half again so soon after discovering the truth.
If he misses Marc the way you–
You shake the thought away, taking a deep breath before you hold up your phone to catch his attention.
“Shall I google it?”
Steven immediately brightens up. Quickly marking his place in the book, he sets it aside and makes his way over to join you on the bed so you can google it together.
‘Do goldfish get lonely?’
Unfortunately, no matter how many pages of results you scroll though, there doesn’t seem to be any strong consensus.
Several websites are adamant that goldfish do not feel loneliness and can live a long and happy and fulfilling life alone. But there seem to be just as many saying the opposite. An article from the Telegraph strongly admonishes its readers that goldfish should be kept in pairs at least when in captivity.
Eventually, your hour-long Google bender finally ends with you two reaching the unsatisfactory conclusion of: ‘nobody knows for sure.’
You put away your phone on the nightstand and glance at Steven. He’s staring up at the fishtank again, wringing his hands in a way that makes your chest tighten. Somehow he seems even more unsettled than before.
“You know,” you point out hopefully, “nothing we found says that having a companion would make a goldfish unhappy as long as they have enough space. And your tank is certainly large enough for two.”
When Steven doesn’t reply, you prod gently, “Would you maybe like to get Gus the Second a friend?”
At that, the tension Steven is holding finally seems to thaw, his shoulders relaxing as he turns to you.
“That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” he says, face alight with a small, soft smile.
You
FYI we did not get robbed yesterday. Steven tried to make dinner. He’s going to try again tonight. I know you hate messes so you might want to come back to stop him.
For two men who share half of their lives with each other, there’s a distinct lack of physical evidence of Marc in Steven’s flat.
Of the hundreds of books crammed into every nook and cranny of the wooden shelves sprawled across the flat, not a single one belongs to him. The messy closet filled only with Steven’s garish patterns and oversized items. In fact, Steven's personality and interests are writ large within this space—in the half-scribbled notes left on the desk, the postcards tacked on all random surfaces, the organised chaos that seems to reign. It’s obvious that this is Steven’s home.
But is it Marc’s?
You’ve yet to identify a single item in the entire flat that belongs to him. No proof of address. Nothing.
Now that you no longer wake up to him standing in the kitchen most mornings, pottering around in that quiet calm way of his, it’s almost like he never existed in the first place.
You hate it.
You look down at the handful of mismatched flatware you’ve just put back in the drawer then back up at Steven where he stands at the sink next to you, elbow deep in lukewarm dishwater.
Even the dishes are Steven’s.
“Does Marc have another flat?” you ask, unsettled by the idea that Marc might have another home that you know nothing about.
“Don’t think so,” Steven says, glancing up from the plate he’s scrubbing, “Why?”
“He doesn’t seem to have any belongings here. I was wondering if he kept his things somewhere else.”
“He’s got a storage unit. I’ve been there once. Marc had a sad little cot setup there. Not much in the way of belongings there either. I don’t think he owns much,” he says, rinsing the plate clean.
You stare down at the tea towel, twisting it in your hands, and your stomach twists with it.
A storage unit.
With a cot.
That’s even worse, isn't it? To think that Marc might not have a home anywhere at all.
And now he’s retreating farther than ever. Ceding the daytime hours, and even most nights to Steven. Keeping nothing for himself. Your lives wiped clean of traces of Marc, the same way the flat has been.
You feel sick at the thought.
Steven doesn’t say anything more, and you don’t either. The two of you work in silence, as he washes the dishes and hands them off to you to dry and then put away in the cupboards—a bowl, another plate, a sharp knife, and then a large plain ceramic mug.
Marc’s mug.
As Steven hands it to you, you have a flash of Marc taking it from your hands, full to the brim of the coffee you made for him. The memory of his quiet “thanks” makes your heart hurt.
Christ, get it together. You’re getting soppy over a bloody tea cup, for God’s sake.
It doesn’t even really qualify as Marc’s, despite being the only one amongst Steven’s collection of mugs without a quirky motif. Marc never claimed ownership of it in any way.
Shaking your head, you walk to the cabinet and tuck the mug back up into its usual spot. As you lower your arm, the old coffee maker in the corner of the counter catches your eye, gleaming in the light of the kitchen.
It looks... remarkably clean, which, for anything in Steven's flat, is an oddity in itself. You haven’t made coffee in weeks—not since before Marc disappeared—but the glass practically shines. Reaching out, you swipe a fingertip against the top surface and frown as it comes away dust-free.
“Steven, have you been using the coffee maker lately?”
“Hmm?” He turns around, arms sudsed with dishwater up to his elbow. “No, not for years. Had to stop drinking coffee ‘cause it made me jittery—or, well, worse than I am already. Why do you ask?”
“The coffee maker’s clean. There's no dust on it at all.”
Steven hums in reply, looking like he's deep in thought.
“That’s probably Marc’s doing. He drinks coffee sometimes when he’s up running around in the middle of the night, I think.”
You nod in response, your finger lingering over the button panel.
Does this old coffee maker qualify as something of Marc’s? Perhaps there is one thing that belongs to him in the flat after all.
It’s pretty banged up. The paint is chipped, and the control panel scratched up to the point that the labels are mostly worn away. It hadn’t mattered before, as all you’d needed to know was to push the first button—the ‘ON’ button, you suppose, though the lettering has long since worn away—to start the coffee brewing, but now you stare at the thing, trying to decipher the rest of the labels.
“What does this button do?” you ask, pointing to the second button. It reads 'lay b ew' which makes no bloody sense.
Steven turns off the running tap, putting down the wet plate in his hand, and comes to stand behind you where he can peek over your shoulder at the button you’ve indicated.
“That must be the delay timer button so you can set the coffee pot at night for the morning.”
You peer into the open cupboard. Instead of the mug you’ve just put away and the drab cupboard, all you can see is Marc is sitting by the counter. The faint morning sun streaming down his wide shoulders as he tips the mug to his lips and takes a sip. An echo of warmth tingles against your fingertip at the faded scene playing out in your memory.
You lean up until you’re on your toes and take the mug, cradling it in your hands. “Do you think perhaps I could set it to make the coffee for Marc? I used to make him coffee in the mornings when we had breakfast together.”
Steven smiles at you, soft crinkles forming around his eyes. “Of course, love. I think Marc would like that a lot.”
Buoyed by his encouragement, you grab the coffee from the top shelf, reciting the water-to-coffee ratio in your head—one scoop of coffee for each ounce of water.
Reaching for the spoon you start scooping it out, smiling a little to yourself as you imagine Marc discovering the coffee you’ve made just for him.
“Love, love!” Steven half-shouts, “What are you doing?”
You stop mid-scoop, look from Steven’s face, down at the mound of ground coffee in the filter, and then back up at him. Steven looks horrified, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and genuine concern.
“Making... coffee...?” you answer hesitantly, “Is this not right? I’ve always done it like this. This is how Marc drinks it.”
“I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind drinks coffee like that,” Steven says, eyes still wide, though amusement is creeping into his voice now.
You stop and frown.
You look back down at the packet of coffee beans as you think of Marc's fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug as he took it from you. The way he’d give you a small almost-smile, looking right at home as he finished the coffee you made him down to the last drop.
“Oh.”
You
I’ve made you some coffee using the delay brew setting. It should be ready when you get up.
Steven has informed me that my coffee is in fact not drinkable. If he's right, you might need to come back and teach me how to make coffee properly.
It becomes another part of your nightly routine: prepping the coffee maker and setting out Marc's mug. You still sometimes have trouble remembering the proper (according to Steven!) water to coffee ratio, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Regardless of how much or little ground coffee you add, in the morning, without fail, you find the coffee maker empty, mug and carafe both propped up in the dishrack to dry.
You're standing at the counter one Saturday morning, tucking them both back into their proper places, when you get a text from your old mate Sam.
Sam
hey fam! guess what!
You
?
Sam
guess!!!
You
Guess… what?
Sam
🤨 nvm
You
Sorry, what?
Sam
really making me work for it huh
remember my mate karim?
You
No?
Sam
🐠🐠🐠 guy?
You
Oh yeah! ofc.
Sam
he just got in a one-finned goldfish like your bf was asking for. he still want it?
Steven gives you a curious tilt of his head as he reads out part of the conversation out loud when you show him the exchange. “Fish, fish, fish... guy?”
“Yeah. He has a bunch of tanks in his cellar. It’s how we got,”—you gesture vaguely at the tank containing Gus II—“this one.”
“Oh, right. You did say.”
His expression turns from confusion to a bright expression, like someone’s turned on a cartoon lightbulb behind his eyes.
“I was just thinking that I did want to get Gus a friend after all,” he says smiling enthusiastically. “Right proper bit of good timing, that is!”
Steven tilts his head to the other side, as his eyes flit across the screen like he’s rereading it, then his eyes narrow in confusion. “What does he mean by your boyfriend asking for a one-finned goldfish?”
You eye the fish as it circles the water gracefully, both fins on full display, and recall Marc's constipated expression as he had stood by the tank glaring at those very two fins.
“Marc made a big fuss about wanting to find one identical to Gus,” you tell him, as you watch Gus II knock his head up against the glass again, “down to the single fin, and I guess my friend remembered.”
From across you, Steven's gaze is fixed on the tank with a slight frown on this face. He's observing the golden fish with a vacant look in his eyes like he's watching it but not seeing it.
“You all right, Steven?”
“Yeah, I'm just...” His eyes flicker across the length of the tank, then he turns back to face you, “What I don't understand is why Marc didn’t just leave Gus’ little fishy corpse floating in the tank.”
He turns back around to face you, as he continues, “It certainly would’ve been easier. And a dead fish is more believable than one regrowing a fin, isn’t it? Pets die all the time. I might not have realised anything was off at all if he'd done that.”
It's the very same thing you’d told Marc the night he had come to you for help.
You can still remember the way he had looked standing at your door, asking for your help, hair in an uncharacteristic disarray of curls. How besides himself he was with worry for Steven’s sake.
“Marc didn't want you to be upset,” you say.
Steven looks up at your words, eyes widening with surprise.
“He knew how much Gus meant to you, and wanted to protect you from being hurt,” you continue, “That mattered to him more than anything else, I think.”
There’s a brief silence as Steven processes your words, then after a moment he lets out a quiet huff of laugh and shakes his head in disbelief.
“It’s hard to imagine Marc behaving like a parent trying to get a replacement hamster from the shop,” Steven says, giving you a wry smile, “But that’s him, isn’t it? Wanting to protect the people that matter to him at all costs. Even from things we don’t really need protecting from.”
Neither of you say anything for a few moments after that, as the sound of the Blue Planet rerun on the telly fills the silence left behind. You vaguely register Attenborough’s soothing narration in the background, but don’t take anything in when Steven eventually asks, “When do you think you’ll go meet your friend?”
“He said he was free pretty much all day today, I was thinking of heading off soon, before traffic gets too bad in the afternoon.”
Steven gets to his feet and walks over to his desk, picking up his jacket that's been slung over the back of the chair and threading his arms into the sleeves. Watching him, you half expect him to make the same assessment his grouchy alter did: Men who keep fishes in their cellar are dangerous serial killers.
Instead, Steven flashes you a sweet and benign smile.
“All right if I come along with you? I can keep you company, yeah? I know how much you hate the DLR,” he says, glancing at you for approval, and you give a quick nod.
“Besides,” he adds, eyes bright with enthusiastic wonder, like a kid who's heading off on a school trip, “I'm quite curious about the cellar aquarium. Sounds like quite the sight, and I’d like to see it with my own eyes."
You break into a smile of your own. Two men that couldn’t be further apart, and yet even with diametrically opposed reasoning, the end result is still somehow the same.
------
It's just before noon when you reach the DLR station with Steven in tow. Thankfully the crowd is nowhere near as bad as the last time you made this trip.
Still, when you enter the train, most seats are already taken. The only unoccupied spot is splattered with something unpleasant-looking, so you and Steven head down the carriage in the opposite direction. You’re lucky enough to score yourself a safety rail to hold onto just as the DLR starts its bumpy journey.
As always, the train undulates like a boa constrictor that’s managed to get into the liquor cabinet. But this time you manage to keep your footing as the carriage lurches forward by gripping the railing for dear-fucking-life.
Steven isn't quite as lucky.
You barely catch the panicked “bugger” as he starts to lose his balance, about to tip over like a helpless tortoise, and you reach out without thinking, grabbing one of his flailing hands so he doesn’t fall.
“Are you all right there, Steven?” you ask, straining to hold your position as he uses you for leverage to steady himself, and then wrapping your arm around his waist once he regains his equilibrium.
“Yeah…” he mumbles, blinking at you for a moment, a flush tinting his cheeks, “Yeah, I’m aces. Thanks for the rescue.”
He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flimmer erratically, and wraps his hand around the same railing you’re holding onto, fingers warm where they overlap yours.
“You’re welcome, but let’s stay like this until we get there just in case.” you say, wrapping your arm more firmly around him and snuggling into his chest. You can’t see his face but you can feel his head nod in approval.
Steven’s free hand comes up to settle over your back between your shoulders, holding you tight to him, the two of you steadying each other as the train keeps swaying forward. Even though his palm is resting over your coat, you swear you can feel his warmth through three layers of clothing.
You press your nose to the fabric of his jacket, inhaling the scent of him. He smells like his soap, the clean linens of your shared bed, and beneath that, a hint of coffee. The last one familiar these days, lingering like smoke after an extinguished fire, and it always makes you think of Marc. Irrefutable proof that he still exists in the world, even if he only ventures out into it after you fall asleep.
It’s a bumpy ride, but eventually the train slows to a stop at ‘Canning Town’ station. Just like last time, you find yourself thinking that it's almost a shame your journey on the DLR wasn't longer.
Unlike last time, a bright clear sun is shining down on you when you step out of the train, mitigating some of the November chill.
Steven’s hand curls over yours, tucking both into his pocket, and you’re glad for the added warmth as the two of you walk down the Docks, along the mismatch of newly built high-rise flats and small brick row-houses.
As you reach the familiar council estate, you spot Sam and his friends waving towards you from across the street, and Steven waves back, like they're old friends already. He’s already taking a step forward to cross at the traffic light, when you suddenly remember that despite the familiarity this will be the first time Sam and Karim meet Steven.
“Wait,” you hiss, flinging a hand out to grip his forearm, “They think you're Marc,” you warn, and Steven nods slowly with understanding on his face.
“Right,” he says, flashing you a cheeky grin, “So, emotionally constipated, perpetually frowning, and just generally a complete prat? Got it.”
His fingers come to his forehead, slicking back his hair with a touch of dramatic flair. Then he furrows his brows theatrically, lips pulling downwards into an exaggerated imitation of Marc’s frown, and you have to hide your grin as you turn to walk.
Crossing the street, Steven is visibly holding himself back. He’s pulling himself upright, as he juts his chin up in a brusque greeting, while schooling his features and tampering down the smile that you know is twitching at his lips. It’s a very commendable effort on his part.
But the moment you make it inside the house, and Steven catches sight of the hall lined with aquariums, his mock-frown falls away and his eyes widen with wonder. That uncharacteristic straight line of his lips, rounds with an audible, “wow” that slips out of him. Then he's all toothy smiles and excitement as he points to a particular colourful fish that glitters behind the glass of one of the numerous fish tanks.
You watch as he waves at the fish, and then turns around to Karim to ask a half-dozen more animated questions that the man answers with gusto.
Steven spends the whole time listening attentively as Karim gives a guided tour of his fish cellar, nodding along with undivided attentiveness as his eyes track the colourful fishes that are being introduced to him one by one.
The stark difference between Steven's and Marc’s behaviour doesn't go unnoticed.
“Your boyfriend’s like a completely different person today,” Sam remarks. “He's so… ”
He pauses mid-sentence, and hums consideringly as he observes Steven with an amused smile.
“I get it now, what you said last time—a big softie.”
Down the row of tanks, Steven is pointing excitedly at a puffy looking fish. It must be a rare one, judging from how elated he is. Despite the fact that Steven is absolutely blowing your cover, you can't help but smile fondly at his obvious excitement and joy.
“Yeah. Yeah, he really is,” you answer, as you feel a prickling warmth spread across your chest.
“So tell me,” Sam says as he grips his jaw in his hand, scratching his beard like a ponderous professor, “Which one is the real him?”
You freeze at the question, not sure how you can even begin to answer that.
Glancing over at Steven, you still see him wide-eyed and smiling, hovering over the very same goldfish tank that Marc was gruffly standing by as he was inspecting it studiously with a set frown for a replacement fish.
You give Sam the only answer that rings true to you:
“They both are.”
-----
Surely, you must be stuck in some kind of 80’s Sci-fi movie, because you seem to be trapped in a closed loop of deja-vus.
You're standing in the middle of Steven's flat, once again with a plastic bag in hand as you scoop (what is this time, a one-finned) goldfish into the large fish tank.
It lands with a distinct plop into the water, and then swims down with a pirouette around Gus II.
Steven is standing next to you by the tank, so close you’re shoulder to shoulder, huddled together, hunched over the glass, close enough for your noses to leave fog on the surface as you observe the two fishes dance around each other to become acquainted.
It all feels so similar that, when you feel his shoulder brush up against yours and that familiar pleasant tingle climbs up your back, you have to remind yourself that this time the person standing next to you is Steven, not Marc.
Turning your head, you look over at Steven who's watching the fishes intently. When he notices you staring, he slowly turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling softly, and the joy of it lights up your chest.
You
We visited Sam and Karim again.
Say hi to Gus III. He’s the one with one fin.
Steven got very excited after seeing the fish cellar and is thinking of getting a second tank.
If you don't come back, I'll let him.
It's six pm and you’re in a hurry to get out of the office. Steven had texted earlier, asking if you wanted to try the new sushi place that opened up down the block tonight, and you are starving.
Exiting the elevator, you look around for Steven, surprised when you don’t immediately spot him. He almost always comes to pick you up now, even when you don’t have dinner plans. Perhaps he’s running late?
Susan must notice your confusion, because she catches your eye and waves you over.
“Over there, pet,” she says, pointing towards the front of the building, “Said he had to talk to someone.”
You follow her finger to see your wayward boyfriend standing with his back to you in the far corner of the reception area, phone held to his ear. The early dark outside has turned the wall of glass at the front of the building into an imperfect mirror, and you smile watching Steven gesture animatedly with his free hand as he talks to whoever’s on the other end.
“Cheers, Susan.” You give her a wave, heading off to let him know you’re done. Perhaps you can walk as he talks?
As you get closer, you can hear that there’s a plaintive tone to Steven’s murmuring, like he’s trying to plead his case to someone. You slow your approach, wondering who he’s talking to, but not wanting to interrupt in case it’s important.
“That’s not gonna happen,” he snaps suddenly, back going rigid, and you freeze in your tracks, because it’s not Steven’s voice, but a clipped, impatient American accent that you haven’t heard in forever. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re both better off without me.”
His eyes in the mirror are narrowed and impatient. A scowl pressed between the firm line of his mouth as he glares at his own reflection.
“Marc,” you gasp his name without thought. Marc is here.
He jerks around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you catch sight of Marc’s eyes, wide and pained under furrowed brows, then they widen even further, brow smoothing out as he blinks several times in quick succession, looking apologetic and a little bit shellshocked. Even before he opens his mouth to speak, a part of you already knows.
“Sorry, love,” Steven says in his thick South Londoner accent, and your heart sinks to your stomach. “Marc left, it's just me now.”
He turns back to the window, and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to tamp down the surge of disappointment and the ridiculous urge to burst into tears.
Watching Steven narrow his eyes at his reflection, you recalled what he’d said about mirrors. He hadn’t been on the phone at all, had he? Neither had Marc. They’d been communicating through the reflective surface of the glass. Talking to each other for the first time in months, and you had to go and ruin it by opening your big mouth and interrupting.
You wonder if Marc is still there in the glass, watching, but judging from the frustrated expression on Steven’s face you doubt it. He shakes his head in resignation before turning back to you, reaching over and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.
“I’m sorry, love. I don’t think he’s going to come back,” he says, giving you an obviously-forced smile, “Shall we go get dinner?”
“No, I... um...” You shake your head, forcing a smile that likely doesn’t look any more authentic than his, any excitement over trying a new place drowned out by the heavy weight of disappointment and regret that sits in your stomach like a stone, “I’m not all that hungry just now. Can we just go home?”
“Of course, love. Anything you want.”
If only that were true.
You
Steven made dinner tonight. You might have burn marks on your left hand. You better come back quick before he burns down the flat.
It’s another Saturday evening and you’re prepping the coffee maker to 'delay brew' another batch of coffee for Marc. You pause, bag of ground coffee in hand, before scooping it out.
“So it’s one scoop per serving, right Steven?” you call out, just to double check, but there’s no answer, “Steven…?”
Turning, you find him bent over in front of the fish tank. In the reflection of the glass pane, you catch Steven’s distracted expression, but it takes you a few seconds to register that even though he’s staring at the tank, his eyes aren't really tracking the Gus twins.
For a heartstopping moment you think maybe Marc is talking to him again, but then you take in the way his eyes linger on the upper corner of the glass and the postcards taped there. Postcards that are nominally from his mum, though you both know better now.
“Steven,” you call again, setting down the coffee and the measuring spoon, “Everything all right?”
Steven startles, bolting upright like he’s snapping out of a trance.
“Huh!? Oh. Yeah, yes. Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as you come to join him in front of the tank. “Just looking at these.”
Reaching out, he traces a finger over the edges of the postcard taped back-out to the glass surface.
“It’s a bit surreal, reading this again now that I know Marc sent it, not mum.”
There’s something bittersweet in his smile, and the way his eyes shade into mournfulness makes you want to pull him into a hug and never let go.
“Paris is lovely,” he reads out from the card. “Wish I could take you! You’d love the museums here. Love you so much, Mum.”
Then he stops, and your heart breaks a little bit as he stares down at the handwritten message.
You’re sad for Steven that words of love he had believed to be from his mum weren’t from her at all. You’re sad for Marc that he had to keep up this pretence, lonely and isolated in the far-off corners of the world, carrying the weight of the truth for both of them.
With a sigh, Steven straightens up, reaches over to carefully unpin a postcard from the wooden edge of the bookcase next to the tank and reads that one too.
“In Cairo. The pyramids reminded me of the amazing work you do at the museum. So proud of you!”
He shakes his head in amusement, chuckling lightly as he reaches over to show it to you.
“He even put a heart on it at the end,” he says, and you can’t help but smile at the image of Marc bent over some table, painstakingly signing off the card with a cartoon heart.
You watch as Steven carefully fits the pin back through the existing hole in the card and repins it to the wood before moving on to the one just below it.
“Happy birthday from New York. Wish I could be with you to celebrate with a birthday cake. You deserve the best day! Love, mum.”
That one gets a sigh, a sad smile and a small shake of his head before Steven repins it with the same meticulous care.
One by one, Steven gently detaches the postcards adorning the wooden shelves, over, under and on the sides of the tank, and reads each one aloud before returning it carefully to its place.
There must be at least fifty of them filling the space in his flat, from one remote destination after another.
Each message is filled with love and care. Words of encouragement, spelling out how proud she is of him. How much she wants for him to be happy. How she's always there for him. That she's just a phone call away. That he's never alone.
Then Steven goes quiet, head dipped, as he stares blankly at the postcard of Austria in his hand.
“The notes were always so loving and supportive, they always made me feel like I was a little bit less alone, you know?” he finally says, breaking the silence, and the corners of his mouth pulls into a sad smile again.
“I think... I think it must’ve been what Marc wanted to hear from our mum growing up but never got to. He must've wanted to make sure that someone got to hear these things from her… even if it was all just a lie.”
Shifting your feet, you simply nod at him, not knowing what else to say. Their mum is a bit of an enigma to you. Before today, you’ve only ever heard of her from Steven’s perspective as a loving and attentive mum.
But there’s no doubt, as you’re watching him now, seeing the pain etched into his face as he thinks of his mother, that the rosy image he’d painted previously is far from the full picture.
You recall that morning in the kitchen when you had first brought up the postcards to Marc. The way that Marc had hunched into himself, his usual confident stance crumbling before your eyes at the mere mention of their mother. The way he seemed to be trying to make himself invisible and wincing as if expecting a blow.
You know enough now about DID and the medical consensus on what causes it.
Steven doesn’t need to tell you much more than that, you can read between the lines well enough.
“Are you going to keep them, do you think?” you ask instead.
His head pops up, eyes wide as he blinks up at you in surprise, clutching the postcard tightly to his chest as though you might try to take it from him.
"Yeah,” he says, voice rasping quietly, then nods firmly and repeats it with more certainty the second time, “Yeah, ‘course I am. Of course. They may not have been from my mum, but they're from someone who cares about me.”
He pins the card back into place with reverent care, then lets his hands fall to his sides.
“Just wish that Marc could’ve had that for himself too, you know?”
You move forward until you’re close enough to Steven that you can slide a hand down his arm, your fingers brushing up against his wrist, and he takes a half-step closer, until his shoulder is pressing against yours.
“It’s a bit silly, you know? There was no need to go out of his way like this. I would have been none the wiser,” Steven says, smiling even as there’s a glossy sheen behind his eyes.
You know exactly what Steven means, and he’s right. It is silly. It’s also kind and unexpected and unnecessary and entirely Marc.
The easy option would have been to just leave a dead fish in the tank. It would have been even easier to not send handwritten postcards to him at all. In fact, the easiest option of all for Marc was to dump everything on Steven from the very beginning. It would have saved him a lot of headaches.
There was never any need for Marc to take all of this upon himself, carrying every burden come their way in order to spare Steven any hardships. No need for him to shoulder the entire weight of their world by himself. He didn't have to struggle alone, surrounded by millions of strangers in every corner of the world. And yet, you can’t imagine him doing otherwise.
This is quintessentially Marc, and as infuriating as it can be, you can’t fault him for it.
“Marc has his own ideas about protecting the people in his life,” you say, as you lace your fingers with Steven's, squeezing him tightly under your palm, “Even if it’s at the expense of his own well being.”
The two of you stand there in silence, interrupted only by the quiet bubbling noise coming from the tank. Surrounded by postcards written by a man who's not here, but whose presence can be felt in every nook and cranny of your life together.
Marc isn’t here, yet reminders of him are constant and inescapable. His absence is like an aching tooth that you can’t seem to keep from prodding with your tongue, a missing stair that you can’t stop tripping over.
He's everywhere you look.
Every cluttered pile of books that Steven leaves behind him when you stay in on a Saturday night, every messy detail makes you think of how Marc would want to rip out his hair, itching to clean if he saw the mess.
You're reminded of Marc on every crowded tube you take on your morning commute. Haunted by the phantom weight of his protective hand on the small of your back, the comforting pressure of Marc's arms wrapped around you to keep you steady.
Every morning when you walk into your office and catch a faint whiff of coffee from your cubicle, that fissure in your chest cracks open each time as you’re transported to the memory of waking up to the sight of Marc sitting next to you, drinking the coffee you make him with a stoic face.
Then there is the biggest reminder of all: the face of the man you love.
It's etched in the dark brown of Steven’s eyes as he smiles up at you and calls you 'love'. In the sharp line of his nose as he presses the blunt tip to your cheekbone to kiss you good morning.
Perhaps you ought to be able to ignore it and pretend that this is fine.
After all, you love Steven, and it'd be easy enough to pretend that you and Steven have reached your happily ever after. That this—your life together, just him and you, the way you’ve been since he’s returned—is your new normal, and that all of it is fine.
...But it's not fine.
You miss Marc.
You miss waking up to him lingering in the kitchen as he tidies up. Miss his half-smiles and wry jokes. Miss the comfort of his presence just by him being near you.
Somewhere along the line, in those quiet mornings together, Marc carved out a space for himself inside you. With him gone, it’s left a gaping wound in the middle of your torso, and you are haemorrhaging out without him.
Marc is important to Steven. He’s important to you too, you can admit that now. And you need to admit it to Steven as well.
You squeeze down firmly on Steven's hand, closing your eyes shut for a brief second as you take a deep breath to prepare yourself.
"Steven,” you start, “we... um... we need to talk.”
You cringe the moment the words leave your mouth, wishing you could take them back and try again. The last conversation you started this way didn’t start or end well and sent Steven into a tailspin.
Two seconds in, and you’re already messing this up. That has got to be some kind of a record.
To your surprise, Steven doesn't panic. Instead his expression softens, and he smiles indulgently at you.
"Yes, I think that's a good idea, love. There's a bit of an elephant in the room, isn’t there? A Marc-shaped elephant, yeah?”
His blunt cheekiness cuts through any lingering hesitance in you, and you nod.
“I miss him,” you admit, before trailing off, “I…”
You don't know how to say this.
There are no words in the dictionary that can adequately convey what you’re feeling. How you can love Steven so much, be so deliriously happy to be with him, but still feel like there are sharp jagged pieces cutting large holes into you because Marc isn't there.
“I know,” Steven says, filling the silence for you, “You care about him quite a bit, don’t you?”
You search his eyes for a moment, trying to get a sense of his emotional reaction to guide you.
There’s nothing but kindness and understanding in his gaze. Those warm brown eyes that seem to see right through you and accept you just as you are, and it helps to steady you.
“It’s all right, love,” he continues softly and gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze like he’s trying to emphasise to you that it truly is. “I care about Marc a great deal as well. The big grump grows on you, doesn’t he?”
And that’s just Steven, isn’t it? Never shying away from a tough truth.
You're so grateful to him for it.
You want to tell him how thankful you are to him for seeing you—for knowing you, even when you don't entirely know yourself. How safe you feel with him, even with this. How it’s his support that’s given you the courage to finally admit the truth to yourself... and to him as well.
“I think I...”
You look down at your intertwined hands, his thumb petting the back of your knuckles.
“I think I love him,” you finally say.
It’s terrifying to admit out loud, but it’s a relief too.
You draw your eyes up to meet Steven’s, half-expecting to see hurt or pain blossoming, but there’s none. You squeeze his palm gently in gratitude before you cup your hand over his soft cheek.
“And I still love you as well. So much.”
“I thought that might be the case, love,” Steven says, and slides one hand into the pockets of his trousers, as he looks at you earnestly, “and that leaves you with a bit of a predicament, yeah?”
You nod. The fingers of your free hand are itching to fiddle with your wrist watch, so you curl them into a tight fist by your side.
“I would never choose Marc over you, but I just– I–” you cut yourself off, shaking your head hopelessly because you’re not quite sure what you even want to suggest here.
You’re so fucking nervous, nervous that you might be fucking up everything between you and Steven with this wishy-washy confession of yours. But before you spiral, Steven comes to your rescue.
“So, I’m thinking, right,” Steven begins, “And– And stop me if this isn’t what you want, but what if–”
He pauses, holding up both his hands in an invitation for you to interrupt at any time.
“Look, nothing about our situation is normal. In fact, it’s rather abnormal, isn’t it?—and I reckon that means it has to be an inordinate solution.”
Steven looks at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s trying to suggest, and it must show on your face because he continues, “So what if we all… um… well. You don’t have to choose, I guess is what I’m saying.”
Your mouth works, opening and closing as you struggle to get out any words in reply, and Steven presses on.
“Marc’s spent more than half his life shielding me from all the bad stuff that's come our way, trying to handle it all on his own. He doesn't believe that he deserves the good stuff. That he deserves love. But he does. Maybe more than anyone. So I think you should tell him how you feel, and we’ll see if we can't figure something out, all three of us.”
“You– You mean…” you flounder, trying to find a delicate way to make sure he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But there is no such thing in these surreal circumstances. “You’re talking about my having a relationship with Marc as well as one with you? About… sharing me? …With him?”
He gives you a small awkward smile, as he shoves his fidgeting hands back down in his pockets like he’s suddenly grown self-conscious about how distracting they are. “Only if you’re okay with that, of course.”
“And you’re okay with that? You won't be jealous?”
“Jealous? …of Marc?” he begins incredulously, eyes popping wide open as if that option had never even occurred to him. Then he stops and really seems to ponder the question.
“You know, I'm not. Maybe I should be, but… How can I be? After all, I’m a part of him, aren’t I? And he's part of me. The fact that you love him… Well, in some odd way it makes me feel like you... you just love all of me.”
Time seems to slow around you as you process what Steven’s just told you, because that’s it. That’s just what it is.
You try to swallow down the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, but you can’t. His words shift something inside you, the tangled knot of guilt and confusion and conflicted loyalties that have lived inside you for so long unravels, leaving behind a clearer understanding of your own complicated feelings for both Marc and Steven.
You love Steven.
You love Marc.
You love both of them and all of them, and it doesn’t have to compete with each other.
Once again you just marvel at Steven. At his way of cutting through your confusion, situational complexities, and convoluted emotions to put into words the truth you’ve struggled to understand, even as you’ve lived through it and felt it with every inch of you. All of it summarised in that simple sentiment.
“I do. I really do, Steven. You and Marc. All of you.” You breathe out, the tension going out of you until your spine softens, fully relaxes for the first time in a long time.
Steven is still smiling at you, his smile spreading wider and more assured the longer he looks at you, and it makes the tentative love and joy welling up in your chest overflow until you can barely stand upright.
“You’re really all right with this?” you ask one last time, and you notice that your voice is a little bit shaky because you feel like you are vibrating out of your skin.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it, if it wasn’t something I wanted, love,” Steven says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre as he wraps his arm around the small of your back pressing you tight to him. “But only if it’s something you want too.”
“Yes, it... It is. Very much so,” you confirm, and you can’t hold back your ever-growing smile.
“Well then,” Steven says, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head, “I guess all that's left now is to tell Marc and convince him to come back home.”
You
Ratatouille is on channel 4 today and
...And what?
You pause to sprinkle fish food into the Gus twins’ tank, as you stare blankly at the drafted message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Today is the first time you’ve woken up without Steven in bed with you since his return. It means Marc has gone off somewhere again.
You chew on your inner cheek as you reread the half-finished message. It's a daily habit you have developed in Marc's absence. You text him throughout the day to share about frivolous ongoings in your life, the way you used to when you’d be sitting across him at breakfast.
There’s never any response. The only proof you have that he hasn't changed his number or blocked yours is the two little ticks that eventually appear, indicating that he's read the messages.
Dragging your finger down the screen, you scroll up through the message log, embarrassed at the number of unanswered messages you’ve left.
He really is planning to ignore you and stay gone forever, isn't he?
Your thumb drags over to the delete button instead, painstakingly erasing your message.
Deep down, you've always known these texts were just an excuse for you to hang onto the last tether you felt you had tying you to Marc, and you're sick of nattering on inanely, making cheeky jokes to camouflage what you really wanted to tell him.
It’s time to say what you mean. What you’ve always meant. The truth hidden between every line of every message you’ve sent him.
You
I miss you
Please come back
You hit send before you can overthink it, then stare at the screen, blood rushing to your head as your heart starts to palpitate in your chest. A million thoughts race in your head, as you start to imagine Marc on the other end reading this. Will he be annoyed? Angry? Will he finally block your number so he doesn’t have to receive your spam messages at all hours of the day?
You glance at the ottoman in front of you, about to set down the phone to keep it away from yourself, when from the corner of your eye you see that grey tick transforms into blue.
Marc's read it. He’s read it.
Your heart drums painfully sharp tucked beneath your ribs. Your fingers grip the cold body of your phone.
Marc's there. On the other side of the screen right now. A phone call away.
That’s what Steven said wasn’t it? That all you two needed to do now, was to tell Marc how you feel and convince him to come home.
That is, assuming he even wants to come home. Maybe he just doesn’t feel the same about you.
Still, your fingers slide open your contacts, scrolling down until you reach Marc's name and press call.
It rings out, loud and oppressive. Louder still when you press it against your ear.
Once.
You should’ve had a glass of wine before you did this.
Twice.
He probably won't answer. Why would he? You shouldn't have even bothered. If he wanted to speak to you, he wouldn’t have been avoiding you in the first place.
Three times.
The monotonous ringing continues, and your heart seems to sink in your chest, dropping, heavy with disappointment into the pit of your stomach. He's not going to pick up.
Four.
This is desperate and sad. You’re chasing after a man who keeps running from you. You're just going to leave yourself miserable.
Five.
This is so stupid. You should just hang up.
Six–click.
You jolt upright on the sofa. Every hair on the nape of your neck electrified. Legs tense and straining as you sit entirely still like you've encountered a deer in the forest and you're too afraid to move a muscle in case you might spook it away.
Did the line disconnect? Or did he–
You yank the phone away from your ear to stare at the screen. It's blank and black save for Marc's name and a timer, numbers counting up to indicate the duration of the call.
Marc picked up. Marc actually...
Your mouth is dry as you raise the phone to your ear again.
“He-hello? Marc?”
There's no answer.
“Marc? Are you there?”
Still nothing. The other end of the line is dead quiet. Maybe it’s a bad connection.
“Can you hear me?” you try again.
Maybe no one is there. Maybe Marc bumped it with his elbow. Maybe you’re just talking to yourself like a crazy woman.
“Marc, I–”
You lower the phone and check the screen again. The call is still going, but the silence on the line reveals nothing. You have no way of knowing if Marc is listening or not.
But if he is...
If he is, this might be your best chance—perhaps your only chance—to speak to him. Compared to that, what does it matter if you feel a little bit silly?
“So uhm... I-I don't know if you had a chance to read my message—the latest one, I mean. I know I've been sending you a lot of them. But if you're there? If you can hear me, Marc, I just– I mean it, you know? I miss you. Steven misses you too. We both do.”
It's still quiet.
Even if Marc is there on the other end of the line, it's quite obvious by now that he has no intention of answering you. Stubborn as he is, you know that no matter what you say, he's not going to acknowledge that he's there.
If he’s even there.
You press on.
“I don't know why you think you need to stay away, or why Steven and I wouldn't want you here. Because, yes, you're grumpy and your default setting is a resting bitch face, and yes, you can be a right arse sometimes, but…” You find yourself smiling, imagining the way his eyebrow would rise if you were saying this to his face.
“You've always taken care of Steven and... and of me too”.
Your throat constricts with a thick lump that you try, but can’t seem to, swallow away. You think of all the small but many, many things Marc has done for you since he entered your life. The way he’s learned to prepare your tea just the way you like it. The way he always pulls your quilts to your shoulders while you’re asleep so you don’t freeze in the middle of the night.
“I don't know if I've ever thanked you before. I guess I just– uhm. I want to thank you, you know? Thank you for cooking me breakfast every morning and for putting out my clothes for me so I didn’t have to search for them.”
You think of the way he had held you while you were crying like a child on his living room floor. How firmly he’d cradled you in his arms, and how he didn’t let go, even when you got snot all over his shirt.
“Thank you for comforting me when I was crying after everything with Steven.” There’s a stinging sensation behind your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand, trying to ignore that it comes away wet, as you continue to speak.
“And for letting me stay over that night. I know you’re not usually a touchy-feely person, and it... It meant a lot to me.”
You swear you can feel the phantom weight of his comforting hand on the small of your back, and you close your eyes as you imagine that he’s next to you.
You think of all the ways he’s pushed himself for you. Hugging you when you were crying, cooking you breakfast when you were hungry, befriending you because you asked him to for Steven’s sake—how every step forward in your relationship has been because he was trying to meet someone else's needs: Steven’s. Yours.
And now he’s removing himself from the picture, thinking he’s fulfilling another need.
“I know I said I wanted a simple, normal life with Steven, but I didn't– That didn't mean I wanted you gone, Marc,” you continue, as you tug at your overlong sleeve and wipe at your wet cheeks.
“You said you were going to fix everything, that we were better off without you, but how can anything be 'fixed' when I miss you so bloody much!? How can things be better without you here when I'm–” Your voice breaks, and you swallow around the thickness in your throat, trying to sniffle down the clump that won’t go away.
“God, I hope you're listening, and I'm not just pouring my heart out to your back pocket.”
You let out a wet laugh at the idea, and then inhale deeply, doing your best to steady your voice.
“I'm– I’m in love with you, Marc.”
You're not sure if it's just your over-active imagination inventing things out of pure wish fulfilment, but you think perhaps you hear a quick intake of breath on the other end.
“Steven knows. I still love him too, of course, but I told him how I feel about you, and he's okay with it. And if– well, if you ever wanted there to be something more between us, he'd be okay with that too. We don't have to be together that way if you don't want to, of course, but I just…”
Your throat feels tight again, threatening to close up, and you have to stop for a moment, suck in a soggy breath and try to get yourself under control before you can continue.
“I love you, Marc,” you say again, barely breathing for several seconds as you strain your ears, hoping to hear something, anything from the other line. But this time there's not even a hint of sound.
You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Feeling. Is he shocked? Angry? Puzzled? What does he look like on the other end of the line?
Are his brows furrowed into that pinched expression his face makes when he’s emotionally overwhelmed? If he were here, would he be looking at you with that same pained expression that night he put you in a taxi home? Or would he lean in and–
You don’t know.
And you’d give up the whole world to know what Marc is feeling in this moment. Give anything to have him back here with you so you could see it for yourself.
"Do you hear me, you stubborn, infuriating man?” you’re practically yelling now. “I love you! So there's not going to be any happily ever after for me unless you come back. You don’t have to love me the same way. It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. But I need you here. Please. I miss you. Steven misses you. Please just come back.”
You close your eyes again, holding your breath. Hoping against hope that he’ll answer you or give you some sign that he’s heard you at the very least. But there’s nothing.
And you have nothing more left to say to try to convince him.
“Goodnight, Marc.”
Then you end the call.
~ Continue ~
a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡
#oscar isaac#moon knight#marvel#marvel mcu#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant#marc spector#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fic#moon knight fanfiction#jake lockley#steven grant x you#marc spector x you#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley x you#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#cici writes#💌 asks
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could i request riding but mostly fucking han in a new set of lingerie? (like a new set for him as a present for anniversary or something?)
i just cant get han out of my head lately bro 😵💫
oh wowww I love the idea of hannie being into lingerie. may I suggest another one of my own that alsoooo stirs that pot a bit ;) (sharing is caring) ONTO THE NEXT!!!
Scarlet Letter
HJS
Masterlist
wc: 4k
Synopsis: Night owl workaholic boyfriend, needy horny girlfriend. What else needs to be said?
warnings: smut, sexual explicit content, softdom!jisung, porn with no plot lol, thigh riding, thigh fucking, pretty pretty lingerie, nicknames (good girl, bunny), cum eating, reader gets a bit dumb but he loves it lol, lmk if I missed anything :3
-
This was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea that could end catastrophically. He hated surprises, so why were you doing this? It would’ve been easier if you’d just told him you were frustrated, god knows he would’ve been more than happy to make sure you were fucked and happy.
But no. Difficult is your middle name. Jisung wasn’t any easier going, but you knew he hated surprises, especially ones that interrupted his creative process. Then how did you still manage to put on the deep red lingerie and get to his studio? It was so cold out and you were dumb enough to hide the lace set beneath a big trench coat, one Jisung knew you to wear during the winter.
You’d been together a good amount of time, explored new sexual territories together that broadened both your horizons. However, this was exponentially new. His studio was scared, untouched and pure and free of distractions. Yet that only made you want to christen it even more.
Twiddling with the necklace he’d given you for your three month anniversary, the letter “J” was cold beneath your fingers and made you shiver. The metal against your warm skin was sort of soothing as you anxiously looked outside the window of the cab. Soon enough, the company building was coming into view and your leg started to bounce. The driver all but kicked you out, probably annoyed because it was pushing midnight and people were supposed to be at home in their warm beds.
Thankfully, the visitor pass Jisung had gifted you a while back was able to open the door after hours. You remember he asked for those privileges by begging on his knees to his manager that, “someone needs to drag me away from this place eventually. I’m just such a hard worker!” The memory made you smile for a second before fear washes over you upon heading up the elevator.
The beeping of your arrival to his floor was nowhere near the sound of your heart beating out of your chest.
He hates surprises. Oh god, he’s gonna be so mad. Maybe he’ll be happy to see me? No, he hates things like this. I should’ve just added a day to fuck in his google calendar.
Your brain wouldn’t shut up as you paced back and forth, still in front of the elevator. His studio was just a few doors down, there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here. There was no way you’d get caught, so that wasn’t an issue. But oh, if Jisung were to get mad, you’d cry and probably sleep alone for the next few days. You couldn’t have that.
However, you missed him. Sleeping alone wouldn’t be far off from what was currently happening between you two. Jisung had been spending more and more late nights and coming back so early into the morning, just to leave as soon as the alarm went off at 8 a.m.
And you were desperate. So desperate that you’d found the deeply hidden courage to walk up to his room and open the door before you could talk yourself out of it.
“This room is occup— oh! Y/N!” Jisung sat at the desk with a pair of headphones much too large slung around his neck. A pen and yellow notepad lay in front of him with crumbled balls of paper scattered around the room.
His smile was big and bright, though eyes ridden with sleep deprivation. The same toothy grin faded within a few seconds, “baby, it’s so late. Why are you here?”
Closing the door behind you and locking it, you placed your stuff onto the couch behind him. He didn’t move, which meant he was busy, so you came to him. You walked behind his seat and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing in his hair and nipping ever so playfully at the tops of his ear. “I’ve missed you.” Truthful enough.
He took the answer well, kissing your wrist in front of him and nuzzling into your arm. “I’ve missed you too, but—“
“Ah, no but’s. I wanted to see you.” Jisung looked at you over his shoulder, confused. You’d kissed the questioning expression off his face too quick for him to retaliate, Jisung taking in your lips happily.
Though, he pulled off a moment later, “your lips are so cold. I should turn on the heater.” He moved to stand, but you pushed him back down by the shoulders and pulled out his rolling chair away from the desk. “What’re you doing? Aren’t you freezing? That coat isn’t warm enough.”
Now or never, I guess.
“Then warm me up,” the words were a sultry whisper. A good start, Jisung hadn’t told you to go home just yet.
The stumble in his words gave time for you to stand up tall and confident, then untie the front of the coat. His jaw dropped along with the garment to reveal the scarlet lingerie. Jisung was practically drooling, eyes raking up and down your body unsure of where to look. You particularly liked how he ogled you, running your prettily painted nails over the snuggly fit garters around your thighs that made the flesh slightly spill over, then up the lacy underwear– the hole in the crotch was a wonderful touch that he could find for himself– and finally snapping at the strap of the sheer balconette bra.
Jisung groaned deeply, slumping back into his chair and spreading his legs. “What did I do to deserve this?” His voice strained as he pushed his hair back.
As you slowly walked up to him, Jisung hurriedly hooked his fingers into the strappy garters and tugged you closer, now standing between his legs. Warm hands palmed at the skin of your thighs and up your ass as he took in your appearance, his tongue quite literally hanging out of his mouth. You let him touch and grope you because just having him near was already rewarding in itself. His tongue disappeared back into his mouth as you reached down to cup his face, thumb swiping at the wet spot he’d left. “You’ve been away too long, baby. Been needing you so badly.”
You simultaneously threw one leg over his lap and moved to straddle him, exposing your bare cunt as you towered over his figure. However, his gaze fell onto your chest right in front of his face, not noticing the crotchless panties until you stripped one of his hands off your ass to cup your pussy. Jisung’s eyes went wide at your assertiveness as well as the sudden wetness that coated his fingers. “What– oh, have mercy. Look at you.”
He slid his fingers through your soaked folds as his thumb played with the lace hem of your panties, clearly enjoying the filthiness of it all. As you moved to remove the headphones from around his neck, Jisung’s horny brain snapped back into work mode. “Fuck, babe I can’t. I have so many things I still need to finish. You’re so incredibly hot and you have no idea– No. Fucking. Idea– how badly I want you. I just can’t right now.”
Pouting your lip, you caressed his cheek and pushed his bangs back, only barely grinding your hips against his hand that didn’t move. In fact, he pressed harder against you, letting you spread your slick around his fingers and rub your cunt into his warm skin, “then tell me to stop.”
Jisung didn’t speak, just watching you roll your hips and use him for your pleasure. It wasn’t until you let out a muffled whine did he finally pull away.
You looked at him with wide, glossy eyes, confused. “Poor baby. Are you that desperate you’ll take just my hand?” You nodded embarrassingly quick, not truly registering the mocking tone of his voice. “Have I been neglecting you so much you had to come bother me at work? Like a needy little bunny.”
He was getting worked up, as well. It was obvious in the cheekiness of his grin, moreso in the tent in his pants. Jisung tapped your hip to make you stand so he could pull his pants and underwear down. When you went to straddle him again, he stopped you. Jisung patted one thigh, and you knew what he wanted. He took his hard, leaking cock in hand and tugged slowly, awaiting you to take a seat. You let out another whimper, almost hesitating as you eyed his smooth thigh. “C’mon now, bunny. I have a lot of work to do. Didn’t you say you needed me?”
The nickname made you shudder. “B– but I need–”
“My cock? No, you don’t deserve that yet. What makes you think you could interrupt me and still get what you want?” The involuntary pout of your lips again made him softly reach for your hip to bring you closer and coo, “maybe if you do as you’re told, you’ll get a reward. Be a good bunny for me.”
Slightly reluctant, you did as told and climbed into his lap again, only this time his bare thigh was between your legs. Jisung radiated body heat like a furnace, you could feel it without your core even having to touch him and it made you throb in anticipation. No, this wasn’t what you wanted, not even close. But it was a step in the right direction. Bracing your hands onto his shoulders, you looked at your boyfriend with pleading eyes. He only nodded his head, not giving in.
Jisung’s head fell back against the chair, watching you hungrily through his lashes when you sat down fully. Lip between your teeth, you didn’t know what to do next. Truth be told, this isn’t something you’d ventured before, even with Jisung. The way he was looking at you, though, lustful with his cock in his hand and restrained frenzy that you knew he could unleash at any moment, you wanted so badly to appease his wishes. The only problem was how humiliating it was.
The same humiliation was something you loved coming from him. Jisung made you feel small, miniscule even as you towered over him and he was laid out bare. Using his thigh to get off was a new low blow to the embarrassment that was usually fed to you in words, nicknames like the one he decided to use today.
“I’m losing my patience, bunny. Use me now or you’re not coming at all.”
Use me now, oh how delightful that sounded. The three little words coerced you into rolling your hips forward. A stifled moan found it’s way out your mouth at the new sensation, his hot skin a strangely wonderful feeling. So you pushed your hips back, deciphering whether or not you could physically will yourself to continue or whine cutely until your boyfriend gave you what you wanted. After all, he always wanted you just as much as you wanted him, no matter how much he denied it.
But Jisung was always impatient, releasing his dick to grip tightly onto the garters and force you to move faster, guiding you and flexing his thigh. You verbally whimpered at his assistance, more like assertion in how roughly he pushed and pulled your body against him. Even if he wasn’t touching himself, you could see his own neediness when his cock twitched upward and leaked even more precum. How badly you wanted to lick it off, suck him until he was whimpering just as much as you were now.
Oh, you were picking up speed now. You probably looked feral at how quickly you’d become accustomed to this sinfully delicious feeling. Using your boyfriend like this, in this sacred room, you were coming undone much too fast. You wanted to savor this and make Jisung see how much you’d been needing him, but the feeling was too great.
His dirty mouth didn’t aid in prolonging the fun, “that’s it. Good girl, such a good bunny. What a horny little thing, aren’t you? If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t let you come at all. Make you ride me like this all night, deny you for bothering me and making a mess all over my thigh.” You cried out louder at that, almost scared he’d actually take his own words seriously. Humiliation and desperation is all that coursed your veins and made you reach under Jisung’s shirt, hooking onto the bare skin of his shoulders. You just wanted to feel him, feel that he was just teasing the way he always did when you were like this.
“Please, please let me. Need it, need it, need it. Have to cum. Have to—“ your words strung together as you grinned mindlessly against him, no longer needing his guiding hands. Still, he kept a firm grip on the garters and watched with his mouth slightly open.
“Running out of time, baby. Gotta get back to work. Cum now or don’t cum at all.”
That was all the motivation you needed to lean forward into his neck and press your clit the hardest into his thigh you had all night, clenching your own legs around him as the high made your body tense powerfully. If anyone were to have walked past the studio, they’d have heard your loud, lewd, borderline pained yet blissful moans as your hips came to a halt.
You almost didn’t hear Jisung whispering in your ear, his hands coming up your back and pulling your upper body closer to his. The feeling of his chest beneath your fingers was the only thing grounding you from the embarrassing yet scandalously delicious actions you just took part in.
“Come back to me, baby,” he said sweetly, digging his hands beneath your ass and grasping firmly. You hummed in response, then yelped in surprise when he stood up and took you with him.
Your ass came into contact roughly with the desktop he’d been working at. To catch yourself from falling you’d accidentally knocked away the notepad and scattered the crumbled papers to the floor.
Jisung no longer looked relaxed like he did when he was below you. This was the frenzy, the lust and unadulterated nature that came forth when he was frustrated— whether that be from work, life, sexually, anything and everything. And you were there to take it happily with your legs wide open.
He had to do very little to get you to spread for him again, cunt glistening from your orgasm and new wave of arousal from seeing your usually reserved boyfriend so worked up. The dim yellow orange lights lit up his face beautifully, hungry and so full of love at the same time.
As if second nature, you took the initiative to scoot forward on the desk and make more room for Jisung to tap his heavy cock against your sensitive pussy. Nerves raw, the feeling made you jolt and clench around nothing. “Oh, how cute. Such a pretty pussy. My bunny’s got the prettiest little cunt. Perfect for me.”
Mindlessly he muttered, just running the tip of his cock through your wet, used folds. “Listen to that, baby. You’re so wet. What’s got you all worked up?” He made a show of spreading your arousal even more, precum mixing and coating his dick thickly.
“Y— you. Need more, need you.” Jisung chuckled at that, your voice reeking of deprivation.
“Fuck yeah, you need me. Clenching around nothing like a slut. Are you a slut, bunny?” You only hummed, to which Jisung lightly smacked his dick against your overwhelmed clit and made you jump again.
“Yes! Yes, a slut— your slut. Please,” hips bucking up, you reached for his disheveled shirt to tug him impossibly closer. Jisung gave you that, let you pull him in and push his shirt over his head though not taking it off entirely, just enough so his abs were on display for you.
Dragging your nails down his chest, Jisung’s eyes fluttered closed as his handle on your thighs tightened. He let out a guttural moan before hiking your knees up and taking a step in. At this angle, all he needed to do was slide in, but first he’d placed your knees to his pecs, heels steadying you on the table. Your nails trailed over his biceps and forearms, finally enticing him to fill you.
The initial stretch was so intensely maddening, you’d been craving it for so long that your eyes physically crossed and rolled back, another loud moan following. Jisung himself wasn’t any sturdier, stuttering into your cunt as you engulfed him in heat. It took him a minute to calm down when he’d finally gotten to the hilt, taking in your lips with a sweet, reassuring kiss. Even when you were contorted like this, Jisung never failed to make sure you were comfortable.
When he’d regained his composure— all the while you were slowly losing yours— he moved his grip from your legs to your ass, taking in handfuls as he pulled out half way before slamming back into you. It was lazy in the way he opted for pulling you to him rather than pushing his hips towards you, though you didn’t mind. The desk shook and he’d met his own actions half way, hitting your deepest parts from the very start.
It wasn’t sloppy but it wasn’t graceful, either. Nowhere near should it have been considered lovemaking when he was taking you so harshly, so primally that all you could do was whimper and hold on for dear life. All the more, it was the kind of fucking you’d been so helplessly needing.
Solid, consistently Jisung kept his rhythm until his own touch starved body began to betray him, orgasm arising much too quickly for his liking. He had to pull out before he finished prematurely.
You hummed sadly as he did, bringing the previous (weightless) threats to the forefront of his mind again. “Still not satisfied, bunny? You got to cum, even had my cock. What more could you want?”
Relaxing your legs and letting them hang off the desk, you took his hand in yours and pulled him in for another uncoordinated kiss. Against his lips, you muttered, “want your cum— inside— cum inside me— want it— deserve it—“
“Oh no, you don’t deserve it,” Jisung detaches from your lips and kneaded the flesh of your thighs, toying with the garters again.
“But I was good. Did as you asked—“
He looked around the room for anything to clock you on. Your hand rested on top of the yellow notepad, ink smeared and crumpled, he smirked. “Where are we right now?”
You looked at him, confused, eyes watery and shaky. Still, you answered him, “your work.”
“That’s right. You barged in here, baby, demanding I fuck you. Is that right?” You nodded, ashamed. “I think I’ve been more than generous. You don’t get my cum tonight. Bad girls need to learn.”
With that, Jisung stepped aside for a moment to bring your legs together then lift them up, hooking them into the crook of his arm and gently leaning them to the side. If you were confused before, you were even more now. Though, Jisung always had a way of impressing you with his genius mind.
Creative as always, he took his cock in hand again and used your arousal as lubrication. You watched him intently, hole clenching around nothing, so needy and wet. He kept it that way, pushing the blunt cockhead into your raw clit before messily sliding it up and between the warmth of your closed thighs. You suppose you were both trying new things tonight.
This was torture in its sinfully purest form. Only barely did his dick graze your swollen bundle of nerves on every push and pull. Jisung almost laughed at the desperation on your face— almost. He couldn’t really do that, he had to push down his cute aggression to just give in and just fuck you senseless, though you were already half way there. No more concept of time or where you were, you were brainless and pliant beneath his hold.
“Perfect little fuck bunny,” he muttered, occasionally catching his lip between his teeth. “Look what you made me do. Wish I could be fucking you right now. My bad girl needs to learn, though.” You held back tears, overwhelmed from your previous orgasm and his words, paired with the shameful way he used you and that you were loving it. If your moans didn’t give you away, the useless clenching of your cunt surely did. “My naughty bunny with her pretty hole. Want to be filled? Want me to stuff you full?”
“Yes, please! All I want, I won’t bother you again. I promise!” Jisung smiled down at you, his eye catching the initial necklace around your neck. Simultaneously, he gripped your legs tighter with one arm, brought his free hand down to your cunt and circled your entrance with his fingertips, while leaning forward and connecting his lips to your neck. You had to steady yourself from tipping over at the sheer force of him.
One more pleading cry, he sunk two fingers into you, picking up the pace of his slick cock between your thighs. It took him a second, but matched the speed of the digits with his thrusts. It wasn’t nearly as good as his cock would’ve been, but the light graze across your clit was slowly nearing you closer to the delightful edge once again.
His teeth somehow found the pendant of your necklace, keeping it in his mouth as he fucked you, fucked himself and using you to do it. It was so dirty and taboo, the location just being the icing on the cake. Your hand tangled itself in his hair and pushed his face deeper into your bra clad chest. Your scent was overwhelming him, teetering him on the very brink of combustion until you regained half the mind to speak.
“Be good— swear I’ll be good. Good bunny. Cum, please cum.”
Jisung couldn’t hold back anymore. A sudden rush of extra adrenaline made him rut faster into the ring of your plush thighs with no more pattern. His thighs slammed against your ass and finger pushed deeper into your cunt, your pleasure just barely behind his own desire to get off in this very moment. When he finally came, hand in your cunt stilling then decorating the scarlet garment with his hot, white seed, Jisung’s brain flipped. He watched your mouth drop and let go of your legs, falling to his knees and immediately attaching his lips to your clit. The pace of his fingers was nowhere near the speed they were before, but rather focusing his energy on sucking you in. The softness of his lips were soothing and stimulating at the same time, a wonderful change of pace that was all you needed to reach your own final high. The blinding white light clouded your vision and made your body shake in pleasure, with Jisung holding you down through all of it.
When your muscles relaxed and you slumped back onto the desk, your boyfriend stood, taking you into his arms. He was sweaty, you were sweaty but also covered in his cum. Brushing your hair from your forehead, Jisung used the same two fingers that were in your pussy and picked up some of his cum, bringing them to your lips. You took it gratefully, tasting both you and him as you swallowed everything he gave you.
Humming satisfaction, Jisung stripped his shirt off and draped it over your tired body. It was a sweet gesture considering you only had a coat for the ride home.
He kissed you gently, helping you off the desk and into his chair while he reorganized the room. “Was that worth the interruption?” You finally spoke up, somewhat nervous of his answer.
Jisung looked up at you from where he crouched on the floor and picked up the fallen papers. He sported the goofiest, brightest smile, “definitely worth it. Can I schedule another one? I’ll put it in my google calendar.”
#stray kids fanfic#han jisung#han Jisung smut#stray kids smut#han jisung angst#han jisung fluff#stray kids angst#stray kids fluff#han Jisung x reader#han jisung x y/n#han Jisung x you#stray kids scenarios#han jisung fanfic#skz smut#skz angst#skz fluff#skz drabbles#skz hard thoughts
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Comfort
JJ Maybank x Pogue!Fem Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Smut
A/N: Okay this may be self indulgent bc I just had my heart broken by a boy. Also i’ve never written smut before, rip. Not proofread bc i’m working
It was a warm summer evening in the Outer Banks, and Y/n walked back to the Chateau quietly. In the summer she never walked slowly, let alone quietly. She tried to pack her summers with as much adventure as she could, no matter how sleep deprived she was. Her grandfather always said that she could sleep in the winter.
The hole in her chest was growing, she felt heavy. Her mouth was dry, nose was running, and she kept looking up at the sky trying to make the tears go away. Stopping for a moment against a tree, she took a deep breath, “You were just fine without him, you are just fine without him.”
Her friends always used to tease her that she was too much of a “lover girl,” falling a little bit in love with anyone, everyone she met. She just felt so stupid. Kiara had warned her about the boy that had mysteriously shown up one day and gave her the world. Sure it could have been the start of something wonderful, he was the original one to show interest, so that had to have meant something.
By the time she had actually made it to the Chateau, she had swallowed her sadness. She put that award winning smile on, and was ready to be her normal self. Walking in, the girl threw her bag into her normal spot, and made her way toward the jetty. She passed out greetings and hugs and jokes as if she wasn’t just trying to get herself to breathe a few moments ago.
The pogues could tell something was off. They could tell she had been upset by the way her eyes were glossed over. But Y/n was closed off, no amount of prying would get her to reveal what was going on inside. That’s just how she worked. John B tried to cheer her up by throwing her in the water, Sarah just offered her a small smile and a compliment on her swimsuit. One she was now going to donate because he had told her just how gorgeous she had looked in it.
JJ offered her a Twisted Tea blueberry, her favorite, but she only took a few sips over the entire afternoon on the boat. She knew if she became intoxicated, there was no stopping the feelings, no covering up.
“Lover girl, you headed out tonight?” John B asked as they started collecting money to buy pizza for dinner.
“Uh, n-no actually. Here’s $10 for dinner,” she quietly pulled a ten out of her bag, and the others watched her silently. Y/n was always peeling out around this time, ready to experience some romantic rendez-vous with her beau.
“I’m not letting you pay $10 when you’re gonna eat maybe a piece of pizza,” John B argued back.
“JB just take my money!” all eyes were on her, “It’s less y’all have to pay anyway.”
To avoid any confrontation, she walked up to the house to get her sweatshirt. The air hadn’t changed, still as hot and sticky as before, but the girl knew without the protection from the hood of her sweatshirt everything would be too real.
God, while the sweatshirt provided a small amount of comfort, it brought back more painful memories than it needed to. She could smell her perfume, one that he thought was just to die for, the chewed up aglet that he would constantly take out of her mouth and say “relax.” There were still no notifications on her lock screen. She kicked her backpack with all of her might.
“Mama,” she slowly turned around. “Why are we kicking the living fuck out of our backpack.”
The smug look on her best friend’s face made her lip shake and tears come sprinting to the front of her eyes. JJ’s expression quickly changed when she started to come towards him with open arms.
“I knew there was a reason you didn’t chug your Twea.”
The girl quietly shook in his arms as he guided her to his room. “You’re allowed to cry, you know, I won’t tell anyone.”
“No.” Her voice wavered. “I-I just want a distraction. Can you give me that?” From the way she was laying next to JJ, to the doe eyes, she was achieving exactly what she wanted. JJ pushed the hair out of her eyes, lingering his fingers just long enough on her jaw to indicate he was going to falter. And falter quickly.
Y/n closed the distance between their faces. Her lips locked intently around his, becoming the dominant mouth. JJ pulled her back just long enough to wipe the tears from her eyes before kissing her back hungerly.
Her hands wandered under his shirt and up his back, feeling every knot in his muscles, but settling on one right below his shoulder blade. Their lips stayed latched together as she began to massage the knot. JJ’s hands similarly mimicked her motions but he settled on her hips. His first two fingers found themselves tangled in the side strings of her bikini bottom, while his thumb and last two fingers found themselves squeezing her love handles.
Small, breathy, almost inaudible moans escaped from her mouth as JJ guided her hips against his torso. His other hand buried itself in the nape of her neck, pulling her hair to force her chin up as he nipped and kissed at her neck. Her perfume made him absolutely and unequivocally feral. He hummed against her collar bone, feeling her body snap towards him. She was dying for friction. For contact. Anything to smother the weight in her chest.
Never had he imagined when he volunteered to go talk to the pogue, he’d be up close and personal with her.
His fingers untangled from the strings, and pulled leg up by the thigh. He gently ghosted his fingers over her most personal spot, feeling wetness and the small whimper against his neck.
Y/n’s dainty hand guided his hand to touch her where she needed attention the most. He followed her advances and pushed the fabric to the sides. One quick swipe of his fingers to gauge her readiness and then he pushed two fingers in. She was rolling her hips and clenching around JJ’s fingers almost rhythmically, like he wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. He pressed on her clit, adding pressure to her.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong,” he questioned, pressing down heavily as he ended his question. A hiss slipped through her lips. “If you make me cum, I won’t have any.”
Her hand stalked down JJ’s swim trunks, trying to determine how big he was. His penis became still and hard as her fingers circled the shaft. He bucked into her palm, looking for his own friction. After a few particularly hard presses on her clit, she began to let up on her hand job. Too immersed in chasing her own high.
JJ couldn’t remember the last time he had been this turned on, this quickly. He’d only been on solo missions recently, eyes always eyeing one specific prize.
Finally finding the courage, JJ flipped her underneath him. While placing sloppy kisses on her collar bones, he ground his hips into her. Both letting out soft gasps from the pleasure of pseudo-sex.
“JJ, please.” she mumbled. “Put him in. I need it.” She took it upon herself to untie the bikini bottoms, trying to quickly find the friction again. JJ nearly came at the girl’s begging.
He then found himself ripping his trunks off at lightning speed. Y/n took his cock and lined it up with her entrance, teasing JJ with her slit. He waited for her nod, and then slid himself in. He let out a small breath at the feeling of her warm insides around him.
“J, move,” she begged. He began long, slow thrusts into the girl, trying to make every second count, trying to keep from finishing in her like it was his first time. JJ could immediately tell she needed more stimulation. He pulled out, and waited for her to open her eyes.
“Turn around mama, lay on your stomach.” Doing as she was told, she opened her legs impatiently waiting for his re-entry.
JJ did as he promised, sliding in with a faster pace. He slowly pulled her ass towards him, up in the air. He could feel her clenching. She was so close. JJ had her body mirroring his, her back flatly against his chest. His one hand played with her front as his other held her by the neck to his.
“I’m s-so,” she squeaked. “So, close.” As she finished her sentence, her thighs shook, her walls clenched around his dick, and nails dug into his forearms.
This lethal combination sent JJ spiraling, releasing his load into her before he could even think of pulling out. Her body went limp as JJ rode out the rest of his orgasm.
As their bodies separated, he then spun her around to hold her close. Even with his cum dripping out of her, he wanted to make sure she was okay.
“Are you okay?” He looked down at her, trying to avoid looking at the trail of each other down her legs.
“No,” he panicked. Had he crossed a boundary? Broken something good in a weak moment? “You just started an addiction.”
Relief flooded his body. “Good, because I’m not letting go anytime soon.”
#jj maybank imagine#jj x reader#jj outer banks#jj maybank#jj maybank smut#outer banks imagine#outerbanks#obx#obx imagine#malfoyfarms
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because i had to watch the 1389 scene over and over again yesterday i’m now totally convinced we haven’t talked about it enough in comparison to the 1789 and 1889 scenes (understandably because those scenes are gold) so... i’m gonna ramble now i guess! pardon any incoherence lmao
just... my sleep-deprived brain is losing it because hob is simply there talking shit with his mates at the pub, just running his mouth, but you can see the resolve in his eyes, the determination to his features, when he says “i’m not going to die,” and you can already tell that hob is set apart from any other person. i always describe hob in terms of his hubris but it isn’t that he’s prideful necessarily, to me; more that he doesn’t bother to ever think anything he says isn’t possible—it doesn’t even occur to him that what he’s saying won’t come to pass
i feel like one of the reasons hob is such a good match for dream is that even before he’s functionally immortal, hob comes across like he already operates on this level that’s beyond merely human in how he sees things—his expansive love for life, the scope of possibility, the idea that mortality is optional to begin with. hob is such a fucking regular person but he also has this, like... vaguely homeric quality to him? i can’t put my finger on it but i can just picture hob rowing odysseus’ ship to troy, you know? and i think that’s what i’m getting at. i’m not surprised at all that he would be of interest to dream
and like, we always talk about how dream is a complete mystery to hob for centuries and how dream must fascinate him and occupy his thoughts. it’s easy to see why dream would capture hob’s attention, but it’s equally interesting to me to think about why hob captures dream’s focus for centuries as well. why keep coming back to this man? why, when hob is just doing the gritty everyday work of living that dream derides and thinks himself so far above?
i imagine this is the thing about hob that fascinates dream, who is prideful to the point of it being a tragic flaw; who is a king, a lord, and isn’t typically met with this kind of dogged obstinacy, who doesn’t expect a challenge. even though he presides over all dreamers he doesn’t expect someone not of the endless to dream like this. to push the boundaries and laws of the universe like this. and how is it that hob, given this gift, then asks nothing for himself except to have an abundance of mundane experiences, when other men have been demanding and unimaginably cruel and tried to break and bend dream of the endless to their will? how can hob ask nothing more of him than presence, than friendship? than dream’s regard?
god, this post is getting away from me. anyway, back to the 1389 scene—the moment dream says hob’s name, “let us meet here, robert gadling...” there’s this minute shift in hob’s expression, in the attention he gives dream. he was already looking at him with interest (in other news, i’m convinced hob would’ve already happily gone home with dream that very day in 1389 and i will stand my ground on that...)—like, here’s this ethereal-looking stranger, in a lord’s clothes, big fuck-off jewel round his neck and eyes like the stormy sea, looking at him, at hob? why? hob doesn’t know but he’s into it!
but then the stranger knows his name, and you can see in his eyes the second he realizes this is serious, this is real. this is something hob sticks on and asks dream about for centuries—how did the stranger know his name? how did he know johanna? and lushing lou? thinking about this from hob’s perspective, living in 1389, he’s probably thinking that names are words of power in this world. and dream knows hob’s name, and you can see in his eyes, in his expression, that he’s disturbed, but hob meets that fact with trepidation but also with curiosity. and he doesn’t take his eyes off dream, who is suddenly more on his level than anyone else in this pub, who dignifies his wish to live forever, who operates on hob’s scale of time. tells dream, “don’t mind them,” like, these other mortals don’t share our understanding
like... i’m just in awe of the depth conveyed in this scene, i feel like there’s more to find in hob’s character every day and that’s all thanks to ferdinand’s acting
and as dream leaves the tavern, hob has this dawning look of deep thought on his face, like he’s realizing what he just agreed to, as if all his aches and pains, all the little fourteenth-century ills that could have led to his untimely death are falling away from him already
this is TOO MUCH for my poor tired heart!!!
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please could you write about yoongi meeting the baby for the first time :)
478: drabble
alternatively, yoongi drops by your house out of the blue :)
[ 478 masterlist ]
Hwayoung’s first three days in the house has kept things askew.
For starters, you and Jungkook have never been happier than now but at the same note, the both of you have never been more sleep-deprived in your lives.
You’re getting the hang of breastfeeding and Jungkook’s slowly improving his efficiency in diaper-changing, the only moments wherein Hwayoung wasn’t either crying or gurgling being spent on trying to keep things maintained in general.
Your husband used to have this solid routine of cleaning everything around the house everyday but now, he can’t do so much as vacuuming in the fear of missing out and undoing all your work on soothing Hwayoung. He did read this article how it’d be beneficial to get your babies used to loud sounds such as vacuuming, but being a first-time dad, he already feels like bursting to tears when he sees his daughter’s face scrunching up from the sound.
Jungkook still has the routine down of cooking your meals but he only has much time to prepare them for you and not for himself, going about his day feeding off from granola bars and ramen that he won’t even let you have because there’s too much salt.
He’s never felt more fulfilled in his life but he’s also never been this paranoid, sharing the same sentiments with you when most of the time, you even refuse to sleep just to monitor the rise and fall of Hwayoung’s chest. Jungkook’s been stopping his breathing more frequently just to look at his daughter’s, the anxiety of being a new parent melting away when her eyes focus on him.
“I’m gonna pass out. Hold down the fort for us, please,” you yawn as you trudge to Jungkook, giving him a warm kiss before pressing one on Hwayoung who’s in his arms by the baby pink couch. “My alarm’s set up but call me immediately when she’s starting to fuss, the extra diapers are in the cart, you can-…”
“You can relax, baby,” Jungkook interrupts you, blinking up at you with doe eyes. His glasses almost get in the way when he practically inhales your cheek with the way he kisses you, but he chuckles anyway when you let out a little giggle.
He can finally let out of a sigh of relief when you get into bed because you’ve finally succumbed after shrugging off numerous attempts, finally accepting the fact that you need to rest if you want to attend to Hwayoung in the most present yet healthiest way that you could.
It’s not long that Jungkook stews in silent adoration until his phone buzzes in his pocket, maneuvering Hwayoung in his hold. He squints at his screen because it’s not another congratulatory text nor you texting him yet another one of your reminders — it’s Yoongi.
| i’m outside ur door go open it
| didn’t ring the bell in case hwayoung’s asleep :D
Jungkook blinks once, twice before finally pocketing his phone, at a loss for words for the spontaneity of Yoongi dropping by unannounced. He obliges anyway and takes extra care going down the stairs, his daughter sleeping through it like a rock.
The moment Jungkook opens the door, Yoongi immediately brightens up — in a sweater that reads world’s best uncle.
“Yoongi, dude, I love you but what are you doing here?” Jungkook blinks, knowing that the guy is very much aware of your no-visitor rule for the meantime but he’s clearly here in the flesh, dressed for the occasion nonetheless.
“Hello to you too, Jungkook,” Yoongi snickers, immediately softening once he sets his gaze on the baby in his arms. “Hi, pretty girl.”
Jungkook’s still stunned but he quickly reels in his surprise when Yoongi gently scoots him over, noticing that he’s carrying a whole duffel bag with him.
“Move over,” Yoongi sing-songs, looking around to assess the state of your house. It’s cluttered and he doesn’t exactly blame the two of you, yet he still takes the challenge head-on. “I’m here to cook and clean.”
“What?” Jungkook’s eyes bulge, the gasp in his throat enough to make Hwayoung bounce slightly on his chest.
“I’m here to be of service. I’ll do your chores, I’ll cook, I’ll meal-prep. I’m going home tonight anyway, but still, you get my point. I’ll come back everyday for the next two weeks, or y’know, until things start to fall into routine with Hwayoung,” Yoongi shrugs effortlessly, setting down his bag that’s full of ingredients he’d researched that’s good for breastfeeding moms and perhaps also anxious dads. “This is a surprise, by the way, even Y/N doesn’t know. Consider this as a gift because what the hell are first-time parents supposed to do with balloons anyway?”
Jungkook has his lips parted open, eyes unblinking. He watches Yoongi survey the place from where he stands and when the latter notices that he’s met with utter silence, he turns to Jungkook who looks like a fish out of water.
“Not unless… you also want balloons?” Yoongi tries, eyebrows furrowed at the way your husband is frozen like a statue. “I can get that arranged, if you’d like…? I also bought Hwayoung some diapers and they’re in my trunk so-…”
“Yoongi.”
Jungkook interrupts Yoongi with a firm embrace even with just one arm able to go around his body, an awed sigh leaving him because truly, the whole thing is such a quiet yet grand gesture that’s awfully Yoongi from the way it’s been carefully thought of. It means a whole lot, so much so that your husband can tackle him to the ground if not for Hwayoung in his arms.
He wordlessly offers Hwayoung to Yoongi and the guy just blinks before the situation registers in his head, cradling your daughter close with utmost care as he instinctively rocks her.
“Y/N and I already talked about it but she’s sleeping right now so,” Jungkook clears his throat, eyes fond with silent awe at the way Yoongi coos at his daughter. “Do you wanna be Hwayoung’s godfather?”
It’s Yoongi’s turn to be speechless, eyes wide and mouth parted. He’s even more frozen than Jungkook awhile ago, startling the latter. Your husband is just about to assure him that he could say no if he wanted to but Yoongi interrupts him this time, an honored smile on his face.
“Of course I do,” Yoongi coos, humming to Hwayoung. “I’d protect her like my own.”
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Breathe With Me Part I
Summary: After an overwhelming time, your resolve finally crumbles and Leia, Han, and Luke are there to give you all the support you need to get you back on your feet.
Pairing: Luke Skywalker x Gender Neutral!Reader
Warnings: reader is very overwhelmed, sleep deprived, and crying.
A/N: Writing this mainly for myself since the family dog passed away last night and I'm moving soon and just very stressed in general. But hopefully it helps anyone who needs it. Might do a part 2 of Luke just pampering you on a day off/vacation. I tried to write it so you can easily picture your favorite era of Luke here (ANH, ESB, ROTJ, post-ROTJ, maybe even right before the events of TBOBF, etc.).
See my full masterlist here.
Tagging Taco Squad cuz I feel like we could all use this right now @kaleidoscope1967eyes @masterlukessaber @coffeeorsomething-irl
***
You closed your eyes and sighed from your spot on the Falcon’s bunk, wiping the tears from your cheek with your sleeve. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Leia said next to you, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been through a lot lately. Just let it out.” She rubbed a soothing hand across the back of your shoulders.
Han leaned against the adjacent row of bunks with an unsure, but sympathetic look on his face. He wandered towards the door, holding his wrist comm close to his mouth. “Kid, are you almost here? We could really use you in here.”
Luke’s out-of-breath voice floated through the static. “Almost there! I’m running as fast as I can. Just give me another few minutes.”
Han meandered back over and gave your shoulder a firm squeeze. “He should be here any minute.”
You nodded as more tears fell, sniffling so hard you triggered a coughing fit.
“Here.” Leia reached into one of the storage compartments beneath the bottom bunk and pulled out a box of tissues.
“T-thanks,” you mumbled before blowing your nose hard.
“Careful, kiddo,” Han said with a lopsided grin. “Make sure your nose stays attached to the rest of you.”
You gave a watery chuckle just as Luke skidded to a halt in the doorway. His hair was windswept and damp from the planet’s rainstorm, the shoulders of his jacket dotted with droplets. He met your eyes and sighed, hurrying over to you and squeezing Han’s forearm as he passed by.
“Kay, Chewie and I are gonna get her ready for takeoff,” Han said, speeding out the door. The “waterworks,” as he called them, no matter how justified, always seemed to put him at a bit of a disadvantage—although you appreciated him trying his best anyway.
Leia gave you a tight hug. “We’ll be back at base soon. I’ll make sure command gives you and Luke a day off so you two can relax and recoup.” She met Luke’s eyes and, at his nod, left and closed the door to the bunks behind her.
Luke nestled himself against you, pulling your shoulders to lean against him. “Hey, starflower, shhh,” he murmured as more tears spilled over. You leaned your head against his shoulder and he gently kissed your forehead before smoothing a hand over your hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
You hiccupped through another sob, grateful for how he pulled your bridal style into his lap. Burying your face into the warm skin of his neck, you clung to him as you felt the ship thrum to life and vibrate the bunk underneath you. You weaved your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, letting the silkiness comfort you as you struggled to find your breath.
“Hey, breathe with me. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m gonna help you through this, okay?” Luke’s hand ran up and down the length of your spine while the other gently massaged the back of your head. “In for four seconds through your nose, hold for four, then out for eight through your mouth, all right? In…hold…out…good, keep going. In…hold…out.”
You did this several more times before shuddering out another exhale. “My chest feels so tight.”
“Concentrate on how your hands or feet feel,” Luke murmured in your ear, still tracing soothing shapes on top of your clothes. He pulled back enough to press his forehead to yours and grabbed your hand, pressing your palm flat against his chest. His heartbeat thrummed under your fingers. “Breathe in time with me. You’re all right. In—out—in—out. Good, see? You’ve got it.”
You poured all your concentration into the sensations of your hands—how your muscles felt, the soft fabric of Luke’s jacket in one hand and the contour and warmth of his chest under the other. The ship hummed subtly around you as a relaxing accompaniment to Luke’s steady breathing. After several minutes, you felt him press a gentle kiss to your lips that you greedily returned.
He wiped another tear from your cheek before gently stroking your skin. “I’m s-sorry,” you warbled.
“Hey, none of that. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But this isn’t your job—”
“How many times have you been there for me? And I don’t take care of you because I feel like I have to. It’s because I want to—hey, look at me.” He cupped your jaw and neck in his large hand and pulled back to look into your eyes, the striking blue filled with nothing but concern and warmth. “Taking care of you is not a job. It’s a privilege. I want to be here.”
You felt the tears building again, but this time for another reason. Squeezing him firmly, you buried your face in his neck again. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, so much,” he replied, holding you just as tight and nuzzling into your neck. He ran the tip of his nose up the side of your neck and across your jaw where it connected with your ear. “Have you gotten any sleep?”
You pulled back to meet his gaze. “Um…no, not really.”
“Well, we’ve got a while till we’re back at base, so why don’t we try and get some rest? Then once we’re back and have gotten the mission report out of the way, we can either have a relaxing day on base or I can fly us somewhere for a few days.”
“But Leia—”
“She’ll survive a few days without us.” He scooted back further onto the mattress with you still in his arms, shimmying out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders before laying down. You lay beside him, tangling your legs with his and using his chest as a pillow as he wrapped one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders. His hand slid gently from your shoulder to massage the knots in your neck again as he kissed your cheek. You felt a sudden wave of calmness wash over you like water and knew he was calling on the Force to help you balance yourself. With the sudden serenity came an overwhelming wave of exhaustion and you felt your eyes begin to droop, letting out a small, contented moan as the back of Luke’s fingers brushed your cheek before sliding down the slope of your neck to your shoulder. His other hand worked its way under your shirt to make relaxing circles in the skin there. “Just sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll wake you up once we’re back home.”
Half asleep, you murmured, “You are my home.”
You felt his lips press against yours. “And you’re mine, sweetheart.”
#star wars#luke skywalker#leia organa#princess leia#han solo#luke skywalker x reader#luke skywalker x gn!reader#star wars x reader#luke skywalker imagine#star wars imagine#luke skywalker fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#luke skywalker fluff#luke skywalker comfort
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Can we have a drabble for lee!Hawks, prompt 12, with his wings? I'm a sucker for lee!Hawks and especially ticklish wings! Only if you want to, tho!!
YES OF COURSE YOU CAN, ANON! Thank you for sending this in, I've been waiting for someone to send one!
A/N: Some sentence starters are a little awkward for me to put directly at the beginning, so this one is a little further down, but it's there! This isn't necessarily connected to my current DabiHawks tk universe, but if you wanna think of this as a little flashback type deal, then go for it! Also, I decided to make this a college AU, cuz I couldn't find a proper way to make it in the normal universe and have Hawks be struggling with something that has a deadline that he could fail on. So, college AU it is! A quick thought just popped into my mind, though, about renewing hero licenses, though I don't know if that's a thing. REGARDLESS, ENOUGH RAMBLING-
Warning: Tickle fic ahead!
Prompt: "I'm gonna fail if I don't finish before the deadline."
Characters: Dabi, Hawks
Shipping: Technically DabiHawks, I promise they'll get together soon, guys
Lee: Hawks
Ler: Dabi
Word Count: 1,072
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yet another sleepless night of never ending studying put Keigo into quite the irritated mood. He sat at his desk in front of his laptop, head in his hands, the screen displaying a document that currently only had three paragraphs written. Birds started chirping outside his window as light from the sunrise began streaming into his dorm. With a frustrated sigh, he looked up at his computer screen and glared at the document. He had never been this stressed in his life.
Keigo’s overthinking was abruptly interrupted by a low groan and the shuffling of bed sheets from behind him. Touya slipped out from under the covers and stretched, then he looked over at his roommate, who had his back turned to him and was still staring at the laptop.
“You’re up early,” Touya commented, shivering as his bare feet hit the floor.
“Haven’t slept,” Keigo replied curtly.
Touya frowned and stood, walking over to his roommate. Empty energy drink cans littered his desk, and a small pile of dirty plates sat beside his laptop. When was the last time he even moved from his chair?
“You gotta get some sleep, Keigo,”
Touya said as he reached for the laptop. He huffed when Keigo swatted his hand away,
“When’s the last time you showered?”
“Like, last night or something?”
“Bullshit,”
Touya hissed, glaring at Keigo, who refused to look at him,
“I had a hard time getting to sleep cuz your sleep deprived ass wouldn’t go to bed, and that damn laptop is brighter than my fire.”
“Tsk. Whatever, I just need to get this done.”
“You need to look after yourself.”
“I’m fine, Touya.”
“You’re not fine,”
the hot head crossed his arms,
“Your wings are drooping.”
“Dude, I’m gonna fail if I don’t finish before the deadline,”
Keigo finally turned to his friend,
“You know how important this essay is! It’s due tomorrow, and I barely have anything written down. I know how my quirk works and how I can use it in battle, but I can’t explain it!”
he growled and slammed his fist on the desk,
“Why is an essay gonna be the deciding factor of if I graduate or not?!”
Touya sighed and rubbed his roommate’s head soothingly,
“Relax, birdbrain. It isn’t the end of the world. You still have a whole day to get it done,”
he then took Keigo’s hand and tugged gently,
“But you need sleep first. You won’t be able to think properly if you’re running on fumes.”
“I can’t sleep right now,” Keigo groaned,
“Please leave me alone.”
Touya glared at his friend, getting more frustrated as time passed. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head, and his annoyed expression quickly transformed into a mischievous one.
“Fine,”
he huffed as he walked behind Keigo and positioned himself at his wings that hung over the back of the chair,
“I guess I’ll have to make you.”
“What does that even me-HEEEHEHEAN! NONONO TOUYA STOHOHOHOP!”
Keigo shrieked with sudden, uncontrollable laughter. Touya smirked as he dug into his friend’s fluffy wings, then yelped when one of them flapped a little too hard and smacked him right in the face.
“You little shit,” the hot head grumbled.
“I-I’m sohohorry,”
Keigo whined, standing up and holding his hands up in surrender while his roommate approached him,
“Touya, please, I’ll go to sleep, just anything but this– TOUYA!!”
Touya wasted no time, pouncing on his winged friend and pinning him to the bed, then scribbling all ten of his fingers over his sensitive feathers. Ever since they were children, Touya knew Keigo’s worst spot was his wings. He loved tormenting him whenever he got on his nerves, or even if he was just bored. His friend never failed to provide an entertaining experience.
“Too little too late, Keigo,”
the hot head smirked evilly, savoring his trapped roommate’s screams of ticklish agony,
“You should’ve decided before I had to resort to this. ‘sides, you hit me with your wings. I deserve some payback for that.”
“IHIHIHIT WAS AN AHAHAHACCIDENT, YOU PRIHIHIHICK!” Keigo cackled, thrashing helplessly,
“YOU WERE TIHIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHE! I COULDN’T HEHEHELP IHIHIT!”
“Not my problem,”
Touya shrugged, moving his fingers toward where Keigo’s wings connected to his back, and he chuckled as his friend’s laughter became more high pitched and desperate,
“Poor little Keigo. Can’t handle it, huh? Is it too much? You poor thing~.”
“SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUP!!”
“Awww, does teasing get to you? Hmm? Does it make it worse?”
he leaned in closer to Keigo’s flushed face, still talking in that sickeningly effective baby voice,
“Do you like it when I tease you? Huh, little birdie~?”
“TOHOHOHOUYA, PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”
Keigo felt extremely hot, and he pushed at Touya’s face with one hand while covering his own with his other hand.
“Ohh~? Do you like that nickname, little birdie? Does it make you flustered? Ah ah ah, don’t cover your face,”
Touya huffed and quickly grabbed Keigo’s wrists, pinning them above his head and giving him a little breather,
“Or I’ll make you regret it~.”
The winged student swallowed nervously and stared deeply into his friend’s eyes while catching his breath. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t exciting and fun, but he still had his paper to write. He frowned and averted his gaze.
“Can I go back to working on my paper, please?”
“Your paper will be there.”
“Touya, let me up.”
“Nope.”
“Touya–”
“That’s it.”
Laughter once again rang throughout the dorm room, only stopping when Keigo’s boisterous cackling turned into silent hysteria. Touya knew he wasn’t going to listen, so he had no choice but to tire him out enough so that he wouldn’t even think of anything but sleep.
About an hour had passed when the hot head finally decided to let up, and his plan had worked. Keigo fell asleep almost instantly after the tickle attack, and Touya tucked him in gently. He smiled as his roommate snored peacefully. It was an adorable sight - his flushed face stained with mirth and a small smile resting on his lips. He looked so comfortable. Touya sighed fondly and ran his fingers through Keigo’s soft hair, his eyes lingering on his lips for longer than he would admit. Finally, he walked over to the desk and made sure to save his friend’s work before closing the laptop, and began cleaning up the mess. He was positive Keigo would do better once he got some rest.
Request a drabble~
#dabihawks#dabihawks tickling#dabihawks tickle fic#lee!hawks#ler!dabi#wing tickling#mha#my hero academia#mha tickle fic#mha tickle#sfw tickling community#my hero academia tickle fic#boku no hero academia tickle fic#touya todoroki#keigo takami#college au#mha college au#bnha college au#bnha tickle fic#tickle prompt sentence starters#dabihawks tickle prompts#i had so much fun writing this#thank you anon!#drabble#dabihawks drabble#dabihawks tickle drabble
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[SLLAU] Recollection
Up late for a midnight snack, Rodimus notices the Lost Light's holoform sitting alone in the observation room, and witnesses a side of them that they have never shown before.
[AN: Sorry about the formatting, tumblr didnt like my indentation at times rip}
The Lost Light was well past lights out, adrift through a cluster of stars as it traversed the endless depths of space. The crew were recharging, and not a sound of activity was heard throughout the vast network of corridors that spanned the entire ship. The engines deep below hummed and the vents that crawled the ceiling hushed airily, a crisp breeze wafting through like that on a quiet night. Only one was gazing out into the stars, deep thoughts behind the holographic optics that passed so easily for solid blue glass.
The Lost Light itself had manifested its avatar, sat cross-legged on a bench in one of the ship’s observation rooms. Here, massive windows gave a beautiful display of the outside, a popular spot for those who wished to have peaceful alone time. Lightlost was no different from them, as they clutched their servos together. They were in deep thought; their optics were distant and hazy, their lips a neutral line. No longer following their duties of observing the daytime life of the crew, they were now able to focus on themself and all of the things that riddled their head.
Not for long, however, as someone else neared them, noticing them from afar and approaching with both curiosity and building smugness. Before long, Lightlost’s trance-like state was interrupted when they heard a pair of pedes shuffle into their vicinity, stopping just outside the entrance.
They turned their helm to find the captain staring back at them, leaning against the wall.
"A-hah, and now I get to ask you why you’re up so late,” teased Rodimus, arms coyly folded in front of his chassis.
With lidded optics, the holoform chuckled softly. They could tell, with how slow Rodimus’s steps were, that he was very tired; but they’d checked the bridge and his habsuite over three hours ago, and were content to find him safely tucked away in the latter. He wasn’t deprived of sleep, he had just awoken.
“I thought you’d finally stay in your berth the whole night, Captain,” Lightlost hummed, as Rodimus took a seat next to them.
“Yeah well, when you’ve run out of midnight snacks, you’re gonna wanna find more,” he stretched his arms. “Captains get hungry fast, don’t you know?”
“Ah, a fair point,” they sighed, “though next time, you could ask me. I’d gladly bring you a tray.”
“With all due respect, you wouldn’t give me these,” Rodimus held up a box of rust sticks, provoking Lightlost to deadpan. “And it wouldn’t let me walk the halls when no one else does. Well, no one aside from the weirdos who like squatting around the common room, and--wait a minute. This isn’t about me!”
Gawking at the holoform, he set the box down and turned his entire frame towards them, making it clear that he intended to focus on them like he initially wanted. “I’m asking you why you’re here when it’s so late. I’ve never seen you sit and stare out the window like this. What’s going on?” He eyed their frame, “and why are you using your avatar? There’s no one around.”
His brief digression brought a brighter smile to Lightlost’s face, optics gleaming with the admiration they always had for him, and for a moment, it was as if nothing was troubling them. But once Rodimus’s question brought their mind back to those troubles, their smile faltered. Their helm turned back to the stars, the purple glow washed over their pale white paint. They’d never had the desire to speak so openly to their crew about their past, valuing the stories they made together above anything else; but it was merely preference, and they wouldn’t deny the truth from Rodimus. He’s aware his crew weren’t the first to walk through their halls, they knew. But their shipspeaker, as old as time, from an era no one but them remembers… how would they approach explaining?
“Light?” Rodimus leaned forward, cocking his helm. “Wow, something’s definitely on your mind.”
They blinked, snapping out of their thoughts. "Sorry-- yes. I seem to be less put together, so to speak.” Rodimus watched them lean back against the backrest with a rust stick popping past his lips.
“I have sat in this room on multiple nights, not only this one,” Lightlost admitted. “When the crew are asleep, I seek this room out. I materialize my holoform to gaze into the depths of space with the optics of a cybertronian, at the size of a cybertronian. I think, and I… recollect, I suppose.”
“About what?” asked Rodimus, voice as soft as them now.
“About a time long ago, when someone else sat in this very room,” they said quietly. “When I housed not a crew, but a single being, whom I held to my spark dearly.”
The captain’s lips parted. “Your…”
“Speaker,” they finished, helm turned to him.
Abashed, Rodimus’s lips promptly shut again. With Lightlost, he sometimes forgot that he was still talking to a titan, who didn’t practice the conjunx or amica rituses like his kind did. He didn’t blame himself for jumping so quickly to the conclusion.
“Your speaker,” he echoed, pretending it was his original thought. “Not a cityspeaker, but a… ship-speaker?”
They nodded. “The first time I traveled the stars, it was with them.”
Rodimus hummed in acknowledgment, following their optics to the window. “So they did what you’re doing now.”
“When our work was done for the day, I would watch them walk to the observation deck, admiring the depths of space just beyond the glass,” smiled Lightlost solemnly. “I had no holoform, but they treated me like I was there beside them, and we would converse about so many wonderful things… I looked forward to every moment we spent on those nights. It was our time to relax and be in the moment.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Rodimus grinned, but his voice was thinly veiled with concern.
They exhaled, “it was… I wished it would last forever, though I was younger and more naïve then. I should have known to cherish the moments we had more than I had been, before they were gone.”
Rodimus didn’t miss their falling smile.
“What happened?” He asked, and the holoform’s optics sank to their pedes.
“They disappeared,” they murmured after a moment of silence. “One night, I opened my weak and weary optics, and they were gone. I felt it in my spark, that loss, even as I waited for what seemed like millennia for their hopeful return, even as I searched for them and cried their name until I could no longer… I eventually accepted that I was now alone in the vastness of space.”
The captain’s tanks sank. The Lost Light had lost their speaker? It explained why they were so drawn to this spot then, and perhaps so sentimental about it. It wasn’t just a place for them to relive what they’d do with their shipspeaker, but it was also a place to sit and think about the shipspeaker themself. Where they are in the universe if they’re out there, what they could be doing, what their fate was… at least, that was his guess, knowing the titan well enough. But before he could speak up, Lightlost beat him to it, still in their same soft voice.
“It has been eons since I last saw them… I have never been as close with someone since.”
Rodimus bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”
Almost immediately, Lightlost perked up, now aware of both the captain’s low voice and the glumness of the conversation. They sat upright, and their smile returned to their features, vulnerability hidden behind their warm and gentle gaze. They didn’t like it when he was so down, let alone if it was something they had said or did. “Thank you for expressing your sympathies, Rodimus.” they chuckled, servo on his shoulder. Rodimus blinked, confused by the quick turnaround, but returned the smile nonetheless.
The holoform turned their optics back to the window. The purple glow of space wasn’t as strong now, letting half of the thick glass reflect the two of them sitting in front of it. They took notice, optics glued to the reflection longingly.
“You remind me of them,” Lightlost admitted. “They weren’t as fiery, but they had all of the youthful spirit and curiosity that you have within you. If they were here, you would like them a lot, I’m sure of it.”
“Would they like everyone else?” Rodimus raised his brow ridge, which elicited a laugh from the other. Good—as he was sure they were still saddened underneath, even though they tried to appear the best for him.
“Perhaps not everyone, but certainly a good lot of them,” they chuckled. “They’d certainly like Drift, as well as Chromedome and Rewind. They probably wouldn’t go to Swerve’s that often, but I would introduce them to Nautica at happy hour if they did. As for those they wouldn’t like… well, Whirl would drive them mad.”
“Whirl does that to everyone,” Rodimus snorted.
“Ha! Yes, I was there for the ‘Person You’d Punch The Most’ dress-up party. I’m surprised you weren’t one with the crowd,” they teased.
“Would you have been Whirl?”
“Rodimus, I wouldn’t have been anyone. After all, if there was someone I wanted to punch, that person wouldn’t exactly be in the best position.”
The captain blinked. “You’re still talking about your holoform, right?”
Lightlost grinned. “That would be more ideal, wouldn’t it?”
Capturing the image of a titanic fist slamming into the ground on top of an average cybertronian, leaving nothing but a crater and a cartoonish bot-shaped hole in the ground, Rodimus laughed himself, causing the holoform to beam brighter.
The two of them continued to converse, Lightlost eagerly sharing with Rodimus facts about their shipspeaker. How they would race through their halls, surf on comets in an empty part of the star systems they visited, or spend simple time together mulling over map data. Rodimus would listen, asking questions and joking to cheer them up, watching the sadness behind their optics gradually fade away. Eventually, the purple glow from the windowpane began to fade away as the ship reached the end of the cluster, making way for the simple white stars dotting the far corners of the black void. Silence followed as the two left themselves to their thoughts.
Rodimus glanced over at the ship’s avatar once more. He noted that they looked at peace as they stared out the window, servos clasped together in their lap. Their EM field, while still harder to read than a real cybertronian, seemed to be calm as well. He sighed, relieved that his company was able to help.
However, it was still so strange and new seeing the Lost Light this way. They weren’t the one to share so much about themself, especially if it was related to traumatic events in their past. It means they must trust him enough to share this information, right? Rodimus believed so, as the captain and first one to realize their sentience, he knew how much they cared. But it was still so strange, seeing a side of them that barely reared its head. A sad, vulnerable side, that sat slumped over and spoke with a soft and fragile voice, as if their spark could be broken by the wrong word or thought.
He wondered how often they felt this way. How often did they think of their shipspeaker? Have they been imagining them with the crew for a long time? Have they been comparing him to them frequently, too?
Is sitting in this room the only time they’re like this, or is this a glimpse into who they really are?
“I really like this crew, Rodimus,” the holoform sighed softly, meeting the captain’s optics. “So many have boarded me, but none have been as unique as yours. So much pain and sadness, yet you’ve always come together after everything, and you’ve found community in it. I’ve looked on with such admiration… it’s one of the reasons why I created Lightlost to begin with. I didn’t think it at the time, but I guess I wanted to be part of that community. It seems so foolish, since my purpose is to carry you through the stars, and nothing more… but that’s part of the charm, isn’t it?”
Rodimus smiled warmly at their words, but mild confusion laced his voice. “But Light, being a ship isn’t everything, is it? You don’t have to stick to that one thing, I don’t think. I know you haven’t wanted to get involved in the past, but it’s not ‘foolish’ of you to change your mind and hang out with us. You’re not an inanimate object, you’re a guy with feelings.”
Lightlost shook their head. “I know it’s not… I’ve known that for a long time. My caution has come from elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
They nodded. “I won’t trouble you with it, though. I don’t always have that bad feeling, and when I don’t, that’s when I go to Swerve’s.”
Their assuring smile made Rodimus pause, but he didn’t dwell on the thought for long. Neither did Lightlost, outwardly, as with a stretch they stood up out of their seat.
“I’d say ‘it’s getting late,’ but it’s well past that,” they sighed. “Do you mind if I walk you to your habsuite?”
“Not at all,” Rodimus sat up, his servo feeling around for and finally grabbing the box of rust sticks beside him. He’d been so consumed by talking with Lightlost that he’d only eaten three of them.
The avatar extended a servo and helped the captain to his pedes, and together, the two exited the observation room and began to make their way toward Rodimus’s habsuite. The captain noted that Lightlost’s grip was tighter than usual, even as they guided him. Like they didn’t want to risk losing grip of him, letting him go even though there wasn’t any present danger, was there? After a quick scan of the area, nothing was noticed.
Of course there wasn’t, he scoffed to himself. No, this was just the thoughts on their mind. That was what was out of the ordinary.
“Captain?” Lightlost asked suddenly.
Rodimus snapped out of his thoughts, “yeah?”
“What will you do when this quest of yours is over?”
“I-“ he looked down.
Truthfully, he had been so caught up in the journey, that he hadn’t given all the thought needed to what he’d do when everything was said and done. How would the Knights of Cybertron situation go? What would he do about himself? The crew? Would he go back to Optimus? What would happen?
“—I, uh, I guess I don’t really know,” he stuttered. After a moment, and a small squeeze on his servo, Lightlost hummed.
“That’s understandable, you needn’t worry about that right now anyway. Perhaps we can talk about it some other time.”
Rodimus nodded, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Yeah, good idea.”
Unbeknownst to him was the faint glimmer of hope in the holoform’s optics.
The two finally approached the door to Rodimus’s habsuite, and as the door slid open, Lightlost finally let go of his servo. Stepping to the side and folding their servos behind them, they gave him one last warm smile.
“Recharge well, Captain,” they wished. “Don’t let those rust sticks keep you up, alright?”
Upon mention, Rodimus popped one into his intake and bit it in half almost playfully. With a grin on his face, he chimed, “I can’t do both, can I?”
“We’ll see how the morning report fares grammatically then,” they snorted, almost wiping the smile from the captain’s lips as he remembered the grueling monotony of labor that none but Magnus enjoyed.
Right.
“Right.”
“You’ll live,” smirked Lightlost.
“Yeah? Well stop smiling at me like you’re going to laugh!” He puffed his cheeks.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be in the room,” they chaffed. Rodimus narrowed his optics, but their grin never changed.
“Yeah yeah, all-seeing ship. I know,” he rumbled, shoving the other half of the stick past his lips. “Say ‘I told you so’ when I’m chomping on more than just one box of sweets, ‘kay?”
“If that’s your wish, then. I won’t say it out loud. Now go on, you don’t want to lose valuable recharge time, do you?” They tilted their head.
Rodimus opened his mouth, but aware that he was on the wrong end of their banter, pouted cartoonishly at them instead. As he slipped past the doorway, he waved his servo. “Yeah, whatever. See ya, Light!”
They mimicked the gesture back. “Take care, Rodimus.”
The habsuite door shut, leaving Lightlost to stand there quietly.
Their once coy grin had relaxed, optics softening as they processed the past hour with Rodimus. The young bot was still so full of energy, even after what had happened to him and what had happened around him… They admired it. Admired him for it.
They hoped they could feel the same, someday.
They looked down the dark corridor, to the unseen habsuites home to other crew members, safely recharging on their own. They replayed their words to Rodimus in their mind, their spark swelling with gratitude and melancholy all the same, the heaviness of their own voice weighing down on them more by the second.
What would happen to them, when everything was said and done?
To all of them, even themself.
They shook their helm, not wishing to dwell upon it. They turned to look back at Rodimus’s door, and after another moment, their holoform dispersed.
Rodimus set his box of sweets down on his berthside table, holding his arms above his helm to stretch as he let out a particularly loud yawn. Flicking the light switch off, he shuffled his pedes to his desk and grabbed his tablet. He wouldn’t eat lying down, and he wouldn’t sleep until he finished eating, so he might as well do something fun while he finishes up, right? Morning report be damned, he could wake up on time. He’d set five alarms for tomorrow, and then he would ignore both Magnus and Megatron’s remarks on how awful he looked.
As he scrolled, his curiosity about Lightlost and their shipspeaker began to eke back into him. They were a titan, so their shipspeaker was no doubt as ancient as they were; but he couldn’t help but want to know more about them, if the ship was okay with it. If they were so much like him, then what else did they have in common?
He blinked in shock.
Is that why they liked him so much?
He looked to the door, then the window, letting the question linger.
Moments later, he heard his computer ping. His attention turned back to his desk, where he saw a series of letters blink onto the monitor screen.
// Thank you for checking in on me. Let’s keep this night between us.
And so too did the captain’s optics soften.
“No problem.”
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Nice
Stan Marsh x Fem!Reader | Part 3
Part 2
“I’m sorry, girl! I don’t have any spare clothes for you. Unless you want to wear my cheerleading outfit.” Nichole gave you an apologetic smile after she rummaged through her locker to find any piece of clothing for you.
You groaned in response. This day isn’t going so well for you. Many things are happening as if you’re in a movie. A movie that sucks balls.
“Thank you, Nichole.” You ran your hand through your hair, thinking for another solution. “If you change your mind, my offer’s always up. I’m sorry I need to go, they need me at the Board Game Club. Call me if you need anything.” She flew you a kiss and left.
You’re growing desperate to get out of your vomit scented clothes. Thankfully, it didn’t penetrate through your underwear, maybe you still have some luck left. While mindlessly walking through the halls, you found yourself back to the boys. Stan’s nowhere to be found, maybe still changing.
“Dude, only 20 minutes have passed yet you look like sleep deprived.” Kyle spotted you, before you reached their circle. “You think I don’t know that? What am I gonna do?” You whined, shaking Cartman who’s trying to get away from you. “Kyle says you’re looking like a homeless, and get away from me! You stink!”
Kenny on the other hand was lost in thought, not that it was unusual since he doesn’t ramble more often. You just noticed how deeply he’s staring at you. That made you stop bothering Cartman and gave the blondie a questioning look. Kenny became embarrassed at how you noticed him staring, he just shrugged at you.
You know he’s up to something.
“What? Spill it.” You crossed your arms.
“You should wear it.”
“Wear what?”
“Wear that bralette.” Kenny didn’t hesitate.
You just stared at him blankly, then smiled. “Fuck no.”
“Then rot in Stan’s vomit.” Cartman added and you sent him a glare.
You whine once more knowing Cartman has a point. You don’t have any options left since Wendy might’ve united the girls to side with her, Bebe and Red might not help you. Now that bralette which caused this whole mess is your only option. You wished that this is just a dream where nothing happened at all when you wake up.
“Ugh, okay…”
Kenny’s eyes beamed at your response, probably imagining what you’ll look like. You sent him a knowing glare threatening to poke his eyes out.
You just know that it’s humiliating that you’ll end up wearing the bralette you poked fun with Stan. This is not how the prank was supposed to go, it went the other way around.
You skipped a class today, smelling like vomit is a deal breaker for you to attend any class right now. Plus, you didn't have a proper conversation with Stan yet which makes the situation worse.
You went to your locker, retrieved the bralette and you hurriedly went to the bathroom to change in one of the cubicles. Thankfully, no one was at the restroom since everyone was in class. The bralette showed too much skin specially it is shaped like a butterfly. This isn't really your go to outfit which made you cringe a little.
Everyone might think you're showing off, and this is against dress code!
Washing the substance off your clothes made you struggle for a bit since it went all over it. You'll just have to do a good job wringing it dry. You still can't shake off the thought that Stan heard what you said. He might think that you're pining for him and torment you for that. Even so, he's not that bad compared to Cartman in terms of teasing. But still!
You don't really dislike Stan that much, but you're keeping a distance since you knew his history with Wendy. It's hard to come into terms that he may still have lingering feelings for Wendy from what you've heard from Nichole and the guys. Even though you know that he hated the pranks you've been pulling, you still hoped that in this way you get to have a unique connection with him, and well... catch his attention. Yet, you kind of hate yourself for catching his attention the wrong way.
After wringing out your clothes, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. You can't keep doing this for long, you cringed at the thought that you've brought this to yourself. Maybe karma is hitting now.
"Hey, (Y/n)! Are you finished yet?! You're the one who has to explain why we're skipping class!" Cartman's banging was heard from the restroom door.
"I get it, fatso! You don't have to scream!"
"Oh, you'll pay for that, bitch!" He screamed once more. You rolled your eyes at this and started fixing your clothes and putting it in a plastic bag. You need to hurry home before this monstrosity smells. While packing, you realized that your sweater was also drenched. You look at yourself on the mirror then back at your sweater as it dawned on you that you'll definitely be getting a violation slip.
"Bro, my feet hurts from standing since Stan chose to be a bitch!" Cartman complained on the other side of the door. "Then sit!" Kyle retorted, "I'm not sitting on the floor, it's dirty! So, you better bend down and-"
"Hey guys..." Your head peeked from the bathroom door. "Can I ask you a favor please?" You plead, making you want the floor to eat you alive.
"What? Just come out." Kenny smirked knowing what you might be showing off. You only glared at him, "Can I please borrow one of you guys' jacket?"
"No, it's cold." Cartman crossed his arms.
"Sorry, (Y/n). It's also cold" Kenny chuckled but you know that he has other reasons why he doesn't want to lend his parka. You only flipped him off.
"(Y/n), why are you talking to us through the door? Can you please come out so we can talk properly?" Kyle genuinely asked, unaware of your state.
Even though embarrassed, you complied to his request. You stepped out while rubbing your other arm. The air is chilly which makes you shudder a bit. Cartman only looked at you in annoyance while Kyle was also embarrassed as he did not expect you to show too much skin.
"That's more like it." Kenny smirked. "Stop!" you groaned pushing his face away from you.
"Where's Stan?"
"Probably still fixing himself, he'll join us soon. Here I'll lend you my jacket for the mean time." Kyle took of his orange jacket off and you wear it, finally feeling comfortable. "Thanks! I owe you one." Kyle is really a life-saver, better than the other two assholes.
"You better use that debt into something useful." Kenny winked which once again earned a groan from you.
"You still have to help us issue an excuse letter from the clinic, you know, for Stan and us." You gave him a nod, Kyle is an academic achiever and you know he can't be ticked absent or it'll affect his grade.
You requested an approval on your excuse letters from the clinic for the class the five of you missed. Thankfully, the nurse fancied Kenny which made the whole deal quicker. Right after, the bell finally rung, a signal for lunch time.
"You guys go ahead, I'll just stuff my clothes in my locker." You left the group as you made your way back to your locker. They wave their goodbyes before going straight to the cafeteria.
After stuffing your locker with a plastic of wet clothes, you closed it and saw Stan walking to your direction. He looked better than before, finally wearing his signature red collared brown jacket. Before you could look away, he spotted you. You only froze at your spot unsure of what to do.
He stopped in front of you, "Why are you wearing, Kyle's jacket?" curiosity filled his eyes, assuming ways of why you're wearing another man's clothing.
"My clothes are wet, they're in my locker. So, I wore these." You explained, your snarky tone gone.
"Take it off."
"What? I-I can't-" Your eyes went wide, confused at his actions. Yet your body is responding to his request.
"Just take it off."
You unbuttoned Kyle's jacket revealing what you were wearing. Stan immediately looked elsewhere just realizing why you were wearing Kyle's. He rubbed his face with his hands and decided to take off his jacket.
Stan tried to not stare at your chest while handing you his jacket. He won't lie, you looked good in it. "Just wear this, fresh off from my locker."
You only stared at him dumbfounded while still doing what he says. "I thought this was soaked from earlier?" You grabbed his jacket while taking off Kyle's
He crossed his arms and leaned on the lockers, "You learn something when you used to be alcoholic." He replied hinting he keeps an extra.
The shuffling of clothes untangled the strap on your neck, which made you groaned. "Can you please help me?" You turned around exposing your back to Stan. This made him swallow as the thought of your skin comes contact with his fingers. "Please? My hands are full." You raised the two jackets placed on your arms.
"O-okay." He reached for the strings and tied it on your nape. He also sneakily checked you out. Not that you would know.
"Thanks!" You smiled and you finally wore his jacket, smelling the faint of his cologne. He really smelled nice and wearing it makes you feel butterflies.
He also smiled at you and took Kyle's jacket from and escorted you to the cafeteria. The moment was rare, as you always pick on Stan and ran away from him. The feeling was surreal like something was going on between the two of you, but little did you know that the feeling was mutual.
As you reached the guys' table, the three of them greeted you as you sat across each other. The boys exchanged knowing looks while you were preparing to sit. You were seated next to Cartman and Stan was sitting next to Kyle. Stan handed Kyle his green jacket. "Did I smell bad?" Kyle asked kind of anxious. "No, you didn't." You gave him a reassuring smile.
"Looks like someone was jealous." Kenny chuckled while sipping on his juice. Kyle only nudged him.
Stan cleared his throat and proceeded to eat his lunch while the guys talk about different things as usual. You remained quiet and answered when asked until you remembered something.
"So... where you sick earlier?"
The guys stopped talking and looked at Stan, waiting for his answer. Stan only hummed and continued eating. This made you confused, then why were they making fun of him if he was sick?
"Then, why did Cartman associated it with being turned on?"
Kenny smirked at this while Kyle only minded his business. Eating. The redhead doesn't want to interfere since his best friend prevented him earlier. The table only went silent which made you feel horrible as it may be something that's personal and private.
"I-I'm sorry, I was just--"
"Jesus Fucking Christ! It's because he likes you, goddamnit!" Cartman screamed, itching to spill the beans. He's annoyed at the romcom happening in front of his food. He attracted the attention of the whole cafeteria which earned chuckles and cheers from everybody.
Your face went red and you feel small from the recognition. You looked at Stan who was surprised at the whole scene. This made you feel uneasy as he might object from Cartman's declaration.
"Is it true?" You asked, heart pounding and ringing was all you could hear as your eyes were fixed on him. You saw him tense at his seat which made your heart drop. Stan saw you frown from his lack of response which made him panic. He only nodded at you, trying to contain the food he just ate.
"Well, I like you too." You smiled at him, yet on the inside, you're panicking and screaming. Finally letting it out of you system and knowing that he likes you too.
Stan was also blushing as he puts his hands to cover his mouth.
"Don't even think about it, Stan. Not in front of my food or I'll end you. And you, (Y/n), we didn't invite you here for some romcom shit." Cartman threatened as he ate his meal.
#south park#south park x reader#stan marsh#south park reader insert#stan marsh x (y/n)#stan marsh x you#stan marsh x reader#stan x reader#enemies to lovers reader
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From Bully To Boy-Toy (Part 1 of 2)
Pairing: Jimin x Fem Reader
NSFW CONTENT: 18+ ONLY
Summary: When the campus bully makes you his target, you happen to stumble upon the submissive secret he’s been keeping.
Part 2
Warnings: secretly submissive Jimin, bully Jimin, mild physical violence leading to a bruise, condescending asshole Jimin, light face slapping, slight voyeur, pillow riding with sensory deprivation, leash mention
____
You pack up your things as the professor wraps up the day’s lecture. Lecture ending early isn’t usual, therefore it’s a luxury you intend to enjoy. As you make your way to treat yourself to the little bakery outside of campus, a stretched-out arm blocks your path. The man attached to the arm is someone you recognize all too well. Park Jimin, the feared and infamous.
Jimin has it all: good looks, good family background, and good grades (obtained deceivingly but good on a transcript nonetheless). But despite that, no one in the university will approach him with a ten-foot pole. Sure, he has his groupies who hang onto every word, but the general population is quick to scatter when he’s in the room. The reason is simple: because Park Jimin can get away with anything as long as his family’s fat wallet and immense political influence is on the table. Whether it’s damaging a professor’s car because of a grade he doesn’t like, making lowerclassmen run errands while humiliating them, or pummeling a guy to the ground unprompted during soccer practice, Jimin gets off clean every time.
So, when the notorious man himself has his eyes locked on you, saying that alarm bells are blaring would be an understatement.
“What’s your name?”
“Y-y/n” you choke out. Your sure he can hear your heartbeat—maybe even smell the fear on you like a true predator.
“Well y/n, I have good news for you.”
Even the sound of your name coming out of his mouth is chills-inducing. You desperately wish for a way out of this interaction, but the Gods are not favoring you it seems.
“Well,” he quirks up a brow, “aren’t you gonna ask what it is?”
His voice drips in condescension, and successfully makes you feel dumb for just standing there speechless.
“What is it?” Your tone is meek and hushed, but it’s stable at least.
“Since you managed to get the top score on the last paper we had to write, you get the privilege of writing one for me as well this time!”
He clasps his hands together in celebration, smiling in a way that makes your insides churn with discomfort.
It takes a second for you to register his reque—demand. He wants you to write both yours and his research paper?! There’s no way you can manage that: the deadline is in three weeks and the last one took you the entire time to research and write. Not to mention how a physics lab report and statistics exam are oh-so-inconveniently lined-up for you in these upcoming weeks as well. And your internship. And the baby shower you’re in charge of planning. And, hell, you’re damn period.
“I can’t.”
Oh shit.
You didn’t mean to vocalize that.
The brown-eyed boy narrows his orbs at you, face doused in annoyance. In one swift motion he has you pinned against a vending machine, one hand on your chin exerting enough force to make your feet hover off the ground.
“I didn’t ask if you could y/n. You will. Yours doesn’t have to get done, but mine better be.”
He lets go abruptly, looking bored as you fall to his feet—holding onto your bruised jaw in pain.
The long legs in front of you bend down, making the man level with you. His right arm reaches out to give your face a few light slaps—intended more to mock than hurt.
“Sorry! I’m sorry. I-I’ll get it done.”
He grins wide at your compliance. I love when they’re easy to break, his inner voice muses.
___
Four days pass since that dreadful encounter: four days and sixteen cups of coffee, to be exact. You’ve managed to get a total of a four and a half of sleep in the span of these days, and you’re face does no attempt at hiding it. Not that you’ve had time to look in a mirror, but you’re positive your eye-bags have their own eye-bags right now.
You dive to your cup for another hit of caffeine in between typing, but a hand on the cup stops you. It’s Chae Won, your best friend.
“I’m going to have to cut you off, ma’am.”
“Chae, let go before I cut you.”
Your tone is threatening, and it would’ve worked on anyone but her.
Your best-friend simply snatches the cup away and tosses it in the nearest trash bin, shrugging on her way back like she didn’t just throw away your only life-support at the moment.
You groan in response, too drained to fight over it.
“What’s your deal y/n? Isn’t your whole thing like getting shit done as efficiently as possible? Why do you look so out of it?”
“Because,” you huff out, missing your espresso double shot already, “I did have shit planned, but then Park Jimin fucking ruined everything.”
She listens intently as you take her through the events by the vending machine. You can see the visible anger in her face after you finish.
“Why the hell am I hearing about this just now? I’m going to go teach that fuckwit a thing or tw—”
“No! No Chae! This is why I didn’t go straight to you. I know you mean well but this is Park Jimin we’re talking about. Anything you do will just make you a target while making things even worse for me! Please.”
Her angry features warp into a sadder, more pitying emotion. She knows your right.
“What if I write it instead?”
You’re heart swells at the kind offer. Your best friend has always been true to the ride or die philosophy.
“That means a lot, but it has to be me. He chose me because I got the highest score last time, so he’s expecting the highest for himself. And I’d rather not turn my own in at all than cheat and have you write it.”
“Wow, a moral code. Maybe teach Jimin a thing or two about that.”
Her taunt at the man brings a smile to your face, but it’s short-lived as you go back to writing his essay.
___
You knock on the apartment door for the third time.
He said he’d be home.
Even to the very end, he’s making things as frustrating as possible.
You hold onto the precious assignment you’ve been slaving away on for the past sixteen days—some of your best work, and your name is nowhere on it. You’d already emailed him the paper, but Professor Cho likes a printed version as well. Jimin had texted you yesterday that he couldn’t be bothered to print it, so that duty fell on you as well. But you’ve been knocking for the past ten minutes and it’s fruitless.
Frustratingly, you reach for the door handle, thinking he might notice it jiggling on the other side or something. What you’re not expecting, however, is for the door to be unlocked.
Under normal circumstances, you’d have enough manners not to barge into someone’s house without their knowledge, but you’re desperate. If you don’t get this assignment off your hands right now then you’ll have to see Jimin for it another time, and that’s the last thing you want. If you just slide in and out quickly however, you can leave the papers on his table and not have to face him at all.
So, you turn the handle all the way.
Inside is a typical living room, nothing too crazy, not that you knew what to expect. But the sounds are what catch you off-guard: soft whimpers and choked sobs coming from the direction of one of the rooms. You place the papers on the nearest table, but the initial plan takes a pause as you make your way to the slightly ajar door, worried that someone might be in pain.
Suffice to say, what you see instead has you infinitely more shocked.
The Park Jimin, the most feared man on campus, is rutting against his pillow for release. Not just that, but with a blindfold and headphones in. You know you should get out of there, but it feels as if you’re feet are glued to the ground. The laptop on the side of the bed has a video of a woman guiding a man on a leash, the audio being fed straight to the man through air pods. The breathy moans escaping his lips almost put you in a trance, before his lewd hip thrusts remind you how this is not something for your eyes. You hold your breath and pull the door back to the amount of open it was before. Unfortunately, the creaking of the door is timed all too well with the quietest part of the video, causing Jimin to take his blindfold off in a frenzy.
You freeze. He caught you.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with wide eyes and panic etched into every feature.
____
A/N: If you liked this, please let me know! I hope everyone who read this has a great day!
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The Gator Boys & The Moon Witch Ch4~
Slivers of the misty moonlight slipped in through the cabin window, scattering glowing fractals of light across the kitchen. Tonight had been…wild, to say the least. It was touch and go for awhile, but Timmy did surprisingly well under the pressure, and the two even managed to get Bodie (The man’s name, as she had figured out) back to his own bed where he was now sound asleep.
The younger gator on the other hand, did no such thing. Since Bodie had been stable, Timothy busied himself with any task he could find, no matter how trivial. Only now, had he found himself with literally nothing more to do than sit and wait. Esther placed her broom basket, (containing one sleeping Bella) in the corner of the room, glancing over at Timmy. The boy sat on a worn down old sofa, dark bags circling his sleep deprived eyes. The boy looked… well just terrible to be quite honest. But aside from the physical exhaustion it seemed that being left alone with nothing but his thoughts was eating at him.
Esther took the liberty of sitting down next to the fatigued youngster. “You were really brave, y'know.” She commented, “even if your plan wasn’t exactly-” she trailed off as stifled hiccups escaped the young man. He had been bottling up for what felt like forever, and now he had nothing to distract him. He drew his hands up to his face in a vain attempt to dam the river of emotion. A gentle touch guided them away. Timothy gazed up at the woman, watery, amber pools of remorse met deep, mahogany eyes. “Is my- is he?” He faltered, “is he gonna be okay?” The woman paused, studying the boy’s downcast expression. “He ain’t out of the woods yet, but the worst has passed.” She reassured, “We caught it in the nick of time too.” The halfblood seemed to calm somewhat at the women’s words. “He’s lucky to have you ya’know.” She commented, giving the boy a nudge with her shoulder. Despite her efforts this only seemed to worsen Timmy’s mood. His leathery tale wrapped around his legs, (which where now in the fetal position.) “No, um he-he’s really not.” He hiccuped, finally succumbing to the flood of emotion that he had been holding back for some time now.
Quiet, shivering sobs escaped the halfblood, as he cupped his face, ashamed. Esther placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder as he wept. Careful not to overwhelm him, she let the gator cry it out. Cry away all that poison that had been hurting him, all the guilt weighing him down. After what felt like hours Timothy was finally able to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry sweet pea,” she cooed, “I can only imagine you’ve got about a dozen bees in your bonnet right now…but you’ve got to understand this isn’t your fault-” “But it is!” The boy shot back, swatting the woman’s hand away, “He’s got shot because of me! Because I was being stupid! If I had just been more careful then maybe…” Timothy withdrew a little, Bodie would have tanned his hyde for snapping so rudely at anyone, let alone someone who had been so kind. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- you've been so kind! And I just…” he faltered, observing Esther’s expression, “You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry.”
The woman watched Timmy’s expression fall once more. “I was out fishin on the far side a’the swamp… didn’t tell Bodie where I was going, an when he came lookin for me, we were ambushed…'' he explained tearfully. Esther listened, she understood the feeling. “Exactly, ambushed.” She reaffirmed, “Listen we’re both plum wore out. Why don’t you get some sleep and we can sort this out in the morning?” “But what about-” “Dont worry I’ll watch over him.” Esther interjected. The boy nodded, still unconvinced but to tired to protest. Curling up on the couch the young man quickly nodded off. Esther withdrew a soft cotton blanket from her bag, placing it over the sleeping halfblood. “One more thing…” she mumbled. Squatting down to the broom basket, the witch gingerly scooped up the sleeping Bella, before placing her at Timmy’s side. The sleepy pup looked up at her mom, glassy black eyes protesting the move. “I’m sorry baby.” She whispered, “but he needs you right now.” The little fluff ball gave a begrudging huff before settling down at the boys side. Although neither Esther nor Timmy took notice of it, a small smile crossed the boy's face as he snuggled just a bit closer to Bella.
#gator boys#🐊🌙✨#Timmy#obsidian lantern#angst#Timmy angst#asmr roleplay#hurt/comfort#the gator boys and the moon witch#gator boys belongs to obsidian lantern#mage bunkshelf#siren son asmr#capitalmaudios#fanfiction#my fanfiction
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