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mayaflowerxs · 1 year

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BABY MAKING

Synopsis: What was meant to be a quick shopping trip to Target ends in you and your husband trying for a second baby.

Warning: Fluff / Humorish / Smut. Swear word usage, Est. Couple, Father!Jaehyun, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, and more!

A/N: Here’s a little something while I finish the requests sorry it’s taking a while, anyways enjoy! :)

Pairing: Jaehyun x fem reader

Your parents had insisted on looking over your daughter which you didn’t hesitate to agree. You had to admit, you love your daughter a blessing really but it’s gotten a point in your life where you just need that fresh breath of air. Even if it means your time be spent running errands. Much like you, your husband was on the same page. Endless nights from both work and parenting takes a toll on a person. The eye bags on both yours and his face have gotten visibly deeper along with the noticeable fatigue. And as you drop off your daughter with one last kiss to her adorable little head, the two of you were off.

Target. The store where there’s practically everything one could possibly need. You enter wearing baggy sweats and lose t-shirt. Hair in a messy bun as you start looking over your grocery list, for the lack of time the list has gotten rather long. Jaehyun by your side as he took the responsibility in maneuvering the cart. “Eggs, Milk, Diapers, Paper Towels…” as the two of you go aisle by aisle you felt yourself at ease for the time being. For a while it seemed like it was only you two. Just how it was only a year ago. It still feels odd to think you’re a mother now. Staring down at your hand and seeing the pearly white Diamond glimmering on your ring finger, shifting your eyes and seeing Jaehyun’s as well. Feeling his elbow nudge you, you look up at him. A soft smile on his face as he tilts his head at you. “You okay? You kinda spaced out on me.” Chuckling lightly you nod, “I’m good. You got the formula?” “Right here. Oh look they have my socks I wear.” Letting him walk off to inspect the aisle of socks, you check off the formula on your list. Waiting for your husband to choose a pair of socks took quite a while, too long you might say. And just before you’re about ready to hurry him up you hear the cry of a baby behind you.

Turning and seeing a mother had been strolling by, picking up her son as she consoles him. You can’t help but smile at the scene, until you stopped. With wide eyes, you turn to face your husband. “Jae gimme your hoodie.” Not turning to face you he responds, “Baby didn’t I say to bring a sweater? I told you it was gonna be cold.” He snorts wincing when you leave a rather hard smack on his bicep. Looking back, his eyes widen when he sees you clenching your chest. “Are you…?” “Yes Jae, I’m lactating!” The sound of a baby’s cry has left a wet patch on your through your shirt.

Yay on motherhood.

Quick to take his hoodie off, he covers you from any passerby’s. “Can’t believe this is happening.” Hearing Jaehyun chuckle, you send him a glare as you are left uncomfortably soaked. “Lets just get the rest of the groceries and get out of here.” You tell him annoyedly, and without another word he grabs his socks and quickly puts it in the cart.

With every passing second spent in Target was just another second your poor breasts were being filled with milk. And as the thought came in, the realization settled. “God I forgot the breast pump is broken.” You say, “It’s alright we can go grab another it’ll be the last thing before checking out.” Nodding the two of you make your way out. About to enter the aisle you’re forcibly knocked into another person walking out in a hurry. Clutching your chest in pain by the sudden pressure. “Excuse you!” Jaehyun shouts when he sees the woman simply walk by without even acknowledging your presence. Rolling his eyes at her, his irritated expression changes immediately of one of worry. “You okay baby?” Out of words to say from the pain you simply nod and wave him off. Instead you merely point at the breast pump. “Right.” Grabbing it and putting it in the cart, he wraps an arm around your waist and helps you move. By the time the two of you made it outside, you didn’t wait for Jaehyun and instead grabbed the box with the pump and ran straight to the passengers seat.

A grin on his face as he watched you, wearing slides and holding your chest as you struggled to open the door, looking up at him and seeing he had the keys held up for you to see. “Open it!” He hears you yell in which he snorts and does so. By the time he’s done filling the trunk with the grocery bags, he gets in and sees you almost filling a bottle full of breast milk. “Did not think it’d get swollen so quickly.” You moan in pain as you try to massage the tender breast. Sending you a sympathetic smile he leans in and kisses you. “Love you.” He mumbles on your lips. “Yeah yeah-“ You say trying to not put much attention to the obvious heat your face was getting from his words. Years later and still he had you a blushing mess. Hearing him laugh, he leans further and presses a kiss on your boob. Buckling in, he turns on the ignition and looks over at you. “Want Starbucks? Heard it’s okay to have a bit of caffeine while breast feeding…I can even get you a cake pop.” Looking at him, you contemplate it for a bit before nodding. Smiling, he rests a hand on your thigh and gives it a soft squeeze before backing out of the parking lot.

By the time you’re in the drive thru and waiting in the long line of cars, Jaehyun can’t help but revert his eyes over at you. The pumping is rather loud and after a while it’s gotten annoying with his hoodie constantly in the way so you pushed it up and now have your entire chest out in the open. Thank god for the tinted windows you managed to convince him to get. Swallowing as he bounces his leg quicker than ever. “Geez what’s gotten you so fidgety?” You joke at him, completely oblivious to the effect you have on him. Missing the hard gulp he takes, he doesn’t have time to respond to you before he’s having to drive forward and roll his window down. The man about to read him his bill, gets his words caught in his throat when he noticed you. Jaehyun whips his head around and grabs his hoodie and tugs it down. A whine escapes you as it caused the bottle to tip and have some of the milk spill.

“Jae-“ Face palming when you see the poor boy’s face red and hot you look down. Resting a hand on the arm rest covering your view of him. “Sorry about that.” Jaehyun can merely say before handing him his card. Clearing his throat awkwardly, the cashier mutters out a low, ‘it’s okay’ before swiping the card.

“You could have at least warned me.” You tell him the second the window is up and getting out of the drive thru. “I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking how could I?” “What, are you saying my breasts are too distracting?” You ask him as you take a bite out of your cake pop. He goes to respond but is cut off when you groan in pain again. “God I don’t understand how my girls can work so fast. I’m already full again!” Hearing the sound of the pump again, Jaehyun takes a quick glance over and seeing your breasts were out in the open again. Feeling the familiar tightness in his pants he shifts in his seat uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “Babe I know it’s something out of your control but-“ he barely manages to get out as his hand grips on the steering wheel, his other on your thigh riding higher up your leg.

“Oh my god are you seriously turned on right now?” You say surprisingly. “Can you blame me? You know I’m a titties man.” Slapping his chest, he smirks and glances over at you briefly. “Gosh when aren’t you horny?” “Hey I didn’t see you complaining the night our daughter was conceived.” Mouth slightly parted you squint your eyes at him. “My period was close to kicking in, my hormones were running high.” “Yeah,” he scoffs. “Hormones alright let’s blame it on that.” He finishes while trailing higher until they rest on top of your clothed cunt. Gasping, you grip his wrist. “Still sensitive as always, shall I blame that on the hormones as well?”

Smirking when he sees you spread your legs he begins to rub circles. A small moan falls off your lips, “Of course I’m sensitive, I did just shit out a baby a few months ago.” “Birthed babe, you birthed our daughter.”

“Yeah well when you’re in a state of pure agony you no longer give a shit if you were constipated or giving birth either way, you’re being ripped apart regardless.”

Lifting your hand, he takes it up to his lips and presses a kiss. “And I’m so proud of you for that. I don’t say it enough but you really are so strong and admirable, I could never and it’s why I love you so much.” Sending him a soft smile, you pick up your drink and take a sip of it. For a while it was silent the car ride home, and it isn’t until you’re only a block away does he speak up.

“I’m still horny by the way.”

The groceries go ignored the second Jaehyun parks in the drive way. Carrying you inside the empty house his focus is on you. Sliding his tongue in your mouth as you run your hands through his hair. Setting you on to the closest furniture, the couch. He begins to take off his shirt. Tossing it aside as he leans back in to attach his lips with yours. Large hands roaming up your stomach, lifting your shirt to trace the beautiful stretch marks he’s fallen in love with. A memory of when you were pregnant with his daughter. Finding his way to your breasts where you let out a loud moan the second he punches your nipples. Trailing gentle kisses on them and feeling himself get harder when he notices a small streak of your milk fall down your chest. The tightness in his jeans is painful, and his grunts are heard throughout the house the second your hand is placed on top of his bulge.

“Please baby.” “What is it my love?” He curls a finger underneath your chin and tilts his head. “Mhm?” “Let me make you feel good.” Pupils dark and dilated, he finds no reason to object. Standing up and unbuckling his belt, he hissed when the cool air hits his hard cock. Soft hands fisting him as you kitten lick him. Too slow for his taste, and so he grabs your chin and gets you to open. Grabbing his dick and propping it in your mouth. “Good girl.” He groans when he feels your tongue salivate him. Taking him deeper and quickening your pace. Bobbing your head as you gag every now and then. Music to his hears, enamored with your beautiful eyes that look up at him for approval. “Taking me so well, keep sucking pretty girl.” Fisting your hair in his hold his breathing becomes uneven the sloppier you suck him. Pulling away and a long stripe of your saliva connecting you to him. He’s red and veiny and it only makes you want to keep sucking him more. Until he’s completely empty. Jaehyun was right, hormones wasn’t the reason why you yearned for him so much. You being on your period wasn’t why you got pregnant. You got pregnant because you want him, everyday. A man so appealing like him is impossible to not be attracted.

The man standing before you yearns for you just as much. Seeing you on your knees taking his big cock is enough to fuck you with his babies any time of the day. With how sex craved the two of you are, he’s surprised it took you guys this long to finally get pregnant. The slurps and gargles are heard bouncing off the walls, grunts and groans coming from your husband add on to it. His abs are clenched when he feels the familiar feeling beginning to form. Throwing his head back, he starts fucking your throat. With need and desperation he’s trying to find his climax. “Shit!” He can’t help but swear when you suck in your cheeks. The tightness around his dick, your warm mouth and talented tongue is enough to throw him over the edge. He feels himself explode in your mouth, shooting it all down your throat. Shivers coursing throughout his skin when he feels you hum on his dick. Watching you swallow every single drop. A small twinkle in your eyes as a bit of his cum falls from the crevice of your mouth. Leaning in to kiss you, he tastes the saltiness of himself. “Not done with you yet.” He murmurs on top of your lips.

He was right. For the time your parents had your daughter, Jaehyun took it as an opportunity to get back some husband and wife bonding time. He missed your touch, and even though the cuddling and make outs are just as good he still craved you. Seeing you pumping milk did things to him and even though it pained him to see you in labor tired and in pain it only made him want to love you a thousand times more. Your round belly and the after glow of postpartum birth, he feels like a dog thinking this way but he can’t help but want to fuck another baby in you. So soon but he wants to, needs to.

The two of you always spoke of how many kids you’d want and even though Jaehyun was the one who wanted a big family in comparison to you, the two of you agreed you at least wanted the kids to be close in age. Which is why he has no problem getting you nice and spread on the kitchen counter. Not caring you were in the middle of putting away the milk you had just pumped, and instead focuses on making you come over and over again with his tongue. Get you nice and soak so you’re ready to take him for countless rounds it takes to get you nice and stuffed. “Jae!” You hiccup, he doesn’t remove his mouth. He doesn’t even flinch, instead he buries his face further into your pussy. Eating you like a starved man and grunting each time your nails tugged a little too hard on his hair. “Baby it’s too much!” You throw your head back on the table. Completely naked for him just the way he likes it, hickies left all over your skin trailing them down to your sensitive pussy where your legs are trying their hardest not to close. Your husband’s large hands keeping them spread as he spits on your clit before diving right back in.

Your breath hitches as you shake in his hold. Another orgasm is ripped out of you, tears falling down your face. Jaehyun can feel you throbbing on his tongue, your sweet juices hitting his tastebuds. Finally, he pulls away. A shimmer around his mouth as he pulls you closer to the edge of the table. Leaning in to press a firm kiss on your lips, muffling the loud moan of yours when he forced himself inside you. No matter how much scissoring and tongue fucking he’s done you simply refuse to get used to his size. Your husband’s too big and it’s what drives you into subspace. He knows that, which is why he fucks you for hours if he really wanted to. Until he sees your pretty tears and face lost in pure bliss does he let up. Your husband has insane stamina, he can go for so long without ever climaxing. That’s unless you blow him, then he turns putty for you.

“So big!” You gasp out, eyes shut but Jaehyun doesn’t like that. No, you can’t lose yourself right now. He needs your eyes on him, to see how beautifully connected you two are. How well you take him, tapping your cheek he presses a soft kiss on your cheekbone. “Open those pretty eyes for me mama.” Mewling, he doesn’t give you time to disobey him. Lightly slapping the side of your face to get you to look at him and when you do he can’t help but grin. You looked ethereal in your current position, seeing you shining in sweat, chest covered in his love marks and lips swollen he can practically go feral for you. So he does. Gripping your legs and hovering them over your hips he begins to ram into you. The claps much louder along with your moans. Breath hitching each time he hits your gspot, your hands quick to grab onto his forearm digging your nails into his skin. Giving him space to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. His favorite place to stuff his face in second to stuffing it in your sopping pussy.

You feel his hot tongue running up your neck, shivering at the sensation especially when your husband doesn’t show signs in slowing down. Your walls gripping him tightly the harder he pounds into you. It felt good, so good your eyes began to tear up. Squelches were heard as your stomach kept clenching. When he pulls away, his hair is in the way. His eyes slightly covered, looking down he lets out a loud grunt upon seeing the prominent bump near your lower abdomen. “Where you feel me?” He huskily asks. “So deep!” Grabbing your hand, he leads it down to your stomach and has it lying on top of the print of his tip. “Feel me here baby?” “Yes!” Throwing your head back when he stops his movement to focus on thrusting further. “How about now?”

You couldn’t answer, you felt full and pure bliss. And as much as you’d like to indulge in the pleasure, your husband has a need for you to remind him how good he makes you feel. “Answer me.” “God I feel you in my stomach Jae!” It’s all he wanted to hear to get back to fucking you. Plunging in and out, quick motions before he pulls out and turns you around. Despite the insane amount lust he has, he takes the time to grab a pillow and rest it under your hip. Gentle to pull your hair away from your face and use it as leverage when he goes back to ramming inside you.

“I’m so close!” He’s gone silent, and you know once he is it means he too is close. And as the two of you are hitting your climax, you’ll soon come to find out this won’t be the last of it today.

Your parents are meant to drop your daughter off soon, in an hour precisely when the clock strikes 9 but Jaehyun wasn’t worried. He’s taken the initiative to have sex with you on all the surface inside the house. He can’t quite explain where this sudden horniness came from, maybe the breast pumping truly was a turn on for him and he just now acted upon it. It only took about half up to an hour before Jaehyun attached himself back on you. Wrapping his arms, pressing heated kisses to the nape of your neck, rubbing his groin up against your ass before he bends you over whatever surface nearest to you. By the time night came, your and his hair looked completely disheveled along with bruised lips. Necks covered in dark colors and both reeking of sex.

Couch, bed, kitchen counter, wall, door it was endless and he was sure he had gotten you pregnant by now. You guys went at it like a bunch of bunnies no way he didn’t knock you up. And as he lied on the bed watching you get ready to shower, the thought of you wet and naked had him getting hard again. Not even uttering a single word before he follows you in. “Excuse me?” Not responding, he closes the door and begins to take off his shirt. Revealing his toned chest to be covered in scratch marks, fainted lipstick and hickies. “One more won’t hurt right?” He raises a brow and smiles mischievously. “Are you trying to impregnate me with twins or something?” Shrugging, he picks you up and settles you on the counter. Pressing his lips on top of yours, he helps take off your oversized tee. “Would it be so bad?”

Giggling, you open your legs to let him fit right between them. Seeing his eyes darken as he leans in to start fondling with your breasts. Gasping when you feel yourself starting to lactate. “Jae!” Holding you still he continues to suck. Your tits were sensitive, you couldn’t hold still but this never faltered the man in front of you. Instead he grew determined and as he tastes your sweet milk he knew, there was absolutely no way he could wait who knows how many days before he can have you to himself again. Play with you as much as his heart desires. So, with reluctance he pulls away. Watching a few drops fall on your stomach. Leaning in to lick it up, you feel yourself begin to get excessively wet again. Playing with his soft hair, your intrusive thoughts wanting you to simply push his head a bit further to where you most need him.

“Be right back, need to make a call. Get in while I do that.” He says hurriedly. Curling a finger around your chin, he pulls you in for another wet sloppy kiss before walking out the bathroom. With a huff, you do as told and get into the shower. And while the bathroom steamed up, waiting impatiently for your husband to return and fuck you. Jaehyun quickly picked up his phone and dialed the familiar phone number. One ring, two rings and on the third they picked up.

“Afternoon Mrs. Y/l/n, so sorry to bother but something came up and I don’t think we’ll be home tonight. You wouldn’t mind if she stayed with you for the night right?”

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katiexpunk · 5 months

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okay i’m feeling a little delulu and playing pool with the boys right now. ideas are rolling and i want a fic where joel fucks reader on a pool table (breeding kink maybe?!?) you’re the best

Run the Table | Pairing Joel and Tommy Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary: You're home for Christmas, only to find yourself there for the New Year. You decide to blow off some steam, only to end up at Joel's Place, your old local watering hole. Bits of your past get dredged up, and before you know it, Joel and Tommy have you bent over a pool table. Word Count: ~6K Warnings: Dubcon from the perspective that the reader is a little drunk, but she's definitely a willing participant. Family feuds. Alcohol. Age gap implied but not referenced explicitly. Flirting and bantering. Threesome with the Miller Bros. Betting. Pool. Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Praise. Use of daddy. Fucking on pool table. Pool. Suggestive use of a cue stick. Dom undertones from Joel. Hard core breeding kink. References to pregnancy. Cum kink. Cum swallowing. Praise kink. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Use of pet names. Tommy and Joel are suave in this, but reader gives them a run for their money. Use of slut. No descriptions of reader, except that she has boobs and hair. Minimally edited. Filth, filth, filth. Authors Note: Thank you so much for the ask, Abby @javipispunk/@barzalmatty! This was such a treat to write. You naughty girl, I hope this inspires you, or at the very least, makes you O. Thanks for submitting this ask in babe, ily. This will be my last fic of 2023. Thank you all so much for your continued support.

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The living room, which was all holiday cozy a few days ago, now feels like a battleground in the weird liminal space between Christmas and the New Year. You can’t remember the last time you spent more than three consecutive days with your family, and now you remember why.

The family drama has hit an all-time high, with arguments about the dumbest stuff echoing through the house – your mother yelling that someone put her Pyrex in the wrong cabinet, your father yelling at your brother for adjusting the settings on the remote. Hell, even the dog is over it; spending most of the day lounging in front of the LED fireplace that your mother picked up at Costco last winter. You never really understood that one, given your living room has an actual functioning fireplace.

Of course, you all love each other, it’s just that the festive candle is now nearly snuffed out; not to be lit again until Thanksgiving. Or if your mother had it her way, Easter, but you haven’t cared much for Easter since that one year that your cousin Ron ate way too many hard-boiled eggs and couldn’t stop farting all night. Never again, you swore to yourself then, and still swear to yourself now.

You come back to your hometown maybe once a year, twice if someone dies. You haven’t lived here in years, and yet the streets bear the weight of nostalgia, each corner holding echoes of memories that time has both polished and weathered. The town is a paradox, frozen in a bittersweet dance between familiarity and change.

You’re cozied up under a blanket on the couch, a glass of red swirling in one hand, the Eve Babitz novel your roommate gifted to you in the other. Try as you might, you just can’t seem to relax; the words on the page are blending into a snarled blob of ink. The tension is too much; the heavy air in the house makes it difficult to concentrate. Fuck this.

You throw on your coat and slip out of the house. I’m going out, be back later, you call out but you don’t wait for your words to be acknowledged before the front door slams shut, not that anyone was listening in the first place.

You pause on your front stoop in the cool night air and take a deep inhale, tilting your head up to the sky, the moonlight coating your face like a veil. The winter air that fills your lungs makes you feel alive, and it’s then that you realize how close you were to suffocating mere moments ago.

You stand under the stars and consider your options before eventually landing on the best of them. Your old watering hole from college; the one with the heavy pours and the best pool tables in the town – Joel’s Place.

The snow crunches under your feet as you make your way there. In the silence, it’s easy to let your let your mind wander. You haven’t been back in years, and yet, your mind still drifts to thoughts of dimples and salt-and-pepper curls. You wonder if he’ll remember you – not likely, you think.

Your stomach flutters at the thought anyway.

++++

The door to Joel’s Place creaks open, releasing a gust of frigid winter air that clings to your coat. Note to self, bring a scarf next time. The warmth inside is a welcome contrast, and the familiar scent of the aged wood and whiskey acts like a time machine and transports you back in time to your early 20s. It’s just the same; the mahogany bar, stools with cracked leather seats, and vintage beer signs adorning the walls.

While aspects of the town may have changed, you’re pleased to find that Joel’s Place has not.

As the door swings shut behind you, you find yourself in a familiar dimly lit space, except – it’s not – it’s quiet. A little too quiet. The pool tables in the distance stand untouched, their felt surfaces waiting for the familiar crack of balls colliding. The hanging lights above them cast a warm, dim glow, illuminating the emptiness that seems to linger. It starkly contrasts the energy you were surrounded by earlier in the night.

The place is empty, except for one customer at the bar. The bartender – Joel, you hope – is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene before deciding to sit an appropriate two stools away from the man, not wanting to be awkward. You don’t think he would mind, not really, but you suppose the rule in a situation like this is similar to public transport etiquette. If there’s more than one open seat, you never sit directly next to anyone.

“Excuse me, sir – is this seat taken?” You ask, a hint of sweetness and formality behind your voice. You know it’s not, but the manners that were hammered into you from your tidy upbringing are hard to shake.

The man looks at you, the neck of the beer he’s nursing parting from his lips as he does. Now that you have a full look at him, he’s quite gorgeous. Olive sunkissed skin, dark curls, deep brown eyes that all but scream trouble.

“All yours, sugar,” he responds. And oh, he’s southern to boot, with a hint of a twang behind his inflection.

You slip your puffy coat off your shoulders, revealing your ensemble for the night; a simple pair of jeans and a tight long-sleeve cashmere sweater that cups the curve of your breasts and lifts them just right, a lovely slit down the middle that exposes just enough. You hook your coat under the bar and pull out the stool, its metal legs scratching against the floor as you do.

“So, the producers didn’t have enough to pay for some extras for this show, or what?” you joke, a slight smirk on your face as you settle yourself onto the stool.

“‘Spose not,” he responds, a hint of a smile on his face as he brings the bottle back to his lips, his eyes locking with yours as he does.

“And the uh–bartender, Joel, if I remember correctly,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice, “he here, or is this just a one-man show?”

And wouldn’t that be something, you here all alone with just him.

“Can’t be a one-man show with you here, darlin',” he responds, his dark eyes drinking you down like the beer in his hand. “He’s here, just in the back hooking up a new keg,” he adds.

“Oh,” you respond, your voice a smidge too high – like you’re some fucking school girl about to see her crush in 3rd period. “Good, that’s good. Can’t have all of our friends here go thirsty,” you retort, making a vague gesture with your palm to the empty space in the bar in an attempt to recover yourself from your very obvious interest in the bartender being here. So stupid.

“Can’t have that, they’re a rowdy bunch” he responds with a wink and you flash him a warm smile. “You’re funny, I like you,” he adds, “name’s Tommy, by the way, and you are?”

You give him yours with an extension of your hand. His swallows yours, but he’s gentle and discerning with the shake he gives it. He holds you there, just looking, and you feel a warmth creep up to your face. With your hands still interlocked, a broad figure pushes through the door from the kitchen with a resounding thud.

You turn to face him, and his amber eyes immediately find yours. Your breath hitches in your throat, your pulse quickens, and you’re now acutely aware of the fact that you’re still linked with Tommy.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Either ‘m getting old and my eyes are deceiving me, or it’s little Miss Shark sitting at my bar, chatting up my brother,” Joel lets out, his voice low and even. The corners of his mouth lift and you think he might smile, but his face goes just as unreadable as always as he grabs for a bottle behind the bar. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you around here, sweetheart. Good thing, too. You ran out some of my best-paying customers."

You don’t dwell on the comment, your mind is too absorbed, drunk off the fact that he remembers you. It’s been years, but you swear he hasn’t aged a day. You can’t help but eye fuck him as he slides a glass in front of you, and pours you a finger of whiskey. Not only does he remember you, but he remembers your go-to drink, as well.

As you lift the edge of the glass to your lips, you see Tommy shift his gaze from Joel and back to you, his face twisted in an expression of disbelief.

“Wait, little Miss Shark,” he begins, tipping the bottle in his hands in your direction as if to point at you, “Yo–you’re the one who ran the tables here for years? Shit, darlin’,” he says, dropping his gaze to the bartop for a moment, trying to hide the fact that he’s impressed, before looking back at you under his lashes.

“That so hard to believe?” you respond, your voice coated in the warmth of the alcohol. Your cheeks are hot, but you’re not confident it’s just from the liquor; more than likely it’s a result of Joel’s eyes, heavy like boulders, that haven’t left you since he walked in.

Tommy doesn’t answer you.

“Not my fault they underestimated me,” you retort, nursing down the amber liquid in your glass.

Joel laughs.

You and Tommy both turn to face him.

“Bullshit, sweetheart. You knew exactly what the hell you were doin’,” he adds, nodding his head slightly to you, the bottle hovering in his hand, signaling you for a refill. He pours a glass for him and Tommy this time, too.

You look at him, mouth slightly agape like you’re waiting for him to finish his side of the story. He turns to face Tommy, one hand resting on the edge of the bartop, his knuckles bleaching under his weight. The other grips the glass in front of him.

“This one used to sit at my bar, let men buy her free drinks, and then she’d work pool into the conversation,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “She’d be all, ‘I’ve never played, maybe you could teach me blah, blah’ batting her pretty little eyes until they’d cave. By the end of the night, she’d have them makin’ bets and melting like putty in her hands.”

You try to hide your embarrassment behind your glass. He’s not wrong. You used to do that. You’re not sure if you did it because you were bored, not like there’s much else to do in this shit town anyway, or because you liked the attention, but whatever the reason you have to admit it was fun.

Besides, most of them deserved it anyway. If losing a few hundred dollars was the biggest price they’d have to pay for flirting with a young college girl while their wives sat at home waiting for them to come home and half satisfy them, well then, you were okay with that. Plus it kept your rent paid.

But that was a long time ago; it’s been ages since you’ve even picked up a pool stick. You just hope that the old idiomatic expression, old habits die hard, rings true for you now.

The alcohol that courses through your veins gives you a sense of confidence to be a bit bold. You prop your elbows on the sticky bartop and gaze up at Joel. “You gonna kick me out then, Joel? Punish me for all of my wrong-doings?” you flirt, testing, teasing. You flint your eyes over your shoulder to look back at Tommy, and can’t help the surge of arousal that you feel when you notice his eyes are already on your backside. You look at Joel and see the clench in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, his pupils blown wide open.

“No, ‘m not gonna kick you out, sweetheart,” he says, filling the glasses once more. Between that and the wine from earlier this afternoon, you’re already feeling quite buzzed, and more than a little reckless. You watch him complete the pours before reaching for your glass.

“But you are gonna have to make it up to me somehow,” he adds. Your pulse doubles and there’s a familiar tug at your navel when you think of what he might mean. Before you have time to respond, he adds “Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet this time. You see Tommy here is a bit of a pool shark himself, and well, baby you already know what I am.” Both of them look at you with dark, hungry eyes. “You beat us, you can have whatever you want,” he adds.

Your skin feels hot, and you suddenly wish you opted for something cooler than a sweater. “And if either of you wins?” you ask.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Joel responds, downing the last of his drink, shooting Tommy a knowing look.

It’s a trap, you know it is.

And yet you agree.

++++

Joel rounds out from behind the bar and leads the way. He walks past the front door and locks it before pulling the plug on the neon open sign that hands in the nearby window. As you three approach the pool table, Tommy picks up a cue stick leaning against the nearby wall – he twirls it in his hands and hands it to you. He picks up another and passes it to Joel, before finally grabbing a third for himself.

“Hope you’re not a sore loser, Darlin’,” Tommy says with a wink.

You playfully roll your eyes. “We’ll see,” you cheekily respond, toying with the end of the cue stick and rubbing chalk on the tip end of it, being a little suggestive with your movements. Both Tommy and Joel notice.

You gather around the table, and Joel sets up the balls. “Alright, break time. You’re up first, sweetheart,” Joel says. You lock eyes with Joel for a moment and fuck, this is gonna be rough. He has you so flustered and you haven’t even started.

You refocus your gaze on the triangular arrangement of balls. You steady your feet and bend over the table, smiling a little when you feel both of them look at your ass. With a swift motion, you strike the cue ball, scattering the rest across the table, sinking a solid and a stripe into two adjacent pockets. Not so bad for being a little rusty, you think.

Joel lets out a low whistle and looks at Tommy. “Shit, brother, we might be in trouble here,” he says. You smile at the compliment, and round around the table so you’re directly in front of Tommy. You look at Joel as you bend over the table, lining yourself up to hit the solid ball with a clear path to the pocket in front of it.

Your ass skirts against the front of Tommy’s crotch and his breath hitches in his throat. As you’re about to take your shot, a large palm ghosts over the curve of your hip, and the sensation causes you to miss the shot. Fuck.

“Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart, you a little distracted?” Tommy coos.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

Joel’s up next. His broad frame rounds around the table, and his shoulder brushes against you as he does. He finds his best angle and deftly lines the cue stick up, his biceps straining under the cloth of his shirt at the new position. You walk over to the line of his shot and bend over on the opposite end of the table, your tits spilling out of the slit in your shirt, effectively distracting him. He takes his shot and misses.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

“Ooo, good effort on that one,” you tell Joel, placating him, “better luck next time,” you conclude with a wink. Joel clears his throat and steps back from the table.

Tommy circles the table next, attempting to find an easy shot. “So I’ve been thinking, we should make this game a bit more interesting,” you say. You watch as Tommy bends over and lines up his turn. He pulls the cue stick back, and just as he’s about to knock it against the ball, you finish “For every shot we miss, we have to strip a piece of clothing." The shock of your words causes Tommy to miss his shot.

“Guess that means you’re starting us off,” you tell Tommy. He shoots you a look. His hands find the buckle of his belt and he undoes it, discarding it on a nearby chair.

The three of you play like that until both Joel and Tommy are clad in nothing but their boxers and socks. You, on the other hand, are still mostly clothed, except for your sweater. Your game started rough, but despite their best efforts to distract you, you’re running the table.

With only one ball left on the table, you walk up to where both of them stand side-by-side. You stand there facing both of them, and they allow their eyes to linger on your chest. Tommy is standing with his hands cupped in front of his crotch, in an attempt to hide his growing bulge. Joel, however, is unreadable as ever.

You lock eyes with him as you snake your arms behind your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. You unhook it, your nipples stiffening in response to air. He casts a quick gaze down to your breasts but doesn’t allow them to linger before he looks at you. His jaw is stiff, and he looks at you like you’re something to eat. Keeping your eyes peered into his, you hold the bra out and give it to Tommy. The moment is so charged. So many things being said with no words, all body language discussion.

You take a few steps back before turning around to grab your cue stick that’s resting against the edge of the pool table. You walk over to the other end of the table and line up the final shot of the game. “So I’ve been thinking about what I want as my prize,” you say, bending down far enough that your tits smush against the felt on the table. “And what’s that, sweetheart?” Joel asks. You let out a little hum of satisfaction, dragging the cue stick back. “Want you both to fuck me, right here on this table,” you add, punctuating your statement with your final shot. You watch with bated breath, releasing it when you see the last ball on the table fall into the pocket.

The three of you stand there in silence, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“You heard her, brother,” Tommy says, advancing towards you. “A bet’s a bet.” His hands find your hips from behind, and he pulls your backside against his firm body, dropping his head to nip at your neck. His lips trail up the side of the sensitive skin there and you let out a little purr as his tongue darts out to lick your pulse.

Your lusty gaze watches as Joel closes the gap between your bodies, and he pauses inches from you. He lifts his palm and uses the backside of it, trailing his knuckles down your cheek, over the soft swell of your chest, until his hand opens up and cups your breast.

It’s all dizzying touch, your vision already a little fuzzy from your buzz, and with Joel’s hand on your body in addition to Tommy’s mouth, you’re the one who’s putty in their hands this time. Joel brings your nipple to a stiff peak using his thumb and forefinger, before he lifts them back up to your face. He hooks two fingers under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Joel says, voice low. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“I know. Now what are you going to do about it?” you taunt.

Tommy stops his affections on your neck and looks up to lock eyes with Joel. He gives a knowing smirk and Tommy reaches his arms around your body and begins to undo the button on your jeans, the zipper following, before he's pulling them down far enough for you to step out of them.

“Oh, sweetheart. We’re going to fucking ruin you. Right here on this table, just like you asked,” Joel says.

“Think you can handle that, hmm? Want both of your daddy’s to stuff that pretty little cunt of yours until you can’t think straight?” And fuck, he’s filthy. His words go straight to your core and you feel slick pooling in your panties, your pussy just begging to be touched.

Before giving you time to respond, his large hand comes down to cup your sex.

“Shit, baby. All this for us?” Joel asks. Your eyes close when you feel Tommy continue his assault on your neck. You’re pinned between both of their bodies, their hard cocks pressing up against you from both angles. It’s already so intense. The want, the sheer desire you feel for both of them is almost overwhelming.

“Use your words, Darlin’, we wanna hear it,” Tommy rasps against your skin.

“Ye–yes, all for you both, want you so bad,” you respond with a moan. A groan reverberates through Joel’s chest, and he gives Tommy the same knowing look they’ve shared all night.

Tommy steps back and comes to stand by Joel’s side. “You’re gonna have to earn it. On your knees, baby,” Joel commands.

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, wooden floor against your bare calves. You position yourself in front of both of them and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for one of them to give you further instructions, practically worshipping at the altar of the two gorgeous men above you. Joel reaches down and brings his pointer finger to lift your chin to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty like this,” he rasps. As he releases you, they both nod and you take that as permission to release both of them from the confines of their fabric prison.

You start with Tommy, dipping your fingers beneath the band of his boxers. Instinctively, your eyes find Joel’s and you glance at him as if to ask for permission again. He nods once more, and you drag them down to the middle of Tommy’s thighs. The cock that springs free is fucking delectable; a perfect width and a sizable length. The tip is prominent and there’s a thick vein bulging along the side of it. He’s well endowed, and thank fuck for that. Your hands reach up to grasp the base of it, and your tongue darts out to lick the bead of pre-cum that’s welled at the tip. It’s salty and delicious, leaving you wanting more, more, more.

You pull your mouth away from Tommy and replace it with your hand, slowly and firmly stroking the length of him, his skin smooth like butter under your palm. He starts to protest when he realizes what your next move is. You use your free hand to release Joel from his fabric confines and moan at the sight of his cock. Of course, they both would be blessed below the belt. As delicious as Tommy’s cock is, his older brother has a bit of a lead on him.

Truthfully, you’re not surprised in the slightest. Joel’s cock is well above average in length, but the main attraction is the thickness. Just from the looks of it, your fingers probably wouldn’t meet if you wrapped your fingers around him. His girthiness intimidates you, but you don’t scare easily. You were hungry before, but now you’re positively ravenous. You kitten lick Joel’s tip then fully suck on it, eliciting a throaty groan from him. You smile around it, pleased at yourself for being able to affect him like that.

You want to please the pair of dangerously handsome brothers, but you’re aching for praise from Joel.

“Lay back, baby,” Tommy commands, guiding your hips up to rest against the grain of the pool table. And you do, the texture of the felt rubbing against your back in a soft embrace. Both of their hands find your chest with flat palms, and they drag them down over the expanse of your breasts and stomach. They pause, both of them face-to-face with your cunt. ‘Go ‘head brother, all yours,” Joel says to Tommy.

And shit, the hot mouth that greets your wet core is inviting in more ways than one. His lips lock around your waiting clit and you moan in response to the sensation. As Tommy sucks at your center, his tongue making perfect rotations on your clit, you can’t help but let go.

“Shit, that’s so good – need more,” you beg, and Joel can tell the ask you’re making is for him. He slips his middle finger into your pussy, and your wall clenches around him. The pressure that Tommy applies to your clit is so good, you could probably come just from him, but the added drag of Joel’s finger sawing in and out of you reminds you that you want more, need more, need him.

“Joel, yes – fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg. Tommy continues tracing patterns over your clit and Joel adds a second, then a third finger, which you greedily accept. “More!” you beg, and Joel obliges, slipping a fourth finger into you. “Such a tight fucking cunt, not sure how I could fit another, but happy to stretch you out baby, gotta get you ready f'us,” Joel says. Tommy purrs as he laps up your release, and Joel groans, wishing he was the one at your chef’s table, sampling all of your flavors.

With the way both of them work at you, you feel like a helpless fish, caught on their hook. They dropped the bait and you were quick to bite, now having to pay the price for your decision. The both of them reel in their line, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. They drag you to the water line of your orgasm, and you give up any hope of staying below the shoreline.

Your release washes over you like a wake from a boat, an inevitable. You let the waters fall from your shore before you open your eyes and see both of them, their hard cocks staring you in the eyes. Giving you a moment to come up for air, Joel gently strokes your cheek, an act of tenderness amongst the debauchery taking place.

Tommy gives Joel a knowing look and lifts his right leg to help hoist him onto the pool table. With you spread out underneath both of them, he positions himself right above your head. You all but drool at the sight of him stroking his cock from this vantage point, Tommy looking down at you as if he were seeing his reflection in a pond for the first time. His jaw hangs slack as he works himself from base to tip.

Meanwhile, Joel’s hands find your hips and he deftly tugs you down, so your waiting pussy is just barely hanging over the edge of the pool table. He puts your legs over his brawny forearms, bearing the weight of your lower half, and spreads your legs wide, fully exposing your glistening cunt to him.

You’re almost shivering with how badly you want his cock inside you. He grabs the base of it in one hand, the tip of him barely ghosting against your wet and dripping seam. He collects some of your arousal on him, before using his thumb to drag it over the length of his member.

He knows he could fuck you just like this, lord knows you’re wet enough, and he's done his due diligence to stretch you, but he knows he’s a lot to take. He leans his head down and spits, his saliva falls onto the tip of him, partially covering himself and your clit. He taps the mushroom head of his cock on your clit a few times, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your bodies as he pulls it back.

As much as you would love to focus on Tommy’s length in your face, your sole attention is on Joel, who’s about to fill you to the hilt. “Mouth wide open, baby,” Tommy begs above you, calling you back to his attention. You feign your hardest to listen. You open your jaw wide, and he places the tip of his cock on the tip of your tongue, dragging the heaviness of it over the expanse of it.

Just as he slides in deeper into your wet and waiting mouth, Joel bunts his hips forward, pressing half of him into your tight hole. It’s so much, and they’re both not even halfway in yet.

They lock eyes with each other and synchronize their thrusts. Joel pulls back and thrusts into your cunt, and Tommy pulls back momentarily before your mouth welcomes him deeper into your throat, so deep in fact that the tip of him bumps up against the back of it, nearly causing you to gag. The corners of your eyes prick with tears, and whether it’s from the stretch of Joel’s cock, or the head of Tommy’s knocking on the back door of your throat, you’ll never know.

“Shit, brother. She’s taking this cock so well, Jesus fuck,” Tommy mutters, thrusting his member in and out of you with a relentless pace, his hands now tangled in your hair like a bird's nest in a tree.

“God damn, you’re telling me. Little cunt is taking me so well,” and his words cause you to clench harder around him.

“Gotta ease up baby, or both of your daddy’s are gonna fill you sooner than we both want to,” Tommy rasps behind a breathless voice, “so good, so fucking good, my god.” You revel in their doubled praise and you can’t help but clench tighter, and Joel notices.

“Ah fuck, brother. I think that’s what she wants. Little slut wants us to pump her full of our cum,” Joel rasps, continuing his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you. You moan in response, your words muffled around the expanse of Tommy, “Fuck, want you to fill me up so bad, both of you.”

“You hear that,” Tommy says in a breathless voice. “You heard her, give the girl what she wants,” Tommy encourages Joel. And fuck. These two are going to be the death of you.

“That what you want, sweetheart? Want Daddy Joel and Daddy Tommy to pump you full of all of our seed, want us to leave you dripping with both of us,” Joel says, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips strong enough to bruise. “Yes, fuck, fill me up, want every last drop of both of my daddy’s cum.”

Joel looks up at Tommy.

“Wouldn’t that be quite the fucking sight? Her all round from your baby, her pretty tits engorged with milk, me fucking dribbling out of her mouth," Tommy says.

"Such a dirty little slut, so good for us,” Tommy praises. Had anyone else uttered those words your skin would crawl, but it’s different coming from the pair of them. You’d let them spread you open wide and fuck you full of their come any day.

“Fuck, I think she likes the thought of that, I can feel her clamping down on me, gripping me so goddamn tight, brother,” Joel rasps. Your lips tighten around Tommy, and they both continue to use you, fucking you like they want, like how you know you need. They abuse both of your holes in their relentless chase for their own orgasm.

“Shit brother, ‘m close, not gonna last much longer,” Tommy groans, and you can tell. His cock stiffens and his pulses become more and more erratic.

“Not yet, need her to come again for us first,” Joel demands, dropping his thumb to your clit, beginning to drag slow and near-perfect circles over your sensitive bud.

“Need you to give us one more. C’mon, you can do it,” Joel continues to egg you on. “You’re so pretty when you come, give us one more, baby. Our perfect girl, let us feel it.”

With that, your whole body convulses and your vision goes white. You can’t help the shakes that follow, your entire body trembling like an earthquake. “Fuckfuckfuck, yesssss,” you cry out, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to – until now.

Joel and Tommy continue their movements, slowing as they reach their own peaks. “So close, baby, gonna come down this pretty fucking throat, gonna be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick load,” Tommy grunts out before he stills and shoots his spend down your throat. It’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Joel watches as you greedily swallow his brother's load. “Such a good girl. You gonna tell your pretty little cunt to swallow all of me too, hmm? Gonna flood that little pussy with my load, fill you so full,” he raps. “Gonna plug you so good after ‘m done, not drop is gonna go to waste, baby.”

You gulp, swallowing the rest of Tommy’s spend before answering, “Yes, Joel, p-please fill me up with your come, daddy,” you squawk out, voice hoarse from Tommy’s crusade on your mouth.

“As you wish, pretty girl,” Joel teases, as if he wasn’t the one to come up with the idea.

He thrusts once, twice and he’s filling you with his cum, just as he promised. He stills inside of you, and his forehead comes to rest on your chest. The sticky sweat on his skin makes it tacky, clinging to you in a way that parallels how you’re clinging to this moment. Both of your chests are heaving, ragged breaths coming out almost in sync.

After a few long moments, Joel reluctantly lifts his head up and slowly pulls out, but before any of his load drips out he uses a finger to plug your hole. You gasp and your body jolts from the oversensitivity. “Makin’ sure it sticks, darlin’,” Joel coos in your ear and gently moves the stray strands of hair from your face.

Thoroughly fucked out, you ask the pair of them, “So just out of curiosity, what would you have asked for if either of you had won?”

They both look at each other as if to decide if they want to tell you the truth or not.

“Come back next year for a rematch and we’ll tell you,” Tommy says.

With the way both of them look at you, how could you not?

It’s not even January and yet, here you are – excited for Easter.

What a fucking plot twist that is.

END

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981 @pedrostories

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

Happy New Year!

#joel and tommy #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #threes0me #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x female reader #joel miller fanfic #tommy miller fanfic #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #tlou fanfiction

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little-diable · 6 months

Text

Always have, always will – Dean Winchester (smut)

This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa fic for @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior <3 I hope you love this little story as much as I do! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: It's been years since Dean and (y/n) have parted ways, but perhaps this year's Christmas season is finally the right time to find their way back together.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, very fluffy, only a tiny tiny bit of angst, but full of love and nostalgia

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.2k words)

“Sam?” Dean’s gritty voice echoed through the bunker, eyes focused on the neatly wrapped box that had been placed on his bed. He waited for his brother to answer the call of his name, waited for the sound of Sam’s boots meeting the cold ground, but nothing could be heard, leaving Dean engulfed by a thick blanket of silence.

He approached the box with caution, as if it were a dormant trap waiting to pull him in. Gingerly Dean picked it up, turning it in his hands. The wrapping paper crinkled beneath his touch, curiosity mingled with suspicion in his piercing eyes. Slowly he unpacked the box, freezing as his eyes fell upon an all too familiar leather bound book.

Dean sank down on his bed, holding the photo album in his hands, eyes taking in the old leather, letting his thumb stroke the fabric with a smile tugging on his lips. Memories, frozen in time, spilled out before him like an ancient tome of secrets. His heart skipped a beat as he leafed through the pages, images of laughter and shared glances filling the spaces between the faded photographs. It had been years since he had last seen this book, back at Bobby’s where he had reached for it whenever he could, with her pressed to his side.

It took Dean a few moments to notice the neatly folded paper that had been attached to the leather, reaching for the letter with trembling hands. He’d always recognise her handwriting, the slightly cursive words pressed into thin paper like ink tattooed into his skin. Dean couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, having to blink a few times before he could focus on the letter she had written to him.

“My dearest Dean,

It has been years since I’ve last allowed myself to even speak your name. A name I’ve hated for longer than I’d like to admit, well perhaps not the name, but the memories tied to it. But the truth is, Dean, as much as I told myself to hate you for breaking my heart, for pushing me away, I can’t help but long for you. But now I think I finally understand why you did it, at least I like to think I do.

I’ve been holding onto this photo album for a while now, but it’s only fair you also get to have it for some time. Sam told me you’ll be around for the Christmas days, I’d like to see you, catch up on the past years. I’ll be at Suzie’s this afternoon.

I'll be the one trying to figure out how the hell I got so sentimental all of a sudden.

I love you, Dean

Always have, always will.”

……

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled his nostrils, hanging in the air like a thick cloud of smoke, a pleasant scent Dean would long for whenever he was away with Sam, dreaming of this very café. It took him a few moments to find her, hiding away in a booth in the back, the same one he and Sam always sat in. (Y/n) had her eyes focused on her phone, cuddled into the big knitted sweater she wore.

Dean ran a hand through his snow covered hair, shuffling out of his jacket as he slowly approached her. Like a thunderstorm about to strike it seemed she could feel him before she saw him, slowly lifting her gaze, unable to bite down the smile tugging on her lips. She had always been beautiful, a rare kind of beauty Dean had been in love with ever since he had been a young boy, but now she was even more beautiful, at least to Dean she was.

“You came.” Her whispers were drowned out by the laugh leaving Dean, hand stretched out to pull (y/n) to her feet and straight into his arms. He felt her deeply inhale his familiar scent, clinging to Dean as if he was an old memory about to fade, unable to hold on for long. The two parted only slowly, eyes wandering over one another’s features before they sat down, vis-à-vis from one another.

Their hands stayed connected, resting on the table with their fingers interlaced, falling back into their old pattern all too easily. Neither of them dared to look away, needing to take in every inch of the face they hadn’t seen in years, needing to etch this very moment into their minds.

“I missed you, thank you for the album.” Dean’s voice carried something calm, something awfully comforting (y/n) had been longing for ever since they had parted ways. The mere memory of that very day had haunted the two, replaying in their minds every single night, wondering where they had gone wrong, wondering why Dean had pushed her away for reasons she now only slowly began to understand.

“I missed you too, even though it took me a while to accept that. And like I wrote in the letter, it’s only fair you get to have it too. Sammy told me how much you talk about it.” For a second Dean froze, wondering if Sam and (y/n) had been in touch all these years. Not once had his brother mentioned (y/n) – perhaps he had simply tried to protect Dean and his broken heart, but yet Dean couldn’t help but doubt his brother’s motives.

“I didn’t know you and Sam kept in touch.” Suzie, the owner of the café approached the two with her coffee pot, filling their cups.

“(Y/n)’s a regular here, she and your brother meet almost every week, don’t you?” The woman was all too oblivious to the tension now sticking to Dean, slowly pulling his hands from (y/n)’s warm ones. She tried to chase his touch, just for a millisecond, before she began to realise that they had just entered a rather uncomfortable territory, no longer sticking to the nostalgia this place offered to Dean.

“He was there for me after, well, you know. Sam tried to make me understand why you pushed me away, I needed somebody to talk to after you were no longer in my life.” Dean reached for the coffee, momentarily watching the steam rise like souls rising from their graves, leaving their decomposing bodies behind. Pain thumped through his system, clinging to his every muscle and bone.

“I,” he placed the cup back down, letting his calloused thumb stroke along the rim. “I needed to protect you, I couldn’t concentrate with you around, could only worry about you, not on our hunts. And just the thought of something happening to you because I was too distracted was a risk I didn’t want to take. I knew you’d be safer without me around, in some fucked up way.”

He watched tears well up in her eyes as his throat began to tighten up, struggling to keep on speaking. (Y/n) averted her gaze, watching the snow fall from the sky in never ending streams like tears dripping from her eyes. For years Dean had imagined this very moment, with her sitting close to him, allowing him to share the dark thoughts he had struggled with, the thoughts that were his own, personal hell.

“It took me a while to understand it, but I think I get it, you hurt me, you broke my heart. But I guess that’s the price we pay in our profession, isn’t it?” A teary laugh left (y/n), hands rubbing her eyes to get rid of her tears. Dean reached for her hands once again, thumbs stroking the back of them.

“I never stopped loving you, if that still means something to you.” He watched her pupils dilate, growing wider as if he had just shared his darkest secret with her. And yet it had never been a secret, the one thing he had always been honest with, the love he fostered for her. Dean was too slow to realise what she was doing, shifting her weight to lean over the table, lips finding his slightly parted ones.

Dean instantly gave in, lips moving in sync with hers like they had done all these years ago. One of his hands found her cheek, cupping the soft skin to keep her close to him. The soft hum leaving (y/n) broke the two apart, allowing them to catch their breaths, looking at one another with irrevocably love swimming in their pupils.

“Do you want to come home with me, sweetheart?”

……

“Are you sure Sammy’s not home?” She panted her words, pressed against the mattress of Dean’s bed with her naked chest exposed to his wandering eyes. Dean could only hum, lips kissing their way down to her stomach, hands already fumbling with her jeans. It hadn’t taken the two long to end up like this, searching their closeness like magnets made to fit, desperate to feel what they had been aching for since they had parted ways.

“Fuck, I missed this, missed this so much, Dean.” An almost boyish grin began to widen on Dean’s lips as he lifted his head, rising from the bed to tug his shirt over his head. He felt her eyes on him as he stepped out of his jeans, only left in his dark boxers as he helped (y/n) out of her remaining clothes.

“Let me take care of you. You’re mine, and only mine, I hope you remember this, (y/n).” No matter how many people the two have searched comfort in, none had ever managed to make them feel like one another managed to, made for one another like puzzle pieces fitting together. His touch burned itself into her body, kisses forever lingering on her skin as Dean settled between her naked thighs, tongue swiping over her arousal covered folds.

Her moans guided him on, a sound he hadn’t heard in years, and yet he had never forgotten about it once. Late at night, when he had been aching for her, hand taking care of his desperation, he had thought back to all these nights they had shared, long faded memories Dean clung to. (Y/n) kept moaning his name, eyes fluttering close, hands tugging on his roots, hoping that he’d add more speed to his movements.

His thumb rubbed her pulsing bundle, tongue dipping into her tightness with excitement laced in his gaze, set on teasing her till she’d cry his name. He ate her out without holding back, without paying much attention to the incoherent words leaving her parted lips, high on her taste. Only as Dean felt her spasm around his tongue did he slow down his pace, letting go of her seconds before she could tumble over the edge.

“How dare you-” her sentence was cut short by the kiss Dean pressed against her lips as he reached for a condom, only parting from (y/n) to roll it down his length. The two kept holding eye contact as he aligned himself, pushing into her after a small nod was thrown his way.

It took the both a few moments to adjust, no longer used to feeling one another like this, needing to fully relax before they could tumble over the edge together. Dean moved slowly at first, wanting to take his time with her, wanting to relish in the now unfamiliar closeness he had been dreaming of like a starving man in need of food.

Curses left the two, echoing through his dark bedroom, alighted just enough for them to look at one another. Their moments together had always been intense, urged on by their longing, by their lust thumping through their veins like drugs, but tonight their time together had something to it neither of them could pinpoint.

“Dean,” his name rolled off her tongue all too effortlessly, a sound that would push him into his grave, Dean was sure of it. She wanted to keep on talking, wanted to express her love for the man she had unsuccessfully tried to forget these past years, forever tied to him. He dipped his dead down to kiss her, using her distraction to add even more roughness to his thrusts.

Dean fucked her into the mattress, eyes set on her naked frame, on the body he had thought of whenever he had grown lonely. She had been the one thing on his mind, the one thing Dean had been able to cling to. Both their moans guided them on, pushing them over the edge in unison.

He clung to her, not daring to let go as they rode out their highs, desperate to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Dean dipped his head down to press a soft kiss against her swollen lips before he pulled away. She watched him disappear and reappear moments later with a towel, carefully cleaning both.

“Will you stay?” Dean’s whispers echoed through the room, making a smile tug on (y/n)’s lips as she let go of a soft though loving “Of course I will”.

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader #spnfanficpond secret santa 2023 #supernatural smut

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word-wytch · 1 year

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 10

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 10/? 4.6k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Progress report — subtle strides in secret and deals not forgotten.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: flirting, rule breaking, mild exploration through touch, cheating mention

Monday, November 11th 1985

The fog was lifting in you.

You could tell when the laundry beckoned to be folded after weeks of neglect. When the act of folding it was something you wanted to do.

When the boxes that had become part of the scenery in your living room suddenly seemed like they didn’t belong there. When you wanted to cook more than just things you could put in a microwave.

You would wake up on the weekend and ask yourself what you wanted to do with the little free time you had in the space between the chores, and the errands, and the papers you had to grade. You would ask yourself what records you wanted to listen to instead of just turning on the radio to fill the space with noise. Instead of exhausting them all without consideration.

You had been asking yourself a lot of questions over the last two weeks. The loudest of them all — What am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question every morning as you brushed on your makeup and felt more beautiful than you could remember, even since before your life came crashing down this summer.

You would ask yourself again as you sifted through your closet, as the hangers screeched against the metal pole to dig out a dress from the back that you hadn’t worn in ages. Cream colored linen, tea length, with short puff sleeves, a square neckline, and buttons down the front. It tapered at the banded waist and flowed outward in an A line.

The question would rattle like a pinball in your mind as you stamped your punch card in the main office. As the receptionist complimented the dress that you had on.

It would sit like a weight in your stomach as you made small talk with the other teachers. As you sat in one of the old scratchy chairs in the teachers’ lounge that suddenly bothered you less and opened the lunch you found the energy to pack again.

It would echo in your thoughts like the clicking of your footsteps down the hallway.

What am I doing?

It was a question you didn’t know the answer to.

All you knew was when the wind caught your dress from the haste you made toward your classroom, the smile you stole from him as you passed brought silence to it. That the way he looked at you made all noise, all else, cease. That it made you feel as timeless as he said you were.

There was a change in him too. It was subtle, as all things were in your relationship with Eddie Munson, but ever since some force beyond yourself possessed you to utter even the barest inkling of your feelings, he was bolder.

He would sit very close to you, oftentimes with his shoulder angled behind you. An action equally as thrilling as it was terrifying. He had done this before on a few prior occasions but never like this. Never for this long.

He always took his jacket off so you could feel his arm graze against yours as he reached to turn a page or grab a pencil.

He would do these things so often that there was a quiet, secret part of you that wondered whether it was time to rearrange your classroom so that your desk was out of sight of the doorway. You shot the thought down the moment it intruded. As long as the desk was within eyeshot, you could ration that the possibility of being seen would hold you both accountable and encourage good behavior. That was what you told yourself anyway.

The problem was that Eddie Munson wasn’t that concerned with good behavior.

Every time he sat beside you, your eyes, in the closeness of his proximity, would find another feature to admire.

Today it was the rips in his jeans. The way you could see his skin straining against the slits in the fabric. How your eyes could gather the strong angles of his kneecaps and for some reason, this was doing things to you. You would steal glances at them, down and to your right, as he leaned forward in his seat next to you.

It was always next to you. It had been for the past two weeks.

He pointed at a drawing of a humanoid demon looking creature with horns and a tail in the monster manual laid out in front of you on top of his history textbook.

“So this is the tiefling race, which is what I played years ago before I took over as DM. I was a tiefling bard, which is like a sort of, uh, musician spellcaster.”

That was another change — how frequently he would get off topic, and how often you would let him.

“Very true to life then,” you said with a little chuckle.

His lips curled into a hardened smirk to smother a blinding grin.

“You think so?” There was a whisper of pink in his cheeks.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” you said breathlessly.

Then he did something he hadn’t done before — he put his arm around the back of your chair.

The animal inside you preened.

Heart racing, you turned your head ever so slightly, allowing your eyes to trace the barely there stubble that peppered his jaw before they wandered to his lips — soft, broad, and still smirking. You were close enough to feel the delicate hairs that strayed from his wild curls brush your cheek. Close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his arm against the linen of your back, like a bubble of protection, or some other magic found in the pages sprawled out before you.

It was hard to think of anything else but you managed. “What do you think I would play?”

“Mmm.” His hum was a warm vibration at your ear. It sent a ripple to your core. Ringed fingers drummed against the back of your seat. “Well, an elf, obviously,” he chuckled. “As for class, let’s see…”

You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, scanning you as the gears turned in his head. It was quiet in the room, and in the hallway. Quiet enough to hear your heartbeat in your ears. You wondered if he could too.

“See I wanna say wizard because they get their magic from reading books, but…”

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “But?”

“I think you’re more of a healing type."

“Oh yeah?” Your soft chuckle filled the silence and you allowed yourself, for just a moment, to relax a little bit. To lean into the warmth of his strong shoulder, enveloped in the safety of the secret you both shared. You could catch his scent from this position more than ever. The warm musk emanating from under his arm. The whisper of shampoo and cigarettes. That soft, indescribable scent of his skin. It almost made you dizzy.

“Yeah, like a cleric, only they get their power from worshiping deities and… I don’t know if that’s really you either.”

You hummed. “Where do you think I get my power from then?”

His voice was soft but certain when he answered. “Within.”

Flutters — straight to your core.

“Maybe that makes you more of a sorcerer then,” he pondered, tipping his head towards you. His breath feathered your cheeks, lids heavy over deep chocolate eyes.

You met them with a breathy chuckle, feeling so girlish all of a sudden. As if suddenly you were not behind the big desk, but a much smaller one.

The pads of his fingers brushed your arm. So delicately that at first you thought it was just a consequence of their proximity, but when they began to trace tentative, tickling circles, it was evidently intentional.

You swallowed, your skin beneath his touch like a livewire. Every delicate hair on your arm picking up on the movements of his calloused pads, amplifying them like a radio signal straight to the animal part of you.

He held you in his gaze, eyes wide like a question. But when the corners of your mouth gave way, gave their soft permission, the corners of his did as well. As did the corners of his eyes, crinkling in that way you loved so much.

His fingers got braver. The circles widened into strokes. His thumb got involved. Still, you could feel his heart pounding into your shoulder. Feel the nerves emanating from under his touch. Feel the want, the care, the ache, the frustration.

It might have been seconds. Minutes. A small, stolen eternity.

Until a voice echoed in the hallway. Suddenly there was that question again — triggered like a pinball machine, loud and intrusive as it rattled in your mind. Your eyes shot towards the door. His followed.

Eddie took his arm away, and you wondered if the strangled whine that left your chest was audible to him too.

Silence prickled the space between you, ears attuned to the noise coming closer. Eddie’s eyes were fixed on the door, his strong brows furrowed in what you could only interpret as annoyance. The voices grew louder, then passed, fading into distant echos.

The footsteps left behind an ache. Palpable, pervasive. Eddie sighed and looked at you, to which you could only respond with a resigned huff of your own. You must have looked as pitiful as you felt, because what he did next took you by surprise. It always did, even if this time it was something he had done before.

He reached under the desk and grabbed your hand.

It didn’t matter that he’d held your hand before. It didn’t matter even if he’d held it a hundred times. Your heart still leapt in your chest. The pinballs still fired off inside your head with lights and sound effects.

But when his warm thumb rubbed circles over your icy knuckles, slow and deliberate, soothing and caring, the sounds got muffled. The flashing dimmed. Until there was nothing but a landscape of bones, and tendons, and the meat of his soft palm. Nothing but the valleys of the space between his fingers when they ventured further than they had ever gone before — in the spaces between yours.

Your back might have arched. Your eyes might have rolled back into your head if you hadn’t closed them so quickly. You wouldn’t know because the only thing you were aware of anymore was the velvet interior of the space between Eddie’s fingers. How they filled the space between yours in a warm, comfortable stretch.

There was a line and both of you had crossed it. Held hands and jumped over it like a broom. You knew it, he knew it. There was no going back. And knowing this, there was another question you had been asking yourself for the past two weeks — how far would you go?

Would it stop at holding hands? Eddie wasn’t exactly the patient type. You’d spent enough time with him to know that much.

You opened your eyes to the classroom. Your classroom. To the rows of desks lined up like soldiers. To the chalkboards, and bulletin boards, and concrete walls. To the big desk in front of you. To the open door.

Pinballs again. Ricocheting like thunder. Your pulse in your ears, your stomach in your seat.

You glanced down at your hands intertwined, hidden from sight in the shadow of the large, looming desk. You admired how the heel of his hand cradled yours. How perfectly they fit together. The way your forearm rested against his, warm and soft. How secure it made you feel. There was a tug in your heart, deep and thrumming. You squeezed his hand for one more precious second… and let it go.

“I— I think we should, um,” you swallowed and gingerly shut the monster manual. The ache was back, shooting through your chest like daggers.

Eddie looked at you, the loss of your hand palpable in the subtle pain of his expression. “Right,” he said plainly. There was a knowing there too, an understanding that replaced it more quickly than you expected.

He scratched behind his neck with the hand you could still feel the ghost of. “So it’s uh, progress report day.” You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going somewhere with this.

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m well aware.”

He tipped his head towards you. “I believe we had an agreement.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remind me.”

Eddie reached into the pocket of the jacket that hung on his seat and procured a paper folded into thirds. “You told me that if I got a B in any of my classes that you would let me read one of your stories.”

Your eyes widened. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

He squinted smugly. “You did.”

You glanced toward your grading binder on the upper lefthand corner of the desk and grabbed it, “If I’m not mistaken though, you have B- in my class,” you said, thumbing through the pages to find fourth period. “Yeah, see?” you pointed to it. “Technically not a B, all those missed assignments from September still count I’m afraid,” your voice was playful.

Eddie’s mouth curled into mischievous little grin as he opened the paper in his hands, “Oh I’m not talking about your class. I believe the agreement was for one class. Any of my classes.” He pointed to a line on the page. “I got a B in shop class.”

You leaned closer, honing in on the clearly printed B above his finger. “It’s — it’s still not the final report, just a progress report.”

“It’s still an official report,” he said smugly.

It was almost as if he could see the gears turning in your head, the dread setting into your features.

“See, I’ve kept the promises I’ve made so far,” he brought a hand to his chest, “I think it’s only fair that you make good on yours,” he said, squinting again.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll bring it in on Wednesday. But… it’s— it’s not totally finished. There’s still quite a bit of editing that needs to be done and—“

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. More than fine. Captivating, actually, if it’s anything like the author.” His smile was tinted with childish excitement. His eyes with a warmth made you shiver.

You tucked your hair behind your ear to distract from the heat creeping into your cheeks. “It’s been forever since I’ve even looked at it to be honest. Years actually.”

“Glad to give you an excuse then.”

______

It was a typical Tuesday night.

A typical night of the flimsy windows in Gareth’s tidy garage trembling at the raw, unhinged, cranked-up-to-eleven power of Corroded Coffin.

“Hand of Doom” was cleaning up nicely. Dave’s bassline was solid. Gareth’s drums were neat and timely. Jeff was nailing the chord progression. Eddie’s vocals were well equipped to handle Ozzy’s range.

You’re having a good time baby

But that won’t last

Your mind’s all full of things

You’re living too fast

Go out and enjoy yourself

Don’t bottle it in

You need someone to help you

Stick the needle in

There was a perfect balance of space for his vocals to breathe over the walking bassline, then crescendo into pure instrumental power.

A power he could feel as he attacked the strings. An agency at his fingertips as they tapped out a howling melody over the chugging chords laid out for him by Jeff and Dave, over Gareth’s thundering kick drum.

A power that could sweep him up and away, carry him far from the crushing weight of the stares of his classmates, far from the looks of disappointment on the faces of the other teachers, far from the heaviness of his feelings.

Swept away in a wave of sound, there was only space in his hindbrain for the patterns his fingers made on the fretboard. For his breath to leave his chest in wailing song.

The last chord of rung out through Gareth’s garage with a thunderous rattle.

All four of them looked at each other with smiles and nods. Gareth banged out an extra drum fill. Jeff chugged out approving strums.

They were ready to take it to the Hideout.

“Nice work, gentleman,” Eddie shouted into the mic, met with whoops and hollers. “I think we’re ready for another, whaddya say, boys?”

More hollers and drum fills.

“How ‘bout Ace of Spades?” offered Jeff.

“No, Symphony of Destruction,” countered Gareth.

Eddie noodled out a mindless melody. “I dunno I’m thinking War Pigs.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “We just did Sabbath, dude.”

“Yeah, we just did Sabbath well,” Eddie pressed.

“Why don’t we do something different, like a Rush song or something?” suggested Dave.

Gareth snorted. “Rush isn’t metal. We’re a metal band, dude.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you couldn’t handle a Rush song anyway.”

“Could too, asswipe. You know what, yeah, let’s do Rush. I wanna see those fat fingers of yours fingers of yours find their way around the bassline,” Gareth laughed.

“Shut up!” Eddie hollered. “Everyone just think about it and we can vote on Saturday. We’ve got like half an hour before we’ve gotta leave anyway.”

“I can’t Saturday, remember? Me and Cindy are going to a movie.”

A low ooh emanated from the guys.

“What ‘cha end up picking?” asked Jeff.

“Back to the Future. Cindy still hasn’t seen it.”

Dave balked. “Seriously? Does she live under a rock? It’s been out since like, July, dude.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, seriously. Cindy doesn’t go to a lot of movies, she’s into like… books and stuff,” he said, a touch of pride colored his voice.

“Ooh so cultured,” Dave taunted.

“Dude shut up, you’re just jealous ‘cause I have a date. I feel like that’s a good one though, right? I mean it’s got action and a sorta romance but it’s not too serious?”

Jeff shrugged, “Yeah I dunno, do girls like those kinds of movies?”

Gareth gave a puff of air through his nose. “Depends on the girl, they don’t have a hivemind, Jeff.”

Dave snorted. “Like you know anything about girls.”

“More than you!”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You got one date you haven’t even been on yet — doesn’t make you an expert.”

That’s when three of them turned to look at Eddie.

Eddie glanced around nervously, “What?”

“You’ve like… been with girls before, right?” asked Jeff.

Eddie scratched the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah.”

Truthfully, Eddie would hardly consider himself an expert on women. But in a garage full of virgins, his few summer flings would render him one by default.

“Yeah, haven’t you like,” Dave raised his eyebrows suggestively, “Done it?” He gestured with his hands, his index finger moving in and out of the circle he made with his other.

The boys erupted in wheezing cackles.

Eddie snorted. “Yeah I’ve done it,” he said, heat creeping up his neck.

“Ok then, so like, what should Gareth do on his date?” asked Jeff.

“Yeah what should Gareth do to… you know,” Dave chuckled lewdly.

Gareth scoffed. “Dude I’m not trying to score on the first date. Cindy’s not like that. Besides, I’m not a total sleazeball.”

By Gareth’s definition, Eddie certainly would be. He could count the number of actual dates he’d had on less than one hand. The number of girls he’d slept with on about the same. Actually, it was rare that a date coincided. There was the girl he met at a carnival the summer he turned 17. That was short-lived. Then there was another girl who spent July with her grandma at the trailer park. He was 19 then. They would fool around in the woods outside of Forest Hills before she moved on too. That winter he would meet another at the Hideout, just passing though. She never even called him back. Could he really consider any of them dates?

The boys quarreled amongst themselves and Eddie found his thoughts drifting as they always did — to you. The truth was he had no idea what he was doing. What he did know was how good it felt to be next to you. To touch you. To hear your thoughts on anything at all. To lace his fingers between yours and watch the sigh as it left your body. To pretend that you were his for one stolen moment.

What he did know was that he wanted to take you on a date. Like a real, proper date. He wanted to buy you flowers and open doors for you. He wanted to sit down across from you over dinner, to see your smile in a candlelit glow, to pay for it at the end.

What he did know was that he’d never felt this way about anyone before. What he also knew was that he could do absolutely none of these things with you in public.

But he did know what he wanted.

“I dunno, man. Just like, buy her a ticket, get her some popcorn, be a real person,” Eddie offered finally.

“And get a spot in the back of the theater so you can —” Dave turned around, moving his hands up and down his body like he was making out with his bass.

Gareth threw a drumstick at him.

______

It was a typical Tuesday night.

A typical night of coming home later than you wanted after a pointless faculty meeting.

The breath you took in the crisp air outside the door to your apartment was deep and ragged as you turned the key. You could still feel the tacky chalk on your fingers as you pressed open the door. The echos of the questions you would answer over and over to raised hands still ringing in your mind. The adrenaline still coursing through your chest, tight and constricting. The mask that still weighed heavy on your face.

You shut the door behind you and removed your boots, and the mask.

The sun was going down already. Dim and quiet. Not a single sound for your tired voice to fight anymore.

It was nothing like your house in Indianapolis, the old craftsman bungalow that you had loved so dearly. A real house with character and charm. A kitchen with a big gas stove, and a dishwasher, and actual counter space. A dining room with a table big enough to host Thanksgiving.

It was a place would never have been able to afford on your own. Not on your meager teaching salary. Not in a city like that.

You might have been able to afford something small here in Hawkins, if you’d saved for it long enough. One of those little one-story shoebox homes built in the 50s near the neighborhood you grew up in. But buying a house just felt so permanent.

You hung your keys on the hook by the door. There was no character in the plain white walls of the entryway. None you could gather in the hall leading past the nook of your kitchen into the wood paneled confines of your living room. No space for a dining room table.

But the carpet still cradled your aching feet. There were still your records, and posters, and television exactly where you left them. There were still your books overflowing on the meager shelves you were able to squeeze into your bedroom. You couldn’t take the built-in craftsman cabinets with you when you moved. There was a lot you couldn’t take with you, and other things you wished you could have left.

There was one box you hadn’t unpacked yet. It was sitting in your closet, pushed back into the corner under summer dresses and winter coats. It was a box you hadn’t even unpacked at your old place in Indianapolis. One of those boxes that traveled with you from place to place ever since you packed your dorm room up for the final time your senior year.

Sliding open the slatted wood door, you reached under the clothing and dragged it out into your bedroom. It was not that big, but it was heavy.

You sat cross-legged on the carpet and hooked your fingers under the cardboard, folded in on itself to keep it shut without tape. It took a good tug to untuck one of the panels. Dust powdered the air as it sprung open.

It was hard to remember the last time you’d opened it, let alone everything that was inside. You sifted through the contents as the memories returned to you.

There were a few notebooks, an old journal, a few Polaroid photos you had forgotten about. Just you and your roommate doing stupid poses, hanging off of the bunk bed you shared like children.

There were many things that were more or less junk. Things that at the time of packing you just couldn’t seem to part with, like an old party hat from your roommate’s 21st birthday — crumpled and creased under the weight of time. You remembered decorating it with her and your other friends at the table in the common room. You all looked ridiculous wearing them on the town, going from bar to bar, your bright colored hats standing out like beacons against the backdrop of the January snow.

There were other things — a few postcards from friends brave enough to study abroad. A folded world map that once hung in the living room of your first apartment, the one you scrounged for with your best friend. In hindsight it was even smaller than the one you had now, and it had two bedrooms. It felt big to you then.

That was before you met Dan.

Before you settled into the craftsman he’d purchased in the historic part of town. Settled into routines and scheduled fancy date nights. Settled into planned family outings and weekends home in Hawkins where he would surprise your mother with news of his promotion at the law firm over dinner. News of the computer he’d purchased for you. News of your engagement.

Before you added more things to the box. Things that didn’t fit into you schedule anymore. Before you’d moved it here.

Before he left behind an ice in you.

There was one thing in the box that you expected to find. It was a black three-ring binder. Unassuming, but most important.

You cracked it open and stared down at the first page of your novel, quietly bracing yourself for the contents. It had been ages since you’d looked at it. You wondered if the years of separation between the you of the present and the you who wrote it would determine whether it was actually any good or not. In your memory it was.

You thumbed through the pages, silently critiquing your choice of verbs, your lack of variety in the dialogue tags, how tangibly painful it was for you to set scenes.

The story was there though. That was the thing that mattered most. The verbs could be changed, better tags could be added, the scenes could be more fleshed out. But the story held water.

Most distinctly of all, you remembered the thrill of writing it. The rush of being flooded with ideas. The hours you would spend in the car that flew by in a vivid daydream on the weekends you visited Hawkins. How every song on the radio seemed to fit the telling of your story.

There was a dreaming taking root in you again. Yesterday. Now. For the past two weeks. You felt it like the rush of wind that caught your dress as you glided down the hallway. The airy softness that pervaded your thoughts and made you want to dance.

You thought about the last time you felt this way.

The last time you did something for you and only you.

The last time you pursued what it was you really wanted.

______

A/N: You didn’t think I was going to leave Chekov’s unfinished novel sitting on the mantle did you?? ;)

A technical note — the tiefling race wasn’t introduced to the game until 1994 but we’re going to ignore that because I think it’s really fitting for Eddie. :)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashing, theories, small novels, all of it. Hearing your reactions to my story fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @newlips @kasbite @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blue-mossbird @alottanothing @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me

787 notes · View notes

mitchellpete · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 21 - Deepthroating

pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader

cw: deepthroating, blow jobs, face-fucking, cum swallowing, established relationship

word count: 1578

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

It’s a Saturday night. A still fairly early Saturday night, and you’ve got nothing to do. The house had been swept clean hours before, dinner cooked, leftovers stashed away in the fridge, and you’d taken a long, long shower before sprawling out on the sofa next to Tom, who didn’t seem to mind the silence. He relished in it, in fact, his attention fully on the large, thick textbook in his arms. Paying you and your weary expression absolutely no mind.

His impending achievements were important. Understood. He was so close to getting promoted, had been talking about the ceremony, how it would be the first you’d attend by his side. You can’t remember when exactly his studies began to consume him, alienating him from you just the slightest. He’d read during dinner, in bed, during a movie. Jotting down notes, twirling his pen in between his fingers. Always focused, always persistent.

But that can’t be healthy, right? Being so goddamn focused all the time?

It is a Saturday night, after all.

“What’ll it take for you to put that textbook down?” you wonder aloud, tossing the remote after flipping through (probably) every channel on the television.

Tom half-glances at you, but resumes his reading almost immediately. “Why?”

You stretch, your mind racing with ideas on how to make him yours tonight. “Hm, I don’t know. You’ve been reading a lot lately.”

“I need to,” he reminds you, voice a little stern.

Okay.

“Well. I’m sure you’ve read enough tonight, no?”

“The more the better.”

Christ. You stare at him, at the focused peak in his eyebrows as his eyes trail left-to-right. A flip of the page, fingers dancing along the edge. You watch them, eyes set on the sparkle of his ring in the dim lighting. A mischievous idea pops into your head, born out of your sudden desire. “What if I blow you?”

Tom does not budge, doesn’t even shift in his seat. His eyes continue scanning his page, though his eyebrow cocks at your outlandish question. “What if?” he mocks.

You internally groan. But you’re still eager. “I bet you’ll put it away once I get my mouth on you,” you sing.

Tom smirks, always up for a challenge. He still does not glance your way, however, instead flicking his attention to the next page. “If you say so.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you crawl over to him and slide off the couch into the wide space between his legs. Tom’s face still remains locked and focused, even when your grabby hands reach for the waistband of his sweats. You gingerly pull them down, bringing his boxers down with them.

You’re quick about it when you dip your head down, tongue planting against the soft skin of his cock. It’s fast but gentle, easy. The corner of his lips curls for just a second at the sudden sensation, but he tries to remain unbothered. A challenge for you.

It starts off languid, short strokes of your tongue up and down his shaft. You let your spit bubble up in between your lips, wet suction noises suddenly filling the room as you slick him up. His cock twitches, growing hard against your tongue. Tom’s lips part, shallow breaths escaping. You glance up, batting your lashes at him for dramatic effect.

After kissing and sucking against the long vein on his dick, his eyes above you eventually stop trailing left-to-right, instead staying still on one part of the page, and then jumping to another.

“Lost your place?” you mumble, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the underside of his shaft.

Tom finally looks at you, eyes flicking down to the sight of your mouth working his now hardened cock. He doesn’t say anything, instead stares at you from under his eyebrows, his gaze almost brooding. You’ve won, and he knows it.

Still, as stubborn as ever, he clears his throat and attempts to continue. Another page flip directs you; your mouth slides up to wrap around the tip, actually taking him into your mouth. You watch him, watch his shallow breathing turn sharp. He sucks in a breath when you start bobbing your head, fingernails turning red from gripping the textbook so harshly.

It’s a minute later that he snaps it shut, tosses it aside on the cushion and grumbles something under his breath. You pull off of him momentarily, smiling slyly at him.

Intent on taking him in as deeply as you can, you try your best to relax for the very significant intrusion. Your head dips down again, your mouth enveloping inch by inch until you feel him in your throat. Despite taking him in as much as your mouth allows, there’s still a length of his shaft untouched, and you wrap your hand around where your mouth can’t reach. It’s almost dizzying, taking him in this much. It seems he feels the same, his face contorting in pleasure, fingers drumming against the side of his thigh. Like he’s trying to find use of his now free hands.

You’ve done this before. Twice, was it? Practice, he’d called it. He’d coaxed you through it the last time, filthy words edging you on as he helped you train your throat. That’s why it’s not as difficult now. And still, your mouth feels stuffed, and it’s already almost like you can’t breathe. You try to stay collected, however, breathing out through your nose. Just little by little.

After a minute, his fingers slide into your hair. He starts moaning, quiet and breathy from the back of his throat.

In contrast, you start gagging, his cock poking at your uvula. You pull up just a bit to alleviate yourself, his shaft sliding across your tongue. You’ve gotten better at taking him in to that point, but you’re still not entirely used to it. After another minute of swallowing around him, you pull off of him with a staggering gasp for air, chest heaving. The saliva pooled on your lower lip drips, coating your chin. You instinctively reach to wipe at it but Tom cuts you off, his grip on your hair pulling you down again. You nearly yelp when your tongue slaps over his cock once more, and he pops himself back into your mouth with a shallow thrust of his hips. You suck in a breath the best you can before your airway is constricted again.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he pushes himself inside, eager to press against the back of your throat once more. Your watery eyes dart up to watch him. His lashes flutter, eyes lidding in pleasure. Hisses turn into little whines, which then turn into loud, elongated moans. You mimic him, moaning around him, and he groans as it shakes him.

Tom continues shallowly thrusting his hips, overtaken by his own desire. The wet heat of your mouth is heavenly. He might just toss the textbook for the entirety of the next week.

The sounds coming out of you are strangled and choked out, his cock way too big to be rutting into your mouth like this. Even at his languid pace, it’s almost all too much. Your hand reaches, fingernails digging into his thigh as a warning, and he pulls you up and off of him again. It’s not at all sexy the way you gasp for air, saliva dripping down your mouth. Tom stares at the sight of your lips, coated and shiny and puffy.

Out of breath, you’re still determined to make him cum, and you lean down yourself to take him in again—hopefully for the last time before you get him there. Instead of swallowing around him, you opt to actually slide up and down his cock, making use of your tongue. It’s close to numb from the continuous movement but you power through, allowing your mouth to salivate as much as you can to make the process smoother.

With a string of groans, Tom cocks his head and leans in close to watch his cockprint in your throat, how it moves with every shallow thrust of his hips.

Tears sting your eyes, threatening to spill. You continue to gag and gasp around him, his grip on your hair dependent on the noises. He pulls you up just the slightest the noisier it gets, and then lets you bob your head for a while longer. You get the idea to stroke him where you still can’t reach, and that seems to do it; he cums with a loud groan, head rolling back as his release shoots down your throat. You pull off immediately, urgently in need of air for more than a few seconds at a time. The last of his cum spurts out onto your lips and face. You swallow what he spilled inside you, wiping all the slick off your lips afterwards.

He exhales, swiping a hand through his hair before leaning down and wrapping a much gentler hand around your arm. He pulls you off your knees and onto his lap, where you immediately straddle him. You wrap yourself around him, mouth slotting against his for a kiss. He kisses you deeply, his tongue poking in between your lips, licking into the cave of your mouth. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

You’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be catching your breath when you pull away.

You sniff, throat burning. Your voice hoarse, you mumble, “I missed you.”

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marsbutterfly · 3 months

Text

When My Heart First Called Your Name

Summary: In the middle of the night, your daughter has a nightmare and asks for a bedtime story. Little did you know, Hanji had already promised her something far better than your imagination.

a/n: hey everyone, it's been a while! this is purely self-indulgent, like honestly. This was written for myself atp. but I do hope some of you enjoy 🤍

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: non-canon au, fem!Reader, non-binary! Hanji Zoe, not beta read at al, they get hot and heavy at the beginning but it doesn't last, I didn't put a specific name for your daughter but I have one in mind hehehe.

ao3 | wattpad | wc: 2.6k

Your eyes go through the same words in the book over and over again, the understanding or even the meaning of the sentences they form not truly entering your mind. You grow more annoyed with every re-read of the page and eventually, you place the book down on your lap, letting out a frustrated sigh.

The water sound that comes from the shower finally stops and the bathroom door swings open, filling the room with steam as the naked image of your partner emerges from it. Their body is wrapped in a black towel while a white one goes through their hair, scrunching up all the water out of their brown curls. They aren’t quite able to see without their glasses, but they don’t need them to realize you seem aggravated.

“Same problem as last night,” Hanji asks, walking around the bed so they stand by your side. You nod, using both of your hands to rub your face, a defeated sigh leaving your lips as the sound of their giggles fills the air. “It’s ok, maybe tomorrow you’ll finally be able to finish this chapter?”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” and as you attempt to push them, Hanji grabs hold of your arm, gently pulling you towards them. You can feel the warm sensation taking over your cheeks as you blush, their lips ghosting above yours before your bodies lace together in a delicate kiss.

Your hands go through their face, appreciating the softness that now comes in contact with your fingers, the smell of their clean body enters your nose and it sends your heart ablaze. You can’t help but hum against their lips, the taste of the mouthwash dominating your taste buds as you allow them to take complete control of the situation.

Slowly, Hanji sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you on top of their body. You wrap your arms around their neck and your legs around their waist, your lips never ceasing to touch as your tongues continue to dance in perfect synchrony. Their right hand begins to carefully make its way under your shirt, gliding through your abdomen like it has known this path all along.

Your hips buck against theirs and you notice the goosebumps that rise throughout their body. An amused giggle leaves your throat and they can’t help but grunt in response, knowing you are only doing so to get any sort of reaction you can, they silently claim not to be happy, but you know otherwise.

Before the situation can go any further, you hear small footsteps approaching the room, the faintest knock on the door as a quiet voice whispers from the other side, “Mommy?” In a split second, you hop off Hanji’s lap and begin making your way to the door as they rummage through the closet to find a new shirt to wear.

“Yes, my love?” You ask, making eye contact with the sleepy three-year-old that stands on the other side, her eyes barely open as she holds her teddy bear close to her body, except she nearly drops it when she raises her arms, hoping to be picked up. You oblige, bringing her inside the room, “you should be in bed.”

Her eyes are trying to adjust to the brightness of the TV and you finally notice the mark of the tears that recently streamed down her face. She nuzzles her head against your chest, pouting ever so lightly as she whispers, “I had a bad dream.”

You begin to touch her hair gently, laying her down in the space between your side of the bed and Hanji’s, her little eyes following your spouse’s every move as she eagerly awaits for them to join the both of you under the sheets. Once they’re properly dressed, Hanji nearly comes running towards their family, eager to nuzzle themselves against the two of you.

“I hear you had a bad dream,” they say, whispering as they adjust the covers above your bodies. The little girl nods, hugging her stuffed animal tightly closer to her body. In response, both you and Hanji wrap your arms around her small body, leaving just the perfect amount of space for her to perfectly settle herself in, “would you like to talk about it?”

She shakes her little head in response, snuggling herself in between the two of you. “Would you tell me a story?” Her little voice is barely audible and it cracks in between a few words, a clear sign of how tired she is and how much she wants to go to bed, but is unable to.

“Sure, my love,” you respond, using your index finger to brush a strand of hair off of her face, “what kind of story would you like to hear tonight? Maybe Mama and I can keep the story about the little princess going and maybe tonight we’ll find out if she made friends with the dragon that guards her tower or not.”

You can hear a faint little giggle, closely followed by a yawn. She shakes her head, “No, I want Mama to tell me the special story I was promised.”

Even in the dark, you can tell that Hanji’s face is blushing. A puzzled expression takes over your face, not truly understanding what this mystery story is all about until your partner decides to break the silence, “Why not another time? Maybe when… mommy is at work?”

You look at them with a curious expression. You were always under the impression that Hanji was completely honest with you about things that go around at home while you are gone but, for some reason, you have a feeling that that hasn’t been the case lately, especially in this scenario. The young girl shakes her head once more.

“Mama, you promised,” she whines.

“Yeah, mama,” you join in, poking out your bottom lip as you wrap your arms around your daughter’s shoulders, “you promised!”

A defeated sigh escapes Hanji’s lips, their eye roll not going by unnoticed, but nevertheless, they settle under the covers, making sure their hand is touching your hair gently so they can play with the strands while telling their secret story. You make sure to adjust yourself, one arm supporting your head on the pillow while the other wraps around your daughter and Hanji, pulling both of them as close as possible.

With a deep breath, they turn off the lights, “you have to close your eyes for this one,” they say quietly, their voice barely louder than a whisper. You aren’t quite sure who they are talking to, so you make sure your daughter’s eyes are closed before shutting your own, the last thing you see is Hanji’s silhouette shifting on the bed.

“It was the middle of winter, one of the worst snowstorms I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” their voice is soothing and filled with a warm sensation, it is enough to awaken the butterflies that had finally settled down in your stomach from your interaction from earlier that night, “you weren’t even in your mommy’s belly yet, in fact, I don’t even think I had plucked you up yet, you were still flying around in a cloud, just waiting for the perfect moment where I would come get you.”

You can hear the faint sound of your child’s giggle as Hanji’s hand pokes her little belly. She’s still wiggling around, partially trying to escape your spouse’s tickle attacks and partially trying her best to find the most comfortable position but with no success.

“Anyway, the power was out and we decided to sleep next to the fireplace, under a massive pile of blankets. It was nice, we roasted some marshmallows for dinner and -”

“But you said I’m not allowed to have candy for dinner!” The sleepy voice comes from between the two of you. You can’t help but giggle in response, your eyes still closed as you place a gentle kiss on top of her little head. Hanji’s fingers still dangle in your hair, a smile stamped on your face the entire time.

“And you aren’t,” they responded with a smile of their own, “we ended up throwing up because we also drank hot chocolate!”

“Don’t tell her that!” You gently slap their arm playfully and they laugh, from the sounds they are making, you can tell they are pretending to be offended. Instead of continuing your fake argument, they continue their story, though you aren’t quite sure why this is the story they are telling.

“We ended up falling fast asleep as soon as we started feeling a little better. In the middle of the night, a really loud and scary sound came crashing down around the house and I remember waking up crying. I wasn’t sure where I was or what was happening. It was dark and…” their voice grew a bit quieter and a bit shaky, just ever so slightly that you would not notice if you hadn’t been together for this long, “it brought back some bad memories about some bad times.”

You reach one hand out to touch their arm, stroking the skin with your nails with just enough pressure not to tickle but not enough that it would hurt them. They let out a small sigh, their eyes closed shut in an attempt to shield their mind from the horrible memories that try to pry into their head. In response, your daughter nuzzles herself against Hanji’s chest, her little eyes closed as she silently comforts her parent.

“It’s ok,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against the skin of their cheek gently, noticing how they seem to be fighting off a few tears. Your voice is quiet and soothing as you look for any words that might come in handy in this situation but when nothing comes to mind, you simply offer them a way out, “you don’t have to keep going, she’s already half asleep.”

“I want to,” they say, placing a kiss on your fingertips and you nod, squeezing their arm softly to let them know that you are not going anywhere. With a deep breath, Hanji continues to tell their story. “My heart was beating so fast I felt like it was about to try and run away from my chest, the power was still out and the cold somehow got worse throughout the night, all I could feel was this horrible feeling in my stomach.”

They fall silent for a tiny bit, checking if your daughter is still awake or not, and, in response, they receive a little nudge from the young girl, her voice faltering as it comes out, “more,” that is all she can say. The two of you can’t help but laugh quietly, knowing that there was no denying your little princess anything her heart desired.

“I was crying for a few seconds until your mother woke up. I remember that she asked me what was wrong and when I couldn’t even talk, she just wrapped her arms around me. She hugged me so tightly that it felt like air wasn’t getting in my lungs but, in that moment, that was all I needed.”

You can feel your face burning up with embarrassment, the memory of that night makes your heart skip a beat as the details are coming back to your mind. It was just an ordinary night for you, one where you helped the person you love as they went through something that wasn’t their fault, so why is this the bedtime story your child wanted to hear?

“Even without knowing what was going on or why I was crying so hard in the middle of the night, she made sure to whisper in my ear that she would be with me no matter what time of day it was, she kept touching my arm in some way throughout the night and, if I’m not wrong, she even sang me to sleep,” they giggle and your face feels like it is heating up from embarrassment.

You want to say something in return, to maybe give some extra details into the memory but their voice is so gentle that the words immediately die in your throat. They continue to speak after a few seconds.

“She never asked me what I needed, she just… knew,” you can feel their eyes on you, even in the dark and you can’t help but look away for a second before feeling their fingers brushing against your face, a silent request to get you to look back at them. You comply with a sigh. “I’ve never had anyone just know what I needed like she did that night, and still does.”

By the time they finish speaking, you can hear the faint breathing of your child in between the two of you and you offer Hanji a smile, placing a strand of your daughter’s hair behind her ear. As you are about to tell your partner that you want to take her to bed, they already beat you to it.

Slowly, you watch as they wrap their arms around her small body, lifting her off the bed as gently as they possibly can. The path to her room was not very long so you found yourself walking in front of Hanji while opening the doors for them, it’s a small gesture but it does not go unnoticed.

Finally, the three of you walk past the door with the pink flower print, making your way into the comforting shade of yellow walls. For some reason, the night light that was once connected to the wall now finds itself on the floor and the two of you suspect that maybe your daughter accidentally unplugged it when moving around her bed, maybe that is the reason why she woke up crying this night and wasn’t able to go back to sleep by herself.

Carefully, they make sure to lay the little girl down on her bed, placing her stuffed animal right next to her on her pillow before tucking the two of them in, placing a small kiss on her forehead and one on the stuffed animal’s just for good luck. You can’t help but giggle in response, it was a ritual that you had developed since the day she was born.

“What was that all about? What even was her request?” You ask quietly as you stand against the doorframe, watching Hanji as they make sure the nightlight is completely plugged into the wall. As they walk past you, they wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Well,” the blush on their face is clear as day, even in the darkness that engulfs the hallway, in response to their motion, you wrap your arms around their neck, “she asked me when I knew.” When you offer them a confused look in return, they continue, “That I loved you.”

Their response catches you by surprise and you can’t help but laugh quietly in response, your hands going through their hair before messing up their locks, well, at least making them look even messier than before. Your heart beats quickly in your chest and the butterflies who visited your stomach earlier return once more.

“Oh?” You ask teasingly, a smile stamped on your face like a child on Christmas morning, “That’s when you knew that you loved me?”

In response, with a smile of their own, Hanji nods, their fingers digging into the skin of your hips while their lips meet yours for a quick kiss. “You were always meant to be mine.”

“Always and forever?” You ask, placing your forehead against theirs.

In a hushed voice, barely louder than a whisper, they respond with the same intensity as if they had just screamed it at the top of their longs,

“Always and forever.”

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

Text

Fairy Tales and Paw Prints

You're selected for the Devildom exchange program, but you're not alone.

SATAN x gn!Reader 3.5k Words | SFW | Fluff, Developing Relationship, Misunderstandings/Jealousy A/N: MC's cat isn't named but referred to as he/him. Obey Me! Masterlist

Satan is irritated when Lucifer calls all of his brothers to the library for a family meeting a couple days after your arrival in the Devildom. He feigns disinterest when Lucifer announces your feline pet from the human world has been brought to the House of Lamentation as well.

He watches Lucifer’s exasperated expression with amusement when Asmo complains loudly about cat fur getting all over his expensive clothes, and Levi pipes up that the animal might damage some of his rare collectibles. Mammon makes the mistake of wondering out loud whether human pets are worth anything to Devildom collectors, and Beel has the decency to look the slightest bit ashamed when he clarifies the cat is not for eating.

Lucifer silences them all with a frosty glare, and he emphasizes with a tone that will hear no argument that you’ve accepted responsibility for the animal and any upkeep it requires. He stomps from the room, clearly fed up with the discussion, and Satan and the rest of his brothers leave too - some of them still grumbling about the hassle of having a new pet around.

For all the fuss your pet created at first, Satan notices that your cat hardly makes an appearance in the days since. He doesn’t see the cat when you pass by the kitchen to grab a snack on the way to RAD, and you keep your door closed when you join the brothers for dinner. He thinks he can hear you talking to your pet in the evenings, and he knows he’s heard little chirps and meows that verify the animal’s existence.

Satan doesn’t care. And he’s definitely not disappointed.

He’s reading in the library one night after dinner when you slip in quietly and walk past him, oblivious to his presence, and stop in front of a bookcase nearby. You don't realize you’re looking in the section written exclusively in ancient demonic tongues - you slide books off the shelves, flip through the first couple pages, and then put them back just as quickly.

He’s never going to finish this chapter with that sort of distraction. “It’s hard to read when you’re making a mess of my shelving system,” he says when you reject the sixth book you pick up. He sets his book aside and stands up from the sofa he was reclining on. The surprised little noise you make is not cute in the slightest.

“I’m having trouble finding something that’s not - whatever this language is,” you explain bashfully. You seem to wither under his gaze, and you look away. “I wasn’t able to bring any books with me.”

Satan takes pity on you, but he’s not prepared to console crying humans today. “Come with me,” he says a bit more firmly than he intends to. He doesn’t look back but he doesn’t have to; you hesitate only for a moment before following him dutifully from the library towards his room.

He stops in front of his door and you look at him curiously when he meets your gaze over his shoulder. “Everything in my room is carefully organized. Do not touch anything. Do you understand?” When you gulp and nod your acceptance of his terms, he finally opens the door, walking inside.

You stop in the doorway and stare with blatant shock at the state of his room. Carefully organized? Your eyes scan the wobbly towers of books that fill the space and make it feel uncomfortably cramped. You can barely see a clear path on the floor to walk on. You take a tentative step forward, nearly tripping over a stack of books just inside the door. You flail around trying to find balance, resisting the very real urge to turn around and run for your life.

This room is a death trap.

“What kind of books do you like?” comes his slightly muffled voice. You think you can see a blonde tuft of hair peeking out from behind one of the many bookcases scattered around the room but you can’t be certain. The curtains are drawn and the room is poorly lit.

“I’m not picky,” you say hurriedly. “Anything is fine.” Anything that will get me out of here sooner.

When he appears a minute or two later, he’s holding a leather bound book. He offers it to you, but he doesn’t let go when you try to pull it from his grasp. “Grimm’s Fairy Tales. I hope you remember that no matter what you read in its pages, I promise the Devildom can be far more dangerous to humans like yourself.” He releases the book and you pull it to your chest protectively. “Do not mark the pages or fold the corners. When you’re finished, I expect you to return it. That’s a rare edition.”

You nod quickly, thanking him with one last fleeting glance before you spin around and leave before you accidentally knock anything over. When you make it back to your bedroom door, you open it carefully and slip inside, closing it tightly behind you. You look down when you hear a small rumbling purr at your feet.

“Well, I got something to read,” you say to your feline friend when you crouch down and scratch under his chin. He tilts his head back in bliss, completely unaware how close he came to becoming orphaned because of an avalanche of books.

When you lay in bed that night, the borrowed book in your lap and a cat sleeping peacefully on your legs, you allow yourself to finally relax. You’ve had trouble sleeping since your arrival in the Devildom and you hope that reading will help tire you out. You skim through the stories that don’t interest you but find yourself growing drowsy with each fairy tale you complete. When you don’t think you can stay awake any longer, you turn off your bedside lamp and roll over. Your cat makes a disgruntled noise but makes his way up the bed to you, curling against your chest. You fall asleep with his warm fur tickling your chin.

The next evening after dinner, you plan to return Satan’s book. If you can stay in the safety of the library, or the hallway, anywhere that isn’t the book-laden minefield of his bedroom, you figure you’ll ask him for more recommendations. Maybe you overlooked the bookshelves in the library with things you can understand, or maybe he has some more human world books hidden in one of his book piles. It’s worth a shot!

He doesn’t make you wait long when you knock quietly on his door. He peers at you through a gap before swinging it wide open. You think he’s almost impressed you’ve returned so soon, but you blink and the look is gone.

You hold the book out to him, and he spares it a cursory once-over for damage before he nods with satisfaction. It feels like you’ve passed some sort of test and you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you, this isn’t normally my type of book but it was still interesting…”

You trail off when you notice his gaze flickering away from you and towards something down the hall. You hear an excited chirp and see a blur of fluff zoom past you even as you bend down to try and catch your escaped cat. Satan doesn’t fare much better, his fingers barely grazing the animal who darts between his legs and into his bedroom.

“I am so sorry, I guess I didn’t close my door properly,” you explain, feeling more panicked now than that moment you first arrived in the Devildom. You hear soft meows growing quieter as your cat seems to explore deeper into Satan’s room. You’re clicking your tongue to try and draw him back to you, but it’s a lost cause.

Satan pulls something out of his pocket and starts shaking it. You hear a faint, interested chirp deep within the room.

“Why do you have cat treats?” you blurt out curiously, noticing the slight pink blush creeping across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“There are strays that come to the gardens sometimes,” he explains like it’s absolutely normal. “I give them treats when they visit.” He nearly mentions that he’s been hoping to meet your cat one day too but decides against it.

You nearly sag against the doorframe with relief when your cat comes prancing towards you, eyes focused on the bag dangling from Satan’s fingers. You both watch your cat pounce on the treats he shakes out onto the floor. You lean down and stroke his fur, glad to see he hasn’t gotten himself hurt somehow - you don’t know if books are the only things Satan hoards in his room.

“You can pet him if you like,” you offer, noticing the way Satan’s watching you and your pet like he’s not sure what to do next. He crouches beside you, and you both take turns running your fingers through the cat’s soft fur.

“He’s bigger than I thought he would be,” Satan says quietly. “Siamese?”

“Tonkinese,” you correct him. “He’s friendly and likes to talk, but I didn’t want him to bother anyone else. I’ve been trying to keep him in my room.” You’re surprised with how gentle Satan is being, petting him softly and keeping his voice low to avoid spooking him. You tell Satan your cat’s name, and he repeats it with a small smile.

The spell between you is broken when Satan stands up. You pick up your cat to keep him from darting back into Satan’s room, but he seems content to accept the small head scritches Satan offers before he backs away.

“I’ll text you later to see if I have anything in my library that might suit your reading preferences,” Satan says. He looks at you, then at your cat, and he looks away. “I don’t mind if you want to bring him again. It might be easier than trying to keep him locked up.”

You bid him goodnight and head back to your room, quietly scolding your cat who's certainly going to be on the hunt for more treats now that he’s had a taste of freedom. You don’t notice that Satan watches you until you turn the corner and disappear from view.

Over the next couple weeks, you and Satan fall into a sort of pattern. You visit him in his room - to borrow a book, or to read, or to enjoy his quiet company - with your cat in tow. He gives your cat treats and cuddles while you learn to navigate the tall stacks of books in his room, asking questions about the different Devildom authors he seems to like and offering human world recommendations of your own.

You find a part-time job near RAD to help cover the expenses of bringing your pet to the Devildom. Lucifer already provides you with a monthly stipend, but you want to make sure you can afford both your necessities on your own if necessary. You’re trying not to be a burden, and Lucifer has no issues with you choosing to work; he secretly admires your determination to be self-sufficient. He hopes your good behaviour makes an impression on his troublesome siblings.

You and Satan still find time to spend together despite your busy schedule. He offers to meet you when your shift is over so you don’t have to walk home alone. Sometimes he goes to your room and plays with your cat, sneaking him treats to tide him over until you can give him his dinner upon your return. Satan helps you make purchases using Levi’s Akuzon account which gives you a nice discount, and he helps carry any of the packages that arrive for you that are too bulky or heavy for you to carry on your own.

It surprises everyone else in the House of Lamentation that you and Satan are becoming fast friends. They assumed his unpredictable anger and no-nonsense attitude would scare you off. You’ve seen his temper flare since you arrived, but it’s normally directed towards one of his brothers which makes you feel a bit relieved. Even in his temperamental moods, he makes an effort not to shut you out or turn you away. It’s not a conscious realization, and he wouldn’t admit it to a soul if it were, but your presence relaxes him. Your quiet brand of kindness and consideration for his feelings is a rarity in the Devildom, and he seeks you out when he feels himself slipping back into bouts of fury and violence.

When you grow closer to his siblings, Satan watches from the sidelines like an outsider. His brothers are chaos and trouble, prone to dragging you into their messes. He tells himself that it makes sense you’re getting closer with them too, since you all live together - they should look out for your well-being as much as he does. That sort of connection is bound to lead to friendships, and while your pacts with Mammon and Levi are a surprise to him at first, he understands in theory why they’re beneficial to you.

If he seems a bit harsher with his older brothers after, it’s just a coincidence.

The obvious drawback to your growing collection of demon friends is that his brothers seek you out more often. They’ve forgotten their previous complaints about your cat as they coo over him when he follows you in the hallways. They’ve even said they don’t mind if you feed him in the dining room like he’s part of the family. Sometimes one of the brothers will show up at your door with a surprise for you: some new feather toy for the cat to play with, or a container of dried Devildom herbs that is similar to catnip you buy in the human world.

When you knock on Satan’s door in the evenings, he knows you’re avoiding your room for a reason. His brothers can be selfish at times, and it can be difficult to relax when they’re hovering in your room or the nearby kitchen, constantly seeking your attention and using your cat as an excuse to intrude on your privacy. Sometimes you grab a random book and plunk down in his armchair to read. Other times you join him on his bed, your cat laying across both your laps while you lean lightly against him.

The pacts with you have changed his brothers. Sometimes he thinks about being in a pact with you too - but he dismisses the notion as nothing more than jealousy, something his brother Levi might sulk about. He is absolutely not sulking. He pretends this tug-of-war with his brothers for your friendship doesn’t bother him and for a time, he convinces himself that’s true.

Bottling up his emotions never worked well for Satan in the past, so it shouldn’t surprise him when the annoyance simmering within him boils to a rage.

While you’re at work after school one evening, he browses Akuzon for some new books and some imported human world movies to buy. Eventually he ends up browsing the pet section, because of course he does. He adds a bag of cat food to the cart and decides he’ll forget to ask you to repay him later.

He checks the new arrivals page and a cat tree catches his attention. Your cat’s on his way to being a senior, and Satan’s noticed the way he struggles with jumping on and off some of the furniture in the house. The cat tree has steps he can climb, and wide, tall perches so he can stretch out easily. Satan sees a pet ramp that he adds to the cart too - that might help your cat get on and off your bed more easily. He adds an extra ramp to the cart for his own room - just in case.

Satan approaches your door with his tablet in hand. He would’ve already purchased the cat tree for you (like he intends to), but he wants to make sure there’s enough space for it in your room. He knows you should be home by now; Lucifer was staying late at RAD and offered to walk you home tonight.

Satan pauses outside your room but the excitement drains from him when he hears familiar voices within. He knocks on the door before letting himself inside. You’re sitting at your desk with your homework spread out in front of you. Mammon is teasing your cat with a laser pointer while Asmo films on his DDD and giggles at the way your cat sprints around the room, pouncing on the red dot to no avail.

For someone who complained so much about not wanting a cat before, Asmo doesn’t seem to care that his black leggings are covered in fur.

Mammon laughs and runs the laser across the floor and up Satan’s leg. Your cat pauses at his feet and when he recognizes who the leg belongs to, he chirps and rubs against his leg instead.

The cat’s affection isn’t enough to soften the bitter anger swirling in the pit of his stomach. He spins on his heel and marches away, slamming your door behind him. He hears you call to him, but he keeps walking until he’s back in his room, surrounded by his favourite books and comfortable silence.

He doesn’t know why, but in that moment he despises all of it.

He throws his tablet aside, hearing it hit the wall before it drops to the floor. He slouches on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hair in fistfuls and trying to calm himself down before he destroys everything in arm’s reach.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but eventually he hears your footsteps pause outside his door. You knock quietly and he hopes you’ll just go away. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. But you persist, and then a soft mew trills outside the door too, and he realizes you’re not going to leave until he gives you what you want.

He opens the door and blinks at the steaming cup in your hands, your worried eyes gazing at him hopefully. Your cat is walking between both your legs, oblivious to the tension.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you say. You’re not even sure what you’re apologizing for, but something in his pained expression as he stormed from your room earlier has bothered you since.

Satan tells you he doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t even know what it is. All he knows is that he’s not prepared to try and untangle the complicated feelings that make him feel like he’s walking a very thin line over a dark chasm. The tiniest push could set him off, make him fall - and he’s scared about what that might mean for him. And for you.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I thought you might like something warm to help you feel better.” You hold the cup out for him to take, and he recognizes the familiar scent of coffee. He’s never seen you drink coffee in the Devildom, usually preferring tea that Barbatos or the angels offer you at RAD or Purgatory Hall.

He accepts the gesture for what it is - a peace offering, a temporary truce while he sorts out whatever’s going on in his head - and he takes a sip. Your pleased smile falls from your face when he chokes on the drink, and he coughs into the sleeve of his shirt.

Your eyes are panicked and you try to take the cup back from him. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. Is it too hot?”

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “No, it’s fine. It’s just awfully –” he stops himself, his surprise turning into realization. “You used hell coffee beans to make this?”

You shrug, turning away. You still seem embarrassed by his reaction, assuming you made the drink wrong. “You like to drink it when we’re reading together,” you explain, biting your lip nervously. “If you don’t want it, I can take it back and get you something else.”

He gives you the most reassuring smile he can manage despite his turbulent mood. “No, you’re right. It is my favourite. And you made it well. Thank you.”

You take a few steps back. “Well, I should probably finish my homework. I kicked the others out of my room for the night. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You start to walk away, cat at your heel, but turn over your shoulder to look at him one more time. “I don’t have to work tomorrow night. We can hang out after dinner if you want?”

You beam at him happily when he nods, and Satan watches you walk away with a bit more bounce to your step. He shuts the door and chuckles quietly while he stares into the cup you gave him. He’s certain you’re not aware of hell coffee’s other properties, the reason why the cup you made specially for him is more bitter than anything he’s ever tasted.

He sits in his chair, sipping from his cup with a smile on his face, and lets the warmth of your brewed affection soothe him.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

#obey me satan #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me satan x reader #satan x reader #obey me fluff #omswd fluff #satan fluff #obey me satan x mc #satan x mc #obey me satan x you #satan x you #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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mylovelies-docx · 8 months

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Part 11

Ooooof. Sorry for this. But I'm also double sorry for what comes after :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Angst, HYDRA experiments, blood, wounds, disturbing visions, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1,085

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9][Part 10]

You stumble inside, gasping for breath.

The wound on your side needs immediate attention but you scramble around the abandoned home instead, blood and gunk oozing down and drip, drip, dripping onto the rotten wooden floors. You riffle through the drawers in the wobbly oak desk and come away with a blunt pencil before moving on to the bookshelves along the walls, dust covering the dry, cracked spines of the novels. You love books so much that you hate to even dog-ear your copies, but you proceed to rip out a few title pages and epigraphs, needing clean space to write.

You know there’s not enough time to both patch yourself up and write down your final words, so you can only hope that you’ll be cognizant enough to get down what you need to.

You clutch the papers and pencil in one hand and begin making your way to the small table and chair set off to the side of the kitchen. Pausing at the entryway, you use the other hand to apply pressure around the arrow jutting from just under your ribcage.

You hiss at the pain, looking down at your blood-covered fingers and noticing rivulets of bright blue that had been hidden within the hollow shaft of the arrow. You had noticed a hollow pop when you snapped the fletching off back in the woods. You were still clear-headed enough at the time to realize that the inside had a coating of blue liquid. There wasn’t enough of it on the ground to fill the shaft, so the rest of it must have already been injected into your body – the arrow must have been triggered to inoculate upon penetration.

You only had a limited amount of time to figure out what was going to happen to you, but knowing how HYDRA operates, you’ve decided to err on the side of caution and assume that death is imminent. Despite working at the facility for the past couple of months, you can’t determine what the blue liquid is. It could be any number of hallucinogens, anticoagulants, euthenasia agents, or something you hadn’t encountered yet.

You had run until you found this house, a good twenty miles from the facility and even further from your pre-determined evac point with Bucky in case shit hit the fan. Your pounding heart had only exacerbated your problems, increasing your blood loss and quickening the circulation of the substance through your bloodstream. You’d grown paranoid on your journey here, flinching at every sound and jumping at figures that seemed to leap at you from behind the trees. Darkness descended upon the forest and the shadows grew spindly fingers that seemed to snatch at your ankles.

You come back to yourself, standing under the archway only a few feet from your destination. You shake your head, clearing away the spiders that had started to spin webs between your eyelashes. Without them in the way, the shadows only grew bolder – whipping out and slashing you to ribbons. The sleeves that had been protecting your arms are torn to shreds, small welts and bloody cuts evident through the holes.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you finish hobbling over to the rusty metal table. You slam the writing materials on the bumpy surface, bending over to pick up the fallen chair. You settle yourself onto the moth-eaten cushion, the wooden posts against your back creaking in protest.

The shadows crawl over your shoulders and perch there, staring down at your hand as you try to write. The paper rotates under the pencil, turning your letters unintelligible. You hadn’t wanted to mar the letter with your blood, but you reluctantly pull the hand staunching the flow of warmth from your side and press it delicately to the top of the page, holding it in place.

As you write, tears pool along your lower lashes. The spiders titter happily, poking at the salty water and causing it to spill over onto your cheeks. The little creatures don’t appear interested in mopping up the liquid on your face with their little hairy bodies, because you see tear stains appear on the paper underneath you as the droplets collect on your chin and rain down.

You need to get this all out before you lose the one train of thought that still remains unscathed. The one topic inside your head that still makes sense, that you can still understand.

Well, one that you used to understand. Bucky had been the one constant in your life until he wasn’t. Until you ruined it. Your conversation that was supposed to fix everything today never happened. So everything left unsaid between you and Bucky will remain that way, unless you get these words down.

You’ll never know what Bucky was going to say, but at least he’ll be able to hear your side.

You can’t help but watch, fascinated, as lights begin to dance over your hand and the letter. Looking up, you can see that the entire table and wall opposite the window next to you also flicker brightly. The shapes dazzle your eyes, reflecting off the tears still gathering, and blind you intermittently as they bounce around.

You close your eyes against the lights wreaking havoc on your pupils, but the images that flash behind your eyelids are even more torturous.

It’s your life before Great Fuck-Up.

Bucky’s smiling face as he laughs at one of your sarcastic comments, his intent eyes and cocky smirk when he knew you were thinking about him, all the silly little moments you spent together that meant so much to you.

But then the images switch and you recognize immediately that you’re now in The After: the cold blue eyes, grimacing mouth, and the loneliness that came along with your confession. The anger and pain in Bucky’s voice when he turned you down, when he said he regretted the time spent with you.

You inhale shakily as a sob tries to make its way up your throat and past your molten lips. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and the pencil slips through your fingers and rolls, rolls, rolls across the neverending table until it disappears over the edge that hadn’t been there seconds ago. There’s nothing to do except look back down at the page.

There’s only a few lines written, but if this is all you can manage then it will just have to be good enough. Knowing that these are your last moments, you’re glad that you could at least get these words off your chest. You hope that these last few words will be a consolation. To Bucky, to Nat, and Steve, and Sam, and Wanda, and, and, and a million other people that you’re going to miss – that will miss you.

Thinking of all the people you’re leaving behind brings into sharp relief just how lonely you are. You’re stuck in a long abandoned home, freezing, bleeding out, and unable to call for help. Even during your time away, you’d never felt this agonizing loneliness. This pain that manifests as a hollow feeling that echoes in your abdomen, as invisible hands grabbing and twisting at your heart.

God. What is Bucky going to do now that you’re not going to be able to complete the mission? You did all you could, downloaded and scrubbed all the data before setting the self-destruct sequence into motion, but was it enough? You don’t remember a big fireball in the sky and quaking earth under your feet as you ran away, but maybe you were just too out of it to notice.

You can’t help but feel guilty that Petre and his family got wrapped up in the situation, that their only way to move forward and help Sasha was to join that horrible, awful institution. But honestly, death is probably the best outcome for Sasha after everything HYDRA has done to her, whatever they’ve made her body dependent on.

Sharp pain flares from your chest and ricochets behind your ribs, forcing a cry from your lips. The pain continues to grow and spread, encroaching on your organs and traveling through your limbs - but all the sudden it’s gone and a crawling, slithering, pulsing numbness takes its place. Your bones and muscles and ligaments turn to jelly and you slide sideways out of the chair, landing hard on the rotten floor but not feeling it.

The pain is gone, but your emotions remain. You can’t help but remember all the time you spent training, spent getting to know the team, spent making life-long friendships. You just didn’t realize that life-long would be so short.

The lights on the wall grow more intense, more numerous, and you can hear howling, baying, snarling monsters sprinting to your final resting place. You can only hope that you’ll be gone by the time they sink their vicious fangs and terrible claws into your soft and squishy flesh.

You thought that you would take any company over the aching loneliness you feel, but you realize that maybe being alone isn’t the worst thing in the end. At least no one has to see you cry, and shiver, and shake, and watch as your chest refuses to rise and your heart refuses to pump and the light leaves your eyes.

Yeah, no one should see that. You want them to remember you how you were: happy sometimes, a pain in the ass a lot of times, and – hopefully – as a good friend, a good teammate, a good person. You know there’s so many things you could have done differently, but does it even matter now?

You can see the clothes piled on your floor back in New York, the cereal bowl left on your nightstand from a midnight snack, all the makeup scattered across your counter from girls’ night out. The pillow slumped against the door and tear stains soaking your bed sheets at the house you share with Bucky only a handful of miles away.

You see the half-finished books on your shelf, the unsung songs on your playlists, the stories you never told and never heard, and the conversations left unfinished, the words left unsaid.

You wish that your last thoughts before you die were happy, that you could watch your life back over and not regret so much, that you could see your family and friends and Bucky one last time.

But that isn’t in the cards for you. The monsters from outside have finally reached the house, slamming open the door and shattering what’s left of the windows. Shadows converge on you from every angle, crowding your eyes and compressing your lungs more and more and more until there’s no room left to expand. Until you can’t take in any air. Gasping, gasping, gasping. Until the room fades out and so does your heartbeat.

Part 12

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283 @terry2227

#sorry i love you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

It’s oh so quiet

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Summary: you are in a bad relationship, and you just want to be with Jake.

Warnings: angst (?), but fluffy end. cursing. cheating/unfaithfulness. poor relationship.

notes: its technically jake seresin x reader/bradley bradshaw x reader, but barely

Sorry i’ve been so awol. there has just been a lot going on

Words: 1668

-----

"Did you know the sheets pilled?"

There's an oblong table in your kitchen. Large. Out of place in the cramped space. He sits at one end, you at the other. The distance between you is enough to keep one another well out of reach, but you're used to it. With your hands in your lap, you stare at the outside of the flimsy newsprint in his grip that obscures most of his face.

"What?" He asks, taking a sip of coffee. He doesn't bother to flick the corner of the page down to meet your eye.

"The bedsheets,” you pick at your thumbnail, “they pilled. From the washer." Cheap things. So thin you can see the label of your mattress through the fabric. That they're not littered with holes is a miracle. “That’s why it feels like someone dumped a bucket of cracker crumbs in the bed.”

"Oh," he pauses, maintaining his full attention on the article. You know he didn’t bother to fully absorb your words before opening his mouth. His stupid mouth. "I hadn't noticed."

Of course not, you think. He sleeps soundly. Thoroughly. He sleeps like a cradled cat with a belly full of milk. Always waking perfectly rested; yesterday’s troubles as thick and potent in his mind as a cup of watered-down coffee is on his tongue. His side of the bed might as well be silky soft, smooth. You wouldn’t know. You haven’t spent much time there in a while. Meanwhile, your side is filled with little balls of hardened fabric that scrape their way into the uppermost layer of your skin. As irritating as kneeling on a pile of uncooked grits or chipped pieces of rock.

You don’t sleep anymore. You can’t blame the sheets. You think of him. The other him. The him whose face is tattooed on the inside of your eyelids. Ever present. Following you with each blink—each attempt at rest.

“Are you going to leave him?”

Your hand runs softly down the side of his face, skimming across the light blond scruff coating his jaw. “Is that what you want?”

He grabs your hand from his face. Kisses your palm. “You know it is.”

The man before you doesn’t speak—he reads. He doesn’t look up. You’re not there; not to him. The room is once again silent—silence in its rawest form. We have silent sex, you suddenly think. Well, had silent sex. You don’t touch him anymore and he doesn’t try to touch you. He knows better; knows you prefer those touches to come from another’s fingers; he just doesn’t know whose. He doesn’t ask.

It’s so heavy, this silence. Thick. Hard to penetrate. It’s different here, in this space. Uncomfortable and achy and soon it will morph into pure pain—it always does. It makes you miss the noise. The days you used to fight. The screams and the curses and that time the walls shook when his fist pummeled through the plaster. Without the noise, this silence is a murderous little thing. It seeps into your pores, nestles under your skin, and slowly eats away at your insides until you feel ugly and rotten, like a festering wound. Something to be cut out and discarded.

It’s not like that with him. With him, silence is easy; it’s peace. It turns your brain into cotton candy clouds. You’re free to not have to think. You’re free to breathe. You like breathing. It’s oddly pleasant. Even more so when you’re laying beside him while his fingers sift through the stands of your hair.

“I love you,” he says.

“I know—I love you, too.”

“Then when do I get to clear out half of my closet?”

You raise a brow. “Get to?”

He only smiles and tugs your body closer to his. “I want to have you here. I'm ready for you to be mine. Only mine."

You are ready, too. So, so ready. Each moment of acting otherwise seems to age you. Like nature looks upon you every day, shaking its head in disappointment, and decides that if you’re going to waste your time being miserable when you could be happy, then you don’t get to keep your youth. You’re wasting it and you don’t deserve such a gift.

You understand nature’s irritation. You hadn’t been too thrilled with yourself, either. But then last weekend happened.

For the first time, you hadn't left his place to shuffle your way back to your apartment. You woke up in a bed other than your own and when you opened your eyes, you flipped over to be met with the peaceful face of the man you loved—asleep, and yet awake enough to subconsciously wrap his arm tighter around your waist and nuzzle his face into your hair. You knew in a half-second that that was where you belonged. With him. In his arms, his bed, his heart. Your life is meant to be by his side. It's just a matter of speaking it aloud to more than yourself.

Your eyes penetrate through the paper. You can practically see his face; emotionless, dull, the entirety of him unmoved by your presence.

“It’s Jake,” you finally say, your voice powerful, slicing through the air. You take a breath. "It's been Jake."

He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. You start to think you’ve reached a whole new level of insignificance to him. But then he folds the newspaper and lays it flat atop the table. He looks up at you—stares straight into your soul.

“It was that girl from the bar,” he says.

It doesn’t hurt. Not one bit. You don’t feel anything in your body at the thought of his limbs entangled with another woman's. Your heart doesn’t crack, your head doesn’t ache, your fingers don’t tremble. It’s nothingness. There’s nothing.

You only nod in response, but truthfully you don’t know which girl he is talking about. There were many options. Women fling themselves at him whenever you go out, and he lets them. His voice is a beacon from the moment he sits himself down on that piano bench. A beacon to all women but you. With his eyes on them, yours are always on Jake, standing on the other side of the bar, his hand outstretched for you to take and sneak off somewhere more private.

He shakes his head as he crosses his arms and fully leans back in the chair. His snort is a puff of air. “He’s always talking about you,” he says. “Drags your name into every damn conversation.”

You hold back the smile his words beg to spread across your face. But his own meaning is clear. I should’ve known. It was so obvious. It was right in front of me the whole time.

You agree. It was right there, in plain sight, from the moment it started. He just never cared enough to bother seeing. Neither did you care to notice how easily he fell into arms that were not your own.

“No one else to pick but my teammate?” he asks.

You shrug. “Why did you pick the girl you did?”

“She was there and she wanted me.”

"Jake was there and he wanted me," you say. “And I fell in love with him.” To say the least. Jake Seresin hit you like an avalanche; showing you all the things you didn't know you could have. All the things that completely and simultaneously swell your heart and set your body aflame.

"Well." Fingers run through his brown locks. “Are you leaving or am I?”

“I am. At the end of the week.”

He scoffs, but there’s a hint of a dry laugh buried beneath it. “All planned out and everything, huh?”

You can practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. You know it all too well from past kisses. It's his pride this time, though, that has been damaged. You feel an ounce of regret for that. Hurting him is not your intention. It never was. But anything he feels now is not a wound to the heart. It's been quite some time since you could have had that power.

“When was the last time we were good for one another, Bradley? When was the last time you looked at me and could truly say you loved me?”

He's quiet, yet again. This time appearing to think on your question. Perhaps he believes it's for your benefit to not seem so terribly obvious in already knowing the answer. But he’s not alone. You've both known the answer for far too long.

“I don’t know," he says.

You nod. "Neither do I.”

—-

He's leaning against the back of his truck; muscled body clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, the short sleeves straining from the thickness of his biceps. He hasn't noticed you yet and you let yourself stare at him—taking him in, absorbing him the way his skin absorbs the summer sun.

Then you smile wide and run to him from the entrance of your apartment building. He notices you just in time to catch you in his arms, spinning you around once before setting you on your feet.

"Hi," you say.

He shakes his head with a smile that mirrors your own, and then he kisses you. A soft press of his lips to yours, but it's enough to burst tingles throughout your body, reaching down to your toes and to the tips of your fingers that are weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hi, baby," he whispers between the narrow space separating your lips when you break the kiss. "I missed you."

A chuckle escapes your mouth as he sighs and rests his forehead against yours. His arms tighten around you, as if holding you loosely would give you the freedom to evaporate from his grasp. But you never will. Not by your own choice. "I don't think you'll be saying that for a while, Jake."

"Good." He gives you another long kiss. "Let's go get your stuff."

-----

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ariundercovers · 7 months

Text

Palladium (Prologue)

Title: Palladium (Prologue)

Co-written with @ezras--moon

Pairing: Pilot!Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 3,828

Warnings: None for now

Chapter (Prologue) Summary:

After his time in the army, Frankie gets a new job as a med-evac helicopter pilot. Reader, a paramedic who has been working on the chopper for quite some time, is unsure of her new coworker and has some serious doubts about their compatibility.

Authors’ Notes: Slow burn with lots of smut. Multi-chapter fic in progress. F!Reader, referred to by a nickname in later chapters. No use of y/n.

This fic is co-written by @ezras--moon and @ariundercovers. Please follow both of us for updates! We will be going back and forth to post each chapter, but catch a masterlist pinned to each of our blogs.

Day 1 - Monday, September 4th

The early morning light bathes the bedroom in an orange glow and the warmth of the sunlight hitting your face tickles you awake before your alarm can. You lay there silently for a long while, letting your brain slowly catch up with your body until it’s no longer comfortable and a groan slips out, slowly rolling over to your side to stretch your limbs. Eyes finally blinking the sleep away as you rise, the alarm goes off right as you sit up and put your feet down on the floor.

A quick shower wakes you up, and a steaming cup of french press coffee immediately afterward motivates you to get ready for the long day ahead of you. You hastily grab a cream cheese bagel along with another cup of coffee to go as you head out for the base, morning news on the radio barely registering in the back of your mind as you pull into your designated parking space.

Briskly walking to the locker room, you frown when you find it empty and remember what day it is.

Phoebe’s gone.

The pilot you’ve been partnered with for years, your closest friend and confidant - you can’t blame her for leaving, as much as you’d like to be angry. Her promotion, which comes with a really nice pay raise, meant a transfer to a new base, away from you.

“Well, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, frustrated with the change. You steady yourself, take a deep breath and a sip of your second coffee, before you slip into the rest of your gear, bright yellow warning vest last. Heading down the hall to the office, you clock in, hoping to see if you can find Benny or catch a glimpse of the new pilot. As far as you can tell, neither of them are anywhere to be seen - not that you would even know what the new pilot looks like. So, you go check in with your boss, Chief Lewis, who is in his office as usual, mustering up an enthusiastic greeting.

“Morning.” He greets you with a smile and immediately hands you a stack of paperwork. “I need you to meet your new pilot out back, fill this out over the course of your shift today, and then hand it back in tonight before you leave.” You raise your brows and look at the pages stapled together at the upper left corner. Glancing down at the header, you realize that it’s an evaluation, and he wants you to report back about any issues with communication and cooperation between your team and the new member.

“This is just the initial review, you’ll do a few more later on. One next week and the other in six. Alright?” he folds his hands under his chin and looks up at you expectantly.

You nod, still reading the questions on the paper in your hand, “Alright.”

You’re caught off guard when he continues. “And, if there’s nothing urgent coming in soon, you’ll be doing a test flight or two to get the crew acquainted with one another. So, go grab Miller and get started on that first.” The disapproval seems to be evident on your face, as he’s now the one to raise his brows. “Please, don’t scare off the new guy with that frown on his first day, now.” There’s a lighthearted chuckle to his tone, but the words he chooses don’t slip past you, either.

New guy.

You’re the only woman left on your little team of three. Chief Lewis ushers you out of his office then, and you let out a frustrated sigh in the hallway as you make your way to the heliport to find Benny.

When you come to find out neither of them are dressed for work yet and are, instead, engaged in some kind of animated discussion while just standing around next to the helicopter, you’re fuming. This means that, most likely, you’re going to be the one carrying the equipment out and loading it into the chopper while they catch up on getting ready, which they should have done at least ten minutes ago.

Benny spots you stomping towards them and you catch him nudging the new pilot who’s just out of view behind him from where you’re approaching. The stranger is sporting a gentle smile and waves shyly at you as he sidesteps Benny, emerging from behind your trusted nurse.

Your breath hitches in your throat just for a split second when you see him fully. His face, his imposing build, the messy mop of dark hair that he quickly hides beneath a baseball cap…

He’s handsome. You can feel your eyes start to widen for a split second before you reel yourself back in.

The moment passes quickly, however, almost instantaneously replaced once again by the annoyment from before as you set down the two heavy bags of medical supplies you’re carrying.

“Why aren’t the two of you dressed yet?” you almost bark, Chief Lewis’s request not to scare off the new guy going straight out the window.

Benny raises his hands in mock surrender and rolls his eyes. “Well, good fucking morning to you too.” The new pilot’s smile drops into a neutral expression and it occurs to you briefly that you’re being rude.

You sigh and ease up a little bit, but your brows remain furrowed as you step closer. “Morning, Benny.”

The new, aggravatingly attractive guy introduces himself as Francisco, ‘but you can call me Frankie’,shaking your hand firmly and confidently. The sheer size of his palm compared to yours makes you swallow dryly, adding to the list of annoyances you’ve already racked up today.

“Please, go get dressed. And hurry. I’ll get started on loading up.” The two men disappear out of sight and you get to work.

At least they don't take long and have the courtesy to bring the rest of the equipment on their way back out. And then it's not much longer until you’re finally seated with your headset on, buckled in, and Frankie’s communication with air traffic control layers staticky over the vibrating thrum of the chopper starting up.

It’s deeply annoying that even his voice is nice to listen to, but you know that’s not the source of your frustration... It’s the fact that he’s replacing your friend - your best friend.

It’s that you’re outnumbered by men, and it’s especially that they’ve already known each other forever. Benny told you as much while you were strapping everything in and sanitizing surfaces before take-off - apparently he had put a good word in for Frankie to be hired.

There’s an easy banter between the two of them over comms, in which you decidedly don’t partake; it feels like you’re the third wheel, intruding. You feel out of place with them, on this helicopter, on this job. You’ve never felt like this at work before, not even on your own first day when you met Phoebe. She made you feel included and comfortable from the moment you shook hands, and you immediately worked together as a cohesive unit.

You’re in the middle of an inner monologue about the situation, talking yourself deeper into the frustration, when Benny addresses you. You’re settled in the air, finally at altitude as Frankie smoothly tilts the helicopter along a predetermined route given to him by air traffic control.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks, pointing at the slightly crumpled evaluation form you’re clutching in your hands. He’s aggressively chewing gum and bouncing his leg, it makes your facial muscles finally relax into somewhat of an easier expression. At least it’s still the same Benny you’re working with. You hand him the sheet and he skims it, then gives it back with a grin, but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you okay back there?” Frankie asks when there’s no verbal reply to Benny’s question, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. Focus on getting us back down in one piece,” you respond. It comes out a little harsh, but you don’t pay it any mind.

Frankie shakes his head and turns back to the windshield, flying them smoothly and competently along the route. The longer you’re in the air, the more frustrated you feel, finding nothing about his demeanor or his flying that you could legitimately be disappointed with. Nothing to write down as a negative on his evaluation form.

Turns out, he’s infuriatingly and devastatingly competent.

You can feel your own leg start to shake back and forth a bit, the inner boiling beginning to affect you a bit more outwardly. Frankie’s voice sounds over the comms as you all arrive at your given location - just a mile or so out from the hospital.

“Turning around, and heading back to base, now.” The smoothness of his voice catches you off-guard every time. It’s like an expensive liquor in your ears, even through the static of the comms and the deafening loudness that is the inside of a helicopter. You close your eyes and sigh heavily, shaking it off. It feels impossible, but you just have to get through today. You could go home tonight and pour yourself a big glass of wine over it, but you have to figure out a way to not let this affect you. So, you shift in your seat, looking out over the city in front of you, and you count your breaths a few times, trying to regulate yourself. It helps, at least a little, and you sit back in your seat with a small sigh.

Frankie has the helicopter back in no time. He’s landing at base, again without a hitch, and you unbuckle yourself so that you can shuffle out of the chopper and back into base as quickly as possible.

You hole yourself up in the dorm for as long as you can, figuring some distance might help you shake the ugly feeling in your chest. Trying to focus on a new book Phoebe gifted you as a going away present, you’re laying back in your cot as you flip through the first pages.

An alarm blares over the intercom. They’re sending you out on your first call with the new pilot. A glance at your watch tells you you've lost track of time a little bit, it's almost noon already. You groan but immediately get to it, tossing the book onto your bed and grabbing your bag before jogging out to the helipad. Frankie is already there, climbing in, and you meet him inside just as Benny arrives as well. Everyone’s headsets are on in barely a moment as the chopper starts. Frankie turns and offers a nod to each of you - which you reluctantly reciprocate - before he takes off in the direction of the accident.

It’s a short trip - only a few minutes, really - and you land on a closed-off highway that’s got a three-car pileup blocking all lanes of traffic. There must be hundreds of cars unable to pass and waiting on tow trucks, police and your own team to clear their path. Ground EMS is there, too - you can see the lights from where you are, and you jump out of the helicopter, booking it toward them as Benny pulls out the stretcher to meet you there. The firefighters have already pulled your patient from the car, laid out on one of their stretchers with a very visible head injury. You crouch down, telling them your name and a few gentle pleasantries. You’re not sure they can even hear you, but you do it for all of your patients, no matter how bad of a shape they’re in.

“We’ve got you, now. Don’t worry - my team’s gonna get you to the hospital in no time at all, we’re gonna take good care of you.” One of your fellow paramedics on the ground gives you the low-down on the patient, explaining their injuries, position in the crash, and how the firefighters pulled them out. You nod, taking note of everything as you scan the patient yourself for visual confirmation. Asking a few follow-up questions, you nod to them and offer a polite ‘thank you’ as they stand and step to the side.

Benny jumps in then, offering you a smile before locking eyes with you. On the count of three, you lift the patient over to your stretcher. Two of the firefighters jump in toward the foot of the stretcher, grabbing the backboard along with you and Benny, and the four of you move quickly over to the helicopter as you load the patient into the cabin.

Frankie glances back at you, watching to make sure everything goes according to protocol. You and Benny finish buckling the patient down, and then sit in your seats, turned toward them as Benny continually takes vitals and you apply pressure to a deep wound on their shoulder. After one last cabin check, Frankie takes off, en route to the second closest hospital, given it has the resources to tend to your patient properly.

“Three minutes to General.” He calls back to you, and Benny nods with a ‘roger’ in response. Those three minutes are always both the longest and the shortest all at once - Benny and you working seamlessly to tend to the patient with all of your supplies and training available to you. You’re watching them inevitably deteriorate at once, so you’re grateful when you can finally feel the descent down to the helipad.

Doctors and nurses are waiting on the pad with a stretcher already, making the transition an easy one as you slide the patient off of the backboard. They run off then, Benny in tow, and you lag behind at the helicopter as the blades above you slowly whirr to a halt. Frankie climbs out as they stop, walking over to stand next to you.

“Everything go alright?” He asks.

You sigh, the adrenaline of the call slowly starting to wear off. “Yeah. As alright as it could have.” You’re not sure what else to say, so you stand there awkwardly, thoughts bouncing around in your skull for a long while. “I’ve gotta do some paperwork.”

You walk off, moving back into the cabin of the helicopter to grab the papers Chief Lewis handed you this morning. Setting them up on a clipboard, you settle into your seat and cross your legs, propping it up. It’s not actually that much paperwork, really, but it’s enough to make your head swim. This is, and will always be, your least favorite part of your job.

You fill out the pages on auto-pilot, jotting down route numbers, ID badge information, and generally recalling the course of the day so far. It startles you, then, when you hear the pilot’s door open up. Frankie steps in and takes a seat, swiveling his legs around to face you. He ticks his chin up at you and says, “Hey.”

You lift your eyes to him only briefly, not looking away from the page for more than a second, and raise one eyebrow at him in confusion. “What do you need, Morales?” He blinks back at you a few times and shakes his head.

“Nothing, just… wanted to say hi, I guess. We didn’t really get much of an introduction earlier.” You raise your chin to meet his gaze, settling against the back of your seat as you regard him.

“Well, hello. Consider us introduced.” You sigh, getting back to work on the papers and doing your best to ignore him further. - - -

The look on your face confuses Frankie to no end. He feels like maybe he did something wrong, said something wrong, perhaps? Made a wrong call during their test flight? It has to be something horrible to make you dislike him so blatantly, but you’ve only been working together for a few hours or so at this point.

He’s been replaying the day in his mind over and over again, searching for the moment where he slipped up, that moment when everything went wrong, but no matter what he does, he can’t find it, can’t quite figure out why you’ve grown to detest him so much already. He shifts in his seat, staring blankly out through the windshield as he waits for Benny to get back. It’s another internal battle to figure out if it’s worth it to keep trying, or if he should just give up and let you sulk. Maybe it had nothing to do with him, after all.

But, he’d never know if he didn’t try.

Sighing, he turns back around again and gives you a once over before speaking up once more. “Hey, uh… I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot or somethin’. Can we try this again? Tomorrow, maybe.” You huff, but acquiesce, looking up at him with a scowl on your face.

“Sure, fine. Whatever you want, Morales.” You look back down at the papers in your hands as Frankie brightens just a little bit, feeling better at the chance for a fresh start, even if you’re less than enthused about it. He sighs, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and turns back to the windshield, eyes trained to the hospital doors that Benny would hopefully be walking back out of soon.

It’s a few more minutes only and he’s doing exactly that, climbing up into the cabin of the helicopter with one of his bright signature smiles that makes Frankie shake his head. They head back to base in silence, unloading themselves and their equipment to clean and sanitize. They restock their bags, reload the chopper, and then they’re left to their own devices again.

Amazingly, they don't get another call for the rest of their day. Frankie stays largely in the day room with Benny, and he doesn’t see you for the rest of the shift, or even when he goes to leave. Benny walks up to him as he’s slinging his backpack over his shoulder and they walk out of the base together.

“Hey, Fish. Decent first day, I hope?” Frankie sighs, pulling off his hat so he can run his fingers through his hair, putting it right back atop his thick dark curls.

“Decent enough, I guess.” Offering a nervous chuckle, he shifts his backpack on his shoulders as they start to head out. “Very different from flying in the army, that’s for sure.”

Benny smiles back at him. “It’ll take some time to get used to, but you’re a natural. Knew you would be, man.” Frankie nods, appreciative of the compliment, and they continue to walk in silence for a few more steps before he perks up with a question of his own.

“Hey, Benny, can I ask you somethin’?” Benny turns, regarding him as the cadence to their steps slows.

“Sure, man. Whatever you need.” They pause in front of Frankie’s beaten up truck, turning to face one another. Frankie’s head ticks toward the base.

“Is she always… like that? Feel like I did somethin' wrong… real wrong, if I’m being honest. Is she cold like that with everyone? Or is it just me?” Benny lets out a hearty laugh and claps Frankie on the shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly.

“Just give her some time. I think she’ll warm up to you pretty quickly. You’re a good guy, Frankie, so just keep being you. She’ll get there, I promise.” Frankie nods in understanding, accepting Benny’s words with a frustrated huff.

“Alright, If you say so.” They offer each other a curt nod and head in their own directions, Frankie ducking into his car and taking a moment to settle himself before driving off in the direction of his apartment.

~ ~ ~

It takes Phoebe a while to pick up when you call her that night, leaning over your kitchen counter and fidgeting with the handle of your spatula. You almost give up when the line finally connects and you hear her voice at the other end. She’s just slightly out of breath, making you think she must have rushed to find her phone at the other end of her apartment.

“Hellooo,” she sings as a greeting and you hear her sit down in her creaky porch chair, front door falling shut in the background. You sigh before you say anything, but then muster a squeaky “Hey.”

It must be so obvious, the exasperation in your voice, because she makes a sympathetic sound before she asks you what’s wrong.

“Oh no, honey, rough day? What happened?”

You sigh into the phone and plop yourself down in your kitchen chair after flipping your food in the pan. “It’s just… the new pilot. He’s a man so I’m left now as the only woman on the crew. And, even better, he and Benny have been super close for years already, and it was him who recommended him for the job. I’m like the third wheel. It’s horrible!” You can hear a breathy laugh on the other side that she tries to cover up, unsuccessfully. “Oh come on, Phoebs… You’re living your best life in your new cushy job and I’m stuck with these two big burly boys. By myself. You’ve abandoned me!” You’re joking mostly, at this point, but the feelings inside are still real, even if you’re covering them up with a bit of laughter.

“I know. A new start like this is tough. But give the guy a chance. If he’s friends with our Benny, he’s gotta be a good one, right? He deserves a fair shot. Give it a couple of days, and see how you’re feeling about it then. It’s too raw right now to be able to make any real sense of it, anyway.” She pauses for a moment and you take a deep breath, standing up to check on your food.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know I didn’t give you much time to prepare for it, either. It’s hard, no matter how you swing it.” You nod your head, even though she can’t see you, and look out into the distance of your living room.

“It is. But you’re right, too. I can give him a couple days, that’s only fair.” You sigh, frustrated to know that she’s right, but always grateful for her advice, anyway.

“Exactly. If it was you in his position, you’d only want the same, wouldn’t you?”

You huff, her wisdom starting to whittle away at your misplaced rage. “Yeah yeah, voice of reason. I know. I’ll give him a chance.”

She chuckles on the other side of the line. “Now that’s my girl! I’d bet he makes out to be pretty decent, after all. Benny wouldn’t stick his neck out like this for just anyone, and you know that.”

You nod in agreement even though she can’t see you. “Definitely not.”

“So just keep your head up and ride it out. You’ll know soon enough.”

#writing #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #francisco moralex x reader #fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #fanfiction #ariundercovers #ezras--moon

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zorosleftshoe · 1 year

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Hi! Can I request a fanfic with Colby where the reader is a university student and they stress? Colby helps get their mind off of studying.

I love the idea of this. The thought of Colby running a bubble bath for his girlfriend to help her relax just gives me life ❤️

Pairing: Colby Brock x fem!reader

The words seemed to blur together on the page as I read through what seemed to be my fifth book of the night. I knew college was hard but this was definitely not what I expected. For the most part I was passing my classes with flying colors. Only ever receiving a poor grade here and there.

Unfortunately, Biochem was a different monster. I had bombed the last test even though I’d studied for two weeks straight. I was crushed. Even more so when Colby came home fully prepared for the celebration of a passed test only to find me drowning my sorrows in a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. It wasn’t his fault. He had helped in the only way he knew how. Which was an endless array of flash cards stolen kisses.

“Hey baby.” Colby’s voice rang through the apartment as he stepped through the front door. “Woah.” His blue eyes filled with concern when he saw the state I was in. It wasn’t as if I was trying to hide it. My hair was frazzled, tears had stained my cheeks along with the gray oversized T-shirt I was wearing, and books were cluttering the little space I had taken up in the living room.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I said quickly as I attempted to tidy up the books strung all over the coffee table and carpet. “I just can’t afford to fail this biochem test. I already bombed the last one and if I fail this one, it’s over for me.” Colby knew immediately what was wrong. His eyes softened and he dropped his keys on the table and came sat behind me. He placed his hands lightly on my shoulders before kneading them slowly.

“How long have you been studying?” He questioned softly. I hummed in response.

“Uh,” he chuckled pressing a kiss on my head. “Noon, I think.” I felt him remove one of his hands from my shoulders before continuing to rub my shoulders.

“It’s nearly eight, baby. You gotta stop doing that.” He wasn’t degrading with his words. He knew how important this test was and he also knew how stubborn I could be when it came to studying. His career was already solidified while mine was still being paved. “What do you say you take a break?”

“Colby.” I dragged out the last syllable and he hummed when I leaned my head back against his chest.

“I’ll be right back.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before getting up and walking out of the room. After a few minutes he came back to find me with my nose buried in a chemistry book. “No, no.” The book closes in front of me and I almost protest but Colby pulls me to my feet and down the hall.

The bathroom is lit by numerous candles and the bath is coated in bubbles with a hint of lavender that lingers in the air. I sigh happily at the smell and lean into Colby’s side. Before I could get too comfortable I felt him lifting my shirt higher up my back. I turned to face him and lifted my arms for him to discard the unwanted fabric. He smiled down at me as his fingers fiddled with the ties on my pajama shorts before nudging them down my thighs. They hit the ground with a soft thud and I watched as Colby eyed the newly exposed skin.

“Go ahead and finish getting undressed while I go cook you some dinner.” He leaned down and our lips in a quick kiss. He pulled away and rubbed my cheek gently before leaving me alone in the bathroom. The water is warm when it hits my skin. Colby always knew how to get the right temperature. In some ways I was jealous. Jealous of every woman that had this before I did. Because when everything seemed to swallow me whole, when it felt as if I was drowning, Colby was there to pull me to safety. He was there to hold my hand as I defeated all the monsters under my bed.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts and I opened my eyes to see Colby peaking his head in the door.

“Hi, honey. Dinner is almost ready. I know you want to relax. If you’d like I can bring it in here for you, or I can pop it in the microwave to keep it warm.” His suggestions both sounded good but all I wanted at that moment was to just feel him.

“Can you just put it in the microwave and come get in?” He gave me a small smile before disappearing back into the hallway. I relaxed back into the water and after a few moments Colby came stepping into the bathroom already stripping his shirt from his body. Once he was fully undressed I moved forward allowing him access to the space behind me and once he was comfortable I leaned back against his chest. “This is nice.” He hummed and I could feel the vibration on on my shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” He asked pressing a hot kiss against my the exposed skin of my neck.

“Honestly? So much better.” He held our hands up in front of us and I watched as he intertwined our fingers. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For always being the best. You always know how to take care of me.” He presses another kiss against my neck and rests his head against mine for a moment.

“Only the best for my girl.”

#sam and colby #colby brock x you #colby brock x y/n #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader

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adammilligan · 10 months

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also since everyone seems to like tdodl so much (still insane to me btw) is it worth mentioning that i have 52 pages of a kind-of sort-of sequel that i wrote from michael's pov that i ultimately abandoned because michael is such an incredibly complex character to write. idk. here's a snippet of it anyway because maybe someone will enjoy it:

There is little talk between them for the first couple of days.

It might be the shock at seeing each other again. Michael had never expected to, when he was wasting away in the Empty the same way he’d done in the Cage—only alone this time.

Adam had never expected to either, if the glances he keeps throwing Michael are any indication.

But they don’t talk. And Michael, not for the first time in his recent existence, is unsure.

He has nothing to compare it to. Even before, when they’d first made contact, they had talked to each other. Though perhaps talk was too strong of a word—they’d snap at each other, more like. Words filled to the brim with vitriol, with hurt, with rage, with desperation, taking the hopelessness they felt out on the other and learning not to take it personally until it had stopped altogether.

Now, there’s just a stifling sort of quiet between them, like they’re both waiting for the other to speak and neither of them is quite brave enough to do it.

Adam glances at him, and his eyes are not of those gazing upon the miracle of someone who’d come back to life. They look at him like he’s impossible, as if Michael was something entirely new, sewn together in the spaces adjacent to the universe and spat out on the hardwood of his floor instead of an archangel crafted by the hand of God.

Michael can’t even bring himself to bristle at it, which leaves him with the impression that he’ll fall out of Adam’s body and sink down to the center of the Earth if he isn’t careful. A flick of his wings could topple cities, a flash of his eyes could raze landscapes, and still. Still.

The weariness eats at him.

He isn’t sure if weariness is even the right word to call it, but—to the small, silent speck of horror that glitters somewhere deep within him—it is the only word he can come up with, in every language and every variation thereof, in Enochian and the bastardization of it that Lucifer had developed in Hell that he’d screamed at Michael in the Cage until there was nothing left to do except fight, and fight, and fight.

Poison has no effect on him, but it spreads through him like one regardless, and he sees the slump of his wings mirrored in the set of Adam’s shoulders.

It is a small comfort, he supposes, to share their burdens even now.

#given that this is my blog and i'll put what i want on it i will say that the entirety of this 52 page rough draft #is written a thousand times better than tdodl ever was. though i assume it's because tdodl was written #when i was in high school and chohw (come hell or high water) which is this fic was written during my first couple of years of college #will i ever finish it? almost definitely not. at least not for a few years at the very least. but it's interesting to compare my writing #side-by-side because there IS a notable difference. anyway #kate rambles #my stuff

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qqtxt · 2 years

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HIHIHI I really like your page :’)) can I request a pretty soobin fic going on a carousel ride where he confesses his feelings :( my birthday just passed and this is all I want 🫶🏼

(thank you for your time and efforts if you do 💗)

aw beb! belated happy birthday! 💖😛 i hope you got to have a nice time on your special day! i’ll say it right now that i don’t think i’ll be open to requests yet (bc i already started a bunch of things in my drafts and i just wanna get around to finishing those first!) but in future, i might have requests open!

as of now, if anyone does send anything in, just know that there’s a chance it might not get written as requests aren’t “officially” open. (bc again, my drafts is a nightmare 👻) so just a disclaimer if anyone does send anything in.

now! i couldn’t help but just write a small little thing here. hope you like it and again, belated happy birthday! ✨

[🐰] can’t take my eyes off of you

✿ pairing: soobin x reader / non.idol!au / cheesy fluff / shy!soobin / mentions of food and eating / word count: 695 words ✿ in which soobin tries to tell you how he feels about you... but it doesn’t exactly go as planned... 🎧: can’t take my eyes off of you (cover–craymer, prd–aiivawn) [masterlist 🌸]

everything about today went right. everything except the one main thing that soobin hopes for with his fingers crossed, might as well try to cross his toes while he’s at it, really. the day you were born; the day soobin is thankful he’s met you and has the blessing to call you his friend... soon-to-be partner-in-crime, hopefully?

it was going well. too well. and he feels like his heart is going to fly out of his chest despite how slow the carousel was moving. the day was perfect from the start; a quiet moment in the library together, cafe hopping twice because you have to try that cake! and later you’ll have to try that drink! and the night was coming to an end at the small theme park just across town; nothing like a calming bus ride together before havoc soon ensues when two bunnies run around to the rides and food stalls.

that one! let’s go! you’re dragging him to the carousel but he insists on standing outside the ring to watch you hop on the robot horse. somehow, you’re the only one on the ride and soobin doesn’t know if it’s the sign from the universe to confess, this is the time, now’s the perfect time!

he tries to practice his speech in his mind as he smiles and watches you enjoy the ride with the music-box-like music that fills the environment. the lights twinkle and the movements of the horses up and down paint the scene straight out of a movie. soobin’s mind goes blank the more he watches you, even with the way you’re trying to do silly faces through each spin doesn’t navigate away how beautiful he thinks you look.

his nerves almost clamp down on him and he can feel himself restricting himself with the way his hands turn to fists by his side. he decides it’s now; when the music seems to be the loudest and–”i like you, y/n!”

...

the ride came to a stop and the music dies down, with soobin facing his horror when you stop right in front of him. eyes wide, gaping slightly, unmoving. soobin has never wanted to be buried six feet under until now; not with the way he can’t read your expression. every single heart beat that passes when you don’t say anything is adding to the pressure building up in his chest. oh god, he can feel that corndog coming right back up–”took you long enough, handsome.”

the way his face morphs is what makes you laugh the hardest. from being straight up mortified, he’s so confused that his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“w-what?”

“let’s go on the ferris wheel next!”

he had mentally prepared himself for the endless teasing, but nothing would’ve prepared him for the way you’re standing in front of him, holding your hand out for him to hold that he quietly fills the spaces of your fingers with his own, allowing you to pull him to follow your lead.

maybe... maybe it didn’t turn out so bad, afterall.

((the bus ride back to town wasn’t as awkward as soobin had thought. initially, he figured if the confession didn’t go well, he’ll just pretend like he’s asleep the whole way (or pretend he doesn’t exist). none of that is happening, though... when his dreams are a reality with the way you hold onto his hand, playing with his fingers on your lap. he instinctively shifts his shoulders lower just a little for you to rest on and his breath hitches when you snuggle against him.

he hopes you don’t move away when he peeks at you, watching how your eyes flutter shut to get some rest with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. soobin does this thing with his face when he’s too happy but tries not to show it. he presses his lips together, dimples showing, eyes snapping shut momentarily as if he’s trying to memorise the image before he lets out the exhale he’s been holding in to gaze out the window.

in his own reflection, the stars spark brighter in his eyes with joy.))

#txt scenarios #txt x reader #soobin x reader #soobin scenarios #txt soobin #choi soobin #soobin x you

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sakkiichi · 11 months

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MATCHUP FOR SCART-T.

hello, dear and my apologies for the delay ! thank you for requesting, I hope you like your matchup <3

since you didn’t specify if you wanted it for genshin or honkai star rail, i’m going to match you with genshin characters, due to me having a better grasp of their personalities. i apologize in advance if it’s not as lengthy as usual, but this is what i could come up with using the information you sent !

Your genshin impact match is someone very wise, with a vast knowledge of pretty much any topic. however, he can be a little clueless at times, to how current society works. he is well respected and seen by some as a parental figure. he is someone with many stories to tell too and he currently leads a peaceful life.

well, do these attributes ring a bell? these days he goes by…

✧ ZHONGLI

Zhongli is drawn to your motherly and mature nature. You are a welcoming and soothing presence in the lengthy days he’s walked Teyvat.

The ex geo archon admires how you seem prepared for any situation: from bandages, to spare tissues, to snacks, you have a knack for knowing what’s going to be needed.

As someone who’s seen and memorized countless stories, Zhongli’s heart warms at the sight of you reading and writing.

What tales are developing on those pages you fill, he wonders…

—

Liyue seems to dye in shades of gold at this hour, the outlines of the mountains surrounding the city, stark against a backdrop of oranges that fade into light blue.

Through your living room window, dusk’s last rays cast you in coppery hues, dust particles fluttering around akin to fireflies.

Pen in hand, you comfortably lie on the sofa, tongue sticking out the corner of your lips, as you diligently scribble on the previously pristine pages of your notebook.

But the setting sun is not the only one with his gaze focused on you.

Softened pools of molten amber are set on you, the ex geo archon’s expression, tender, fondness carved in his ancient, and at the same time young, features.

Tea cup in hand, Zhongli saunters into the room, his voice honey like when he inquires:

“Writing again, beloved?”

You look up from your work, sparkles dancing in your eyes when you meet his smile.

Carefully, you set your journal down, sitting up, inviting your lover to take the space beside you.

“Sort of.” You softly say. “I was just drafting something.”

Setting his tea on the low table, your partner relaxes into the couch, your form leaning against his.

“What was it about, dearest?” He asks, arms looping around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

You giggle.

“Hmm… it’s a love story…” You look up at him, those warm sultry eyes focused solely on you. “You inspired me to write it, you know…” You utter, your hands resting on his chest, as his arms soothingly run up and down your back.

“Tell me more, my love.” You feel his chest gently rumble at his words.

“It’s about a god and how he feel in love…” you trail off, nuzzling further into him.

“Oh? I’m interested, darling.” Zhongli whispers, leaving a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Really?” You retort, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “How about I show you instead, Rex Lapis?” You smirk, trailing feather light kisses along his perfectly sculpted jawline.

“Even better.” He breathes, your faces inches apart, before you two close the distance.

—

Your affinity for sleep is also something Zhongli finds super endearing. If he can’t sleep long in the mornings due to his job at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, he always makes sure to take naps with you in the afternoon, your head resting over his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you into pleasant dreams.

He adores cuddling you at night as well. After long days, a good tea and your proximity and touch feel like paradise to the former archon.

If you ask him to, he’ll be more than happy to recount stories to you, his smooth baritone calming down any stress you might have had during the day.

Considering a modern au, I imagine you driving the car at night, with Zhongli by your side. He is entranced by the stars in your eyes when the city lights illuminate you, you’re simply so… powerful and ethereal like this.

You two would be an overall very gentle and sweet couple, it just makes sense to me heh.

✧ RUNNER UP: THOMA

I think you and Thoma would work well together because you are similar in your nurturing nature.

Because you are described as motherly, you could care for him in moments when he needs it, since Thoma is always tending to everyone’s needs, but who takes care of his?

Similarly to Zhongli, even if he can’t sleep in most days because of his schedule, Thoma makes sure to leave a kiss on your temple every morning before he goes, a fond smile on his lips and a newfound spring on his step when he thinks of how peaceful you looked asleep.

His cuddles are the best too, he’s just so comforting and loving, you can’t help but feel at peace in his arms.

Thoma asks Ayaka and Ayato for book recommendations for you since he found out about your love for literature; he just adores your smiles and sparkly eyes every single time he returns home with something new for you to read.

#genshin impact matchup #genshin impact matchups #genshin matchups #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #zhongli x reader #thoma x reader

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latibvles · 1 year

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SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic. // unravelled.

everyone says this can't go on, but it does.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: up and up — until Daisy gasps for air.

WARNINGS: same as the previous chapter.

Having space and not knowing how to fill it is a little like having time and not knowing what to do with it.

Ginny gives her that — space — to think. Whenever Daisy tries to apologize, she just tells her not to. She still can’t look Ron in the eye, much less speak to him. He doesn’t force himself in, either. She knows she’ll have to talk to him, especially if she’s discharged, but approaching it is… almost nauseating.

There’s a few people she’d have to talk to — a few people allotting her space. She knows Ginny, knows that she wouldn’t gossip behind her back, not about something like this. So Rita’s smaller smiles, Eugene’s very brief nods of acknowledgment, and Joe’s lack of affectionate pestering are her own doing. Her own inability to compose herself like she should

Somehow, Daisy’s managed to carve out a space for herself to be alone and she doesn’t even know what to do with it.

It’s strange to be alone but not… disliked at all. She’s not being shunned and she knows it, but having people angry at her has always felt easier in the grand scheme of things. She probably shouldn’t wish for that chance to reaffirm the worst thoughts about herself, but no one ever said breaking a habit was ever easy.

Ginny told her to think about it, she doesn’t know what discharging would even mean.

She’s never quit at anything. Not even if it was a sport she hated, or a book going downhill. She always… finished things. But was leaving like quitting? Not for Buck and Patty — she imagines they didn’t get much say in the matter. Daisy wouldn’t be the first person sent home over a death in the family. She wonders if she’d even be given this option if anyone but Ron had seen her react — watched the way she fell to her knees, unable to do much of anything.

She tries to imagine it — getting off a train alone, the people that matter still here. Only being bound to them by letters, having to bury James without Ron beside her. A quiet life waiting for people to come home, her mother with her again.

Though it’s a familiar sight, just like the day before she left herself, the image doesn’t bring Daisy as much comfort as she thought it would.

“Who’s that letter from, anyway?” Across the tent, Jane is sprawled out, legs outstretched and a tattered copy of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn laying in front of her — the spine cracked so it’d lie flat. Her brow is arched. “You just… I dunno — you’ve been in a pretty bad mood. Is it one of those Dear John letters? Because if it is then I say screw him and—”

“No, no it’s… not that.” Daisy shakes her head. Jane lets out a small sigh that sounds almost relieved.

“Alright, good, I’m not too good with breakups,” She professes. They lapse into silence again, broken only by the occasional sound of the crinkling pages of Jane’s book, when she speaks again. For a moment, she thinks the conversation died out. “So what was in it? If you don’t mind me asking.” Daisy reverts her attention back to Jane from the spot on the ceiling she was fixed on.

“What’s got you so curious?” Jane shrugs.

“I’ve read this one three times. Novelty’s lost after a while. Cat’s got my copy of Tarzan of the Apes,” Jane shrugs, looking Daisy up and down. Daisy tries not to squirm under the sharpness of her stare — piercing gray eyes that seem to see right through her in a way she isn’t especially used to. People like Ron and Ginny know her well, accustomed to her language and can draw conclusions based on that. Jane is just… observant. She weighs the pros and cons of speaking freely — as she’s been weighing everything, lately. “You don’t have to say anything. M’just curious.” she offers.

“It’s fine,” Daisy reassures, turning to face her entirely but not sitting straight up. She lets out a hefty sigh. “I haven’t read it yet, to be completely honest.” Jane raises a brow, her lip quirking into a smile. She laughs, small and breathy, sitting up fully and letting the book fall off the cot.

“No shit?” All Daisy does is nod. She chuckles again, before rubbing at her own mouth. “Sorry I don’t- it’s not at you, okay? I guess I’m just trying to make sense of it.” Daisy shrugs simply, sitting up and picking at the blanket beneath her and pressing her lips together.

“Have you ever gotten a letter and just know it’s bad before you read it? Or a report card?” This time it’s Jane’s turn to shrug.

“I try not to work myself up over things I don’t know are certain,” she eyes Daisy’s letter. “Like unless a teacher told me there was an F on the report card, there was always a chance for it to be a C. Even if it turns out to be an F at least I didn’t waste more energy than I needed thinking about it,” Daisy remains silent, and Jane heaves as she lets herself fall back onto the cot, returning to her book.

“Oddly optimistic of you.” Daisy notes. Jane shrugs.

“Someone’s gotta do it, since you’ve been slacking off,” There’s a playful lilt to the way she says it, reaching to grab the book and then turning over on her other side. “If you ever get around to reading it let me know. I need to say I told you so.”

Daisy doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says nothing.

Everyday felt the same since she got the letter. Gray overcast, busy bodies, her eyes rarely ever lifting from the floor. For ten days straight, it’s been chilly.

Today the clouds break a bit in the morning, and it’s a little warmer, too.

Some things remained — while they don’t smother her, Catherine still waves Daisy down to sit with them at their table, and she has, even if she hasn’t spoken much. Today, she doesn’t. She finds a spot for herself, in a corner, not touching the bowl of what is, presumably, oatmeal in front of her.

She tore the typewriter-page from the front when she woke up.

Daisy stares at her mother’s handwriting, her mouth feels dry, her palms sweaty. The food never looked appetizing, but at least it would’ve been stomacheable if not for the knot forming in the pit of her stomach, leaving her uneasy.

It’s not like she’s done something wrong, and yet she feels like she has. In the grand scheme of things, she has done a few things wrong, but nothing relating to her mother. And yet the idea of perceiving her mother's grief almost paralyzes her, keeping her underwater like a proper ball and chain.

Summoning the courage to read it feels like biting a bullet. Daisy does it anyway.

—

My darling girl,

If you’re reading this, then you’ve received the letter we received from James’ commanding Officer. I surely hope that the censor left it relatively untouched. This wasn’t something we wished to keep from yoi, for you to learn the hard way on your way home. We haven’t heard from you in quite some time, and needless to say I spend every day worrying for you, hoping and praying that you’re safe, that you’re alive. I hope upon receiving this, you’ll write back.

Your father and I were apprehensive on letting you join the military as you’re well-aware. If there was a good and moral way to get your brother out of it, we would’ve done it. I suppose that makes us quite selfish, wanting to keep our children home rather than allow them to bear the weight of this “great undertaking.” To want to keep you when so many parents were willing to send their children away.

I am selfish. I am your mother. There is nothing more I yearn for than to have you here, at home. But I know your brother and I think he would hate it if I brought you home now.

I think of all the other mothers, who have lost their sons. I think of how I’m one of them now. I think about the articles in the newspaper about the medics, the women like you who were put under the great stress of a new duty. I think about all the lives you’ve saved in your time there. I think about all the lives that will surely be lost if you aren’t there to save them.

I won’t beg you to come home. What I will ask is that you continue what you’re doing, because I don’t believe there’s anything more important than the job you’ve been given. When the war is over, when you are home, we will grieve and mourn together. But until that day comes, you have a job to do.

We are so immensely proud of all you’ve become. We cannot wait to see you at the end of this.

All our love, Mom and Dad

—

There’s a lump in her throat. For the first time in days, she maintains her composure, which is unexpected.

But until that day comes, you have a job to do.

She recognizes her father’s handwriting on the word ‘Dad’ and it makes her nauseous. Her hands are still trembling. They’re right, she knows they’re right, but reading it from her mother’s own hand almost feels… relieving, in some way. But there’s still weight wrapped around her ankles and she still feels splintered from the inside out, like some kind of shattered reflection of herself.

But shattered or not, if she can still pull herself out of bed in the morning (even if it’s a mission to do it), then she still has a job she swore to do, and by God was she going to do it.

Daisy moves, folding the letter and sticking it in her pocket, breakfast virtually untouched and feet moving without necessarily paying much thought to her own movements — but she knows the path well enough anyway.

Up and up, she goes over it a million times, ‘till you get some air.

Daisy climbs the steps of the building, paying little mind to the shoulders of those brushing past her, brief nods of acknowledgement to those she recognizes. She finds the door, in a quiet hallway, and raps her knuckles on the door with a sense of certainty she can’t place the origin of.

“Come in.” The greeting is muffled, but she hears it nonetheless. She opens the door.

Ron’s back is to her, looking through the curtains and out onto the field. Even from her spot across the room she can make out the men running drills with their bayonets and rifles. Sunlight streams in from the drawn curtains, catching some of the dust in the light. Nothing in here especially screams that it’s his office — a night in his tent has proven that he lives his life out of his footlocker instead. She says nothing, walking forward.

“Winters if you need that—” She wraps her arms around him, letting her cheek press into his back. He’s warm to the touch. She feels his hands, rough, curling around her own, which are currently latched around him. For a second, she thinks he might pry her off, but he doesn’t. He just holds one of her hands, saying nothing for a few terribly long seconds. And she waits for him to reject it, to pry her off of him.

“Is this a goodbye?” His voice is low, even, but on the intake of breath he trembles. She can feel it. Daisy hugs him tighter.

“It’s an apology,” she murmurs into his back. “I don’t- I don’t know what I’m doing here and I just thought—”

“Christ, Dais I don’t want an apology,” He doesn’t pry her off, but he does turn to face her, looking down at her. “I’m not… I’m not mad at you. I just…” He reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a measured breath. “I wanted to help you but I’ve got no goddamn clue what I’m doing here.” She looks up at him, at the grimace on his face, the twist of his mouth.

“I didn’t make it easy.” She points out.

“There’s a war on. They’re rationing ‘easy’.” He refutes. She sniffles, and her lip wobbles. Every now and again he eyes the door before looking back at her. She takes a shaky breath.

“I almost left,” she admits. Daisy watches him swallow hard. “But… it didn’t feel right I just- I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with any of it. Or reel it in like I’m supposed to and I don’t…” She unwraps her arms from around him to rub at her own face. Daisy feels the lump in her throat almost intensify. She looks up at him, hazel eyes boring into her but still holding a certain softness there. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

She watches as he sighs, leaning up against his desk and rubbing a hand over his mouth for a moment. Ron looks down, and she watches as he stares off for a moment.

“Guess that’s something we’ll have to figure out,” He offers, rather than something meant to be overzealous or especially uplifting. Ron reaches forward to tug her towards him, so she’s slotted between his legs. “And we’ll figure it out.” One hand drifts up, again, caressing her cheek and wiping a tear that’s managed to slip past despite her best efforts to retain her composure.

Daisy leans forward to rest her forehead against his, bumping their noses in the process. He doesn’t mind.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do at home,” she whispers. It feels like a confession. “They aren’t going to hold a funeral until the war’s over and I’m home but… my dad—”

“Let’s win the war first.” Ron interjects. “Then we can worry about going home.” He gives her hip a squeeze with the other hand. Daisy sniffles, then swallows the ache, letting herself be grounded in the warmth of him, the roughness of his palms, the way he still manages to be gentle in handling her.

“Okay.”

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #hbo war ofc

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