#nick answers ♡
Note
Im a very sad person but what makes it better is Robin Buckley. So can I request a angst os with Robin?
bloodshot bad news
A/N: i wasn’t sure if u wanted a happy/fluffy ending, so i apologize if i got that wrong by including one, but i hope it can help in easing things for you, even a little :))
Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader
Summary: You know firsthand how worried Robin gets over the smallest things. You just never imagined you’d be one of them. 1.4k words
Warnings: ST4 ep8 spoilers, angst, protective robin, lots and lots of verbal fighting, canon level gore/wound (it’s gross im so sorry), i think this is what they call hurt/comfort
Your lips are dry and cracked, but a huffed breath is still punched from your lungs when you flop onto Eddie’s timeworn mattress. Your head pounds and your chest aches and Robin grabs your hand and tugs you into her warmth. But you hiss, fingertips coiling into her upper arms while your eyes squeeze shut at the searing pain down your leg.
She doesn’t notice it. And thank God she doesn’t notice it. The limp. The gritted teeth. The whimpering. So you find an excuse, looking down at your blood and dirt-streaked palms with a wince.
“I’ll, um”—you swallow hard, holding up your outstretched fingers like surrender. But she’s not looking at your hands or the mud settled into their cracks. She’s watching you—“I’ll be right back. Just need to wash my hands.”
You’re shuffling down the hall before she can protest. Closing the bathroom door before her mind can explain why you were walking so wobbly. Why you were tender-footed and cursing under your breath.
With a guttered sigh, you peel your jeans down around your ankles, and the once soft boyfriend denim is stained red and stiff where the blood had caked on and dried. You slump onto the toilet seat and throw your shoes, pants, and dignity in the bathtub.
Eyes shut tight, sleeves rolled up, taking a deep breath: you pat down the smooth skin of your thigh until the veins just beneath the surface throb and gush with boiling blood. To fix. Hot to the touch. Deliciously tender. Inflamed, and yet your fingers creep on. The ridges of dried and crusty scabs pepper the skin and flake at the pressure. Your body stalls because it stings. You went too low, and it fucking stings, and your fingertips are wet when you jerk them away from the gash.
You don’t even remember how you got it. You just remember walking far behind the group through the ashen woods. You remember Robin rambling about how idiotic Steve’s heroism had made him, her hand in yours the whole time. You didn’t realize one of the bats probably nicked you while frenzied for a losing Steve.
And now, there’s a flesh wound sliced from kneecap to mid thigh that’s filling your mouth with vomit and making everything a little blurred around the edges.
There’s a knock on the door of careful knuckles and strain. Like they want to pound. Dying to get in while knowing the horrors of the otherside.
“Don’t come in, I’m… shitting!”
“I’m coming in.” Her voice is muffled, but you know it’s hers from its uneasy lilt. The song in a minor key that sweeps beneath her words whenever she feels gutted.
The door swings open and shut but you’re still scrambling for your crumpled jeans, fisting the damp and crimson patch. But the bend over is not worth it if you’re splitting teeth for a grimace.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Robin’s staring. Fixating with an inferno behind her eyes. Obsessing and crouching down beside your bare legs, hands hovering over the slick wound like she’s magic. Like it’ll go away if she could just focus.
“There were more important things going on,” you mumble. And to you, it makes sense. Always busy searching or hearing things or being stuck or biking and avoiding. You weren’t thinking about your leg because this isn’t your battle. You’re not Hawkins. You’ve never done this before. No Russians or guts, just high school and Robin.
And she thinks that’s complete and utter bullshit.
“More important than you bleeding out?” she says, chastising you like you need it. She fumbles around under the sink and spills a thick plastic box labeled Munson. “What if it got infected? What if you went into septic-fucking-shock and died? Jesus, what is wrong with you?”
Your chest caves, curling in on yourself, anchoring to the hard porcelain, studying the dusty shag rug.
“I’m sorry,” she hums, peering up at you from her seat on the tile, her cool fingers holding your ankle and setting your foot on her knee. “I didn’t mean that, I—”
“Sure you didn’t. Nobody ever does. But I’m still some fuck up, right? I put myself in danger because I don’t really care, right? Is that what you think?” you bite, watching her eyes flick wildly over your face, “It’s not my fucking fault, Robin, and I’m not dead, so would you lay off?”
But she’s too wound up. Too busy swiping your swollen skin with a towelette that tingles like pins and needles to let you dive head first into nobility and leave a purple heart. A fallen soldier and a wilting bouquet.
“No, I won’t lay off. Do you know how worried I am every day that I’m gonna lose you?” She’s looking right at you. She’s looking right at you, and you’re cross-armed facing the shower curtain and pouting. Red-soaked wipes pile into the trashcan, but she’s looking right at you.
“Sometimes I wake up and it’s like today’s the day. The dream is over and she’s too good for me, and I knew it. Sometimes I feel so stupidly lucky to have even met you because you’re selfless and brave and smart, and I’ve never met anyone like you. And then you go and put yourself in danger because you think you’ll be better for it, but you won’t, (Y/n). Do you get how fucking bad it feels when you disregard your own safety?”
Your cheeks. Your undereyes. Your neck is damp, and you can’t bring yourself to dry any of it away. Your eyes go glossy again because she’s frowning from the corner of your eye, and your clothes are shredded and this used to be your favorite sweater.
“Look at me.”
So you do.
“Do you have any idea how many people care about you? How many people would do anything to keep you safe?”
“I don’t need saving,” you say.
“Clearly you do,” she says. And it’s like, in any other circumstance, she’d be teasing you. Laughing at that stoic look in your eye. But she just shifts your leg and lays a pad of gauze along the tear. “God, I’ve spent every single second of the last twenty-four hours being here for you, and I feel like you don’t even care.”
“I do care.”
“No—”
“No, I do care.”
“No, you don’t or else you would’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want you worrying more than you already do, Robin. It’s so suffocating having you worry about me all the time—”
“Because i care about you.” She tugs an ace bandage around your thigh, knotting it tight until you hiss and touch her wrist. It makes her feel bad because you still treat her soft. Even while she’s putting you through physical hell for your good. The white cotton gauze peeks out from the tan wrap, and you both look down at it like a burden.
Then she looks up at you. And you look at her. And she cups your cheek.
“I care about you so much. And I’m sorry I worry and worry, but I love you”—her voice breaks and you shatter—“You mean everything to me, and I can’t help trying to protect you. I didn’t have a lot of good things until I met you, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I lost you.”
You shake your head, and she smiles. Just barely and pushing through the line of a frown, but she smiles.
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
Your hands lead you forward, resting your heavy forehead on hers and closing your eyes. She lets you push her sweaty hair behind her ear and kiss the bridge of her nose as long as she can wrap her fingers into your palms and rest her thumbs over your chapped knuckles.
“You’re not gonna lose me. Ever,” you whisper, “We still have to see the seven wonders and get married. So, you know… ‘m not going anywhere for a long, long time.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry. For all the… overbearing girlfriend stuff. I promise I’m trying to do better.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m so proud of you, and it’s okay that we both have growing to do.”
“Starting with pants.”
“Starting with pants!” You laugh when she stands and pecks the top of your head, only lingering when you hum and lean your cheek against her torso. Because she’s safe.
masterlist
#robin buckley fic#robin buckley#robin buckley angst#angst#robin buckley x fem!reader#robin buckley x y/n#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley x you#stranger things#st4#stranger things 4#x reader#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x reader#x fem!reader#robin buckley fluff#fluff#nick answers ♡#*
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Omg look it’s your boys!
oh my god IT IS!!!
#(also just btw you having stevie nicks as your pfp is giving me everything i need today ♡ )#lea answers#angel & devil steddie
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Normally more of a gentle giant, Nicky was absolutely fuming as he fought against his teammates hold, the linesman in question have a bit of trouble holding their winger back as he tried to go after another of their teammates. They're being pulled along with him as he tried to escape their grip, Nick's knuckles spattered with blood in conjuncture with the other man's split lip, them in turn being held back by a few other teammates. The winger's own lip was bleeding as well, through not from a purposeful hit, Nick having caught an elbow to the mouth as he was retrained, it staining the front of his uniform where it dripped down his chin.
A few of the other players on the ice looked confused as they watched the chaos, those being the ones that couldn't understand the two Canadians as they shouted in their mother tongue. The ones that could looked non the happier, whatever had been said raising the tensions of what should have been a simple practice.
A sharp whistle cuts over the ice, the coach shouting some words of his own in French as he removed his fingers from his mouth. Wrenching his arm from his teammate's grasp, Nick skated over to the coach, eyes locking with Kichiro's where he had been watching the practice on the bench as they exchanged a few words. Most everything was in French, save for a rather frustrated "I want him off the team!" Nick's accent thick through the words before he turned to Kichiro, a simmering anger on his face now where there once was a wild fire at the sight of him.
He didn't say anything after that, simply placing a hand on Kichiro's back to lead him into the locker rooms as he wiped the blood from his mouth with his free hand. He would have to explain, he knew that, but he would rather but it off for as long as he could... //puck bunny? puck bunny uwu
- ✩ 「 @from-across-the-stars 」 ✩
「 ☆ 」 Kichiro knows that hockey is a pretty violent sport... But they’re pretty sure that practices aren’t supposed to be quite as explosive. Nor are teammates meant to turn on one another. Especially to the point of blows. It’s easy to tell when Nicky is getting genuinely upset, Kichiro stiffening in their seat as they scoot further to the edge of the bench, hands painfully gripping it. Fingers aching from the force of holding the wood, it takes every ounce of Kichiro’s self-control to remain seated by the first few shouts, the ensuing fight causing their breath to hitch and their body to start as they nearly stood.
But racing to the ice in the midst of that chaos— sprinting onto the slippery surface would be tempting fate on a GOOD day —could only prove disastrous. Not that Kichiro is concerned for THEIR well-being, but injuring themself thanks to a stupid, avoidable fall is not something Nicky should have to deal with. Still, heart races with a mixture of concern and confused anger, not certain why they’re upset with Nicky’s teammate, only knowing that whatever he did had upset their crush best friend. Enough for the gentle giant to throw a hit, to struggle and FIGHT to try and break back into a scuffle... Chest quick but body eerily-still aside from the trembling of their grip, gaze is sharp as steel, riveted on the struggling men on the ice.
Waiting for the slightest indication that either man might get free, that things may escalate, that Nicky may get HURT more than the accidental hit that already happened... Willing to stay put in the name of Nicky’s best interest, but also to race into the fray— consequences be damned —to try and mitigate the fallout if Nicky’s teammates prove to fail. Little as they may be, weak compared to the formidable men around them, Hell hath no fury like Kichiro Chibana when acting in the name of someone they care about.
Burning lavender hues don’t leave the aggressor— a title that Kichiro places on the man who gained Nicky’s ire without hesitation nor context —until the sharp whistle breaks the air. Kichiro unceremoniously falls off the bench, not having realized how far forward they were impatiently leaning. NEEDING to be as close to Nicky as possible in his time of apparent need, even if they shouldn’t be. Too startled to even yelp, Kichiro just blinks quizzically, mind requiring a second to wrap around the fact that they are now on their knees rather than on the bench, before they stand upright. Fixing their hoodie, gaze follows Nicky as he makes his way to the aggravated coach, irritation now nothing but concerned confusion as their eyes meet.
Never having seen Nicky THIS upset before, Kichiro doesn’t protest when they’re led away. Not out of fear but simply wanting to get the other man away from the situation, from other people, as soon as possible. It’ll be easier for Nicky to calm down and talk when it’s just the two of them... Kichiro is certain of it. Waiting until they’ve entered the locker room, even if the words come out as soon as they’ve stepped foot inside, ❝ So... What happened? ❞ 「 ☆ 」
#(( P U C K B U N N Y :3c ))#not-bcring#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ; ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴛᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Kichiro IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ; ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ’ꜱ ᴀʟɪɢʜᴛ ❞ ◌ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴇᴠ. ᴀᴜ ¦ 「 Kichiro 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʏ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ❞ ¦ 「 Nick 」#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴅ; ᴀ ꜱᴏɴɢ’ꜱ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴀᴅ ❞ ¦ 「 Kichiro and Nick 」#from-across-the-stars#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴏʙᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ꜰʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɴɢ; ʙɪɴɢ ʙᴏɴɢ: ᴀ ʙᴏᴅʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ! ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」
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“Date?”
Send me “Date?” and i'll answer...
Who asks for it:
[♡] Your muse asks mine (he's gotta win her back! so she's not asking him)
[ ] My muse asks yours
Type of date:
[ ] Platonic Date
[♡] Romantic Date
[♡] First Date (she's treating this like a first date. it doesn't matter how many dates they've had.)
[ ] Double date with: ____ & ____
Location for the date:
[♡] Movies
• [♡] Romantic Comedy
• [♡] Adventure Movie
• [♡] Animation (Pixar/Disney)
• [♡♡] Horror
• [ ] Drama
• [ ] Buddy Movie
• [ ] ___ (other options)
[♡] Restaurant
• [ ] Expensive/High Class
• [♡] Small and familiar
• [♡♡] Fast Food
[♡] Nature
• [ ] Beach
• [♡] Park
• [ ] Forest
• [♡] …and having a picnic (a picnic with the fast food they bought,)
[ ] Visiting a Museum
[♡♡] Visiting an amusement park (she just likes thrill rides)
[ ] Visiting a haunted location
[ ] Staying at home
• [ ] Watching movies
• [ ] Playing Video Games
• [ ] Reading
[ ] ___ (other options)
The date might hopefully end with…
[♡] …holding hands
[♡] …a kiss (a kiss goodnight is all he's getting at least that's what she said while getting ready)
[♡♡] …in bed (because he's not getting just a kiss goodnight)
[♡] …knowing each other better
[ ] …sleepover between friends
[ ] …a marriage proposal
[♡] ___ (other options)
Should you reblog this?:
[ ] Yes. I want to send you one.
[ ] Yes.
[♡] No.(only because you reblogged it already!)
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HEYY I LOVE YOUR STORIES COULD YOU MAYBE DO ONE FOR CHRIS OR MATT WHERE HE MEETS A GIRL ON TOUR WHEN SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS AND TELLS HER TO MEET HIM IN THE TOURBUS THEN YKK
♛ ONE ° •
ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the versus tour takes place in your hometown! while doing autographs, you seem catch the matt sturniolo’s eye.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, swearing, choking if you squint, making out, oral (male and female receiving), dry humping (?), face fucking, spanking, p in v, overstimulation, dumbification, marking, some degradation/praising, hair pulling, squirting, cream pie, ROUGHH
ASSUME YOU’RE ON THE PILL!
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,427
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i added this to my welcome post but i’m going to say it here too. my requests are now CLOSED because i’ve been getting overwhelmed and i want to get them done LOL but my inbox is still open so feel free to chat with me :)
idk when i’ll open them again, but they will be eventually!
the moment you’ve been waiting for for months has finally arrived. you and your best friend hannah were lucky enough to get tickets to the sturniolo triplets tour in your hometown.
currently, the small talk line moves slowly but surely. your friend is decked out in purple for nick while you’re wearing blue for matt.
“we’re next!” hannah gushes, clapping her hands in excitement. she pushes you ahead of her. “i’m scared. you go first.”
you roll your eyes playfully. honestly, you’re not nervous to meet your favorites. you feel chill, which is the opposite of what you thought you’d be like.
matt greets you by hugging you tight and smiling. “how are you?” he asks, taking his card and signing it.
“i’m doing good.” you return his smile. “you liking the tour so far?”
he nods, eyeing you up and down. he feels something different about you. this doesn’t feel like any other small talk.
“i love it.”
the security man motions for you to go on ahead. of course, you listen and start to grab your items, but matt stops you. “do you have a boyfriend?”
see, if this were any other person you’d be weirded out by this question; but because it’s matthew sturniolo, you answer.
“nope.”
he licks his lips, taking the card that he signed and flipping it over to write something.
the scary security is getting angry and impatient with you, so you can only read what he wrote as you walk away. your eyeballs almost burst out of your skull.
i want to see you after the show.
now, you and hannah are standing in the red carpet line before the show actually starts.
you guys talk until it’s your turn, the both of you going since you want a group picture. first is chris, then nick, and lastly matt. he hugs you longer than the other two.
a chill runs down your spine when his voice tickles against your ear. “i’ll meet you outside later, right?”
he pulls away, getting ready to pose for the picture, but you nod for an answer.
“that was so much fun!” hannah screeches as you guys walk to the parking lot.
you agree, before stopping. “i need to go back and use the restroom. do you mind taking my stuff with you to my car?”
she grins, grabbing your stuff. “sure thing.”
you speed walk back to the venue, fewer and fewer people flooding the area as you wait.
a door opens moments later, sounding like the backstage door, and you turn to the source.
you blush, your cheeks heating up more and more the closer he gets with that damn smile on his face.
pinch me this can’t be real.
“hi,” he says lowly.
“hi,” you repeat back.
he looks at his watch. “they’re yapping away in there so we should have some time.”
you’re not sure what that means but again: since it’s matthew fucking sturniolo… you’ll listen without a doubt.
your heartbeat pumps rapidly in your chest when he sneaks you into the tour bus.
you kind of feel bad for leaving hannah behind… but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
the bus looks way bigger on the outside than the inside, and you’re still trying hard to wrap your head around that you’re with matthew. fucking. sturniolo.
he admires the way you take it all in with his hands shoved into his pockets. he’s sure you’re thinking about so many things right now, but the only thing he can think of is how badly he wants to fuck you.
thinking about a fan that way is insane, but he just finds you so much different than any other fan girl. you’re confident, kind, and gorgeous.
you finish observing the tour bus and smile wide at him. “it’s very cool in here.”
“yeah.” he chuckles. “the beds are a tight squeeze though.”
you giggle, and he steps closer. your mind runs a million miles a minute with each step he takes. “do you trust me?” he questions, now inches away from you.
you raise a brow suspiciously. “should i not?”
he smirks, shaking his head. “i’m just checking.” he places his hands on your hips gently, running them up and down.
leaning towards your ear, he whispers. “be good for me, yeah?”
your legs subconsciously squeeze together, and he cups your cheeks with his palms. he leans in slowly. he hesitates when his lips ghost yours to see if you’d protest, but because you don’t, he kisses you.
his tongue licks your lips to indicate that he wants you to open, but you don’t. you feel the coldness of his rings on the side of your neck before he squeezes. when you gasp at the sudden contact, that’s his sign for his tongue to enter your mouth. “you promised you’d be good.” he says between the kiss.
you smirk. “i didn’t promise anything.”
he snarls, leaning back in. the make-out goes on for at least thirty seconds before he pulls away, the lipstick you had on now smeared on both of your mouths.
your eyes have a mind of their own and look down, seeing his rock-hard erection as clear as day through his jeans. “get on your knees.”
your eyebrows shoot to your hairline at the sudden tone change, but you obey either way.
he wastes no time to unbuckle his belt to pull down his jeans, his dick springing out right in front of you. the tip is red and leaking pre-cum. you open your mouth wide without him having to tell you, and he smirks.
leaning in, he grabs your hair and stops you. “no.” he says.
instead, he slaps the head on your tongue before pushing in slowly. it’s like you can feel every vein enter your mouth, gagging in the process when he’s deep in your throat. “holy shit.” he breathes, seeing how much of him you took.
it’s not all of it, but it’s more than he thought. you give him puppy dog eyes through your lashes, despite them being glossy.
he starts to thrust into your mouth, jaw slack as he watches his dick run past your lips in one swift motion. the grip on your head stays tight, him hunching over slightly to get deeper.
you moan at the shape protruding in your throat, the gagging and sloppy wet noises making you turned on even more. “fuck i’ve been wanting to do this since you opened that pretty fucking mouth of yours.” he pants, moving at an ungodly speed that makes it hard for you to breath. “do you just let random guys use this mouth? sure seems that way.”
you moan again, lifting yourself off of the ground the tiniest bit so you can feel the top of his shoe on your swollen clit.
whimpering at the feeling, you start to grind yourself on it while he still fucks your mouth. your arms wrap around his leg, humping faster like a bitch in heat.
“that’s a little pathetic.” he laughs hoarsely, groaning when his dick twitches. “so, so needy for me.”
you let out a pained sob because along with your throat, the feeling of you grinding also hurts. it would be best if you had something way more than his shoe.
“s-shit.” he whimpers, pulling out to where only the tip is in your mouth, making sure you get all of his cum on your tastebuds. he smears the rest on your lips.
matt lifts you from the ground, bending you over the small table that they have. he grabs your ass before giving it a light spank.
it’s his turn to kneel now, simultaneously taking off your leggings. he bites your ass before sliding your panties over. you feel his breath against your aching core. “jesus christ.” he mumbles. “you’re dripping down your legs already. aren’t you just an eager thing?”
he spreads your folds with his thumbs, blowing cool air on them that makes you jolt. you’re too sensitive for that.
then, your phone starts to ring right next to you. it’s hannah.
shit.
you cannot not answer, because if you don’t she’ll think something is wrong. you swipe, putting the phone on speaker. “hell— oh.”
matt immediately digs into you, eating you out like he hasn’t eaten ever in his life.
“where the hell are you? i’ve been waiting by your car for like thirty minutes. using the bathroom shouldn’t take this long, y/n.”
the man below you squeezes your thighs, spreading yourself wider to practically be nose-deep inside of you. your eyes roll back hard, mouth hanging open with silent moans leaving it. “hello?”
“h-hannah i’m sorry i’ll— mm— be out s-soon. i’m sorry.”
“are you okay?” she questions.
with that, matt starts sucking at your bud, causing your legs to shake. you grip the table as hard as you can, your upper body giving out and laying flat on the surface in front of you.
“yes i’m fine!” you say, trying to reach for his head and push him away, but that only makes him grab onto you harder.
he’s fascinated by the way you taste it’s almost hypnotizing. your arousal drips down his chin, and the way he’s sucking has your orgasm wash over you without warning. “i’m cumming.” you whine, and you feel the smug smile on his face.
“oh, so you’re coming? thank god because it’s a little chilly out here,” hannah replies.
“fuck yes.” you moan but cover it by clearing your throat. “i mean, yes. i will be coming in a-a bit.”
she sighs through the phone. “okay.”
you quickly hang up without saying goodbye, holding on for dear life since your release knocked your legs out.
he holds you, getting up and wiping your cum off of his face. “you’re a bit of a bad girl, aren’t you?”
spank.
“leaving your friend out there all alone.”
spank.
“so that you can fuck me.”
spank.
“like a slut.”
spank.
you wince every time he hits you, the stinging tingling on your ass. he grabs your hips and arches you more.
he moves his tip up and down at your entrance teasingly, getting wetter by the second. “matt, please.” you whine, your pussy desperate for his cock. “please fuck me.”
he stops, waiting for a beat before pushing into you like it’s no big deal. he’s big for sure, but because of your wetness, he slides in perfectly. the both of you moan, and matt stares at where you conjoined. “your pussy’s fucking amazing.” he groans. “by far the best i’ve ever had.”
you start to bounce back on him since he’s taking his sweet ass time, but out of nowhere starts pounding into you.
whatever they have on the table starts to either fall or rattle from him railing into you. he takes your hands and pins them behind your back. “harder.” you wince out, and he whistles.
“you have no idea what you just asked for.” he says, doing the opposite and slowing down. “you won’t be able to speak, baby.”
baby. you moan at the nickname.
you’re way past the point of ‘omg i’m hanging out with matt sturniolo!’
you try bouncing your ass back again, but this time he smacks it and spreads your legs wider to plow into you deeper. “so impatient.” he sighs.
all you can do is scream and gasp for air with each thrust, hands balled up into fists.
your mind becomes blank once your eyes cross, your mouth hung open with your chin resting on the table. he hits just the right spot each time, squeezing around him.
“i— i—” you try to warn that you’re close, but your mind won’t let you.
he wasn’t kidding about the won’t be able to speak part.
“you can do it,” he says, knowing damn well you can’t.
your body becomes limp like a rag doll, matt having completely corrupted you.
he tuts fake pouting. “look who’s cock drunk. be a good girl and cum for me. you deserve it.”
blabbing a response, you squirt before cumming harder than before. usually, you’d be embarrassed, but you’re too far gone to care.
“that’s so hot.” he grunts, fucking you through your orgasm. “come on, baby. one more.”
“i can’t.” you sob, his hand letting go of yours before wrapping your hair not once but twice to lift your body to his.
“you can and you will,” he says, your third orgasm already building up in less than two minutes.
tears run down your face, eyes fluttering shut from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. there’s no way the human body can have this much pleasure and be okay.
matt kisses your neck, sucking a big mark when he finds the sweet spot. “i know you’re close already.” he says, his cum starting to leak into you deep.
you can’t stop your body from spasming, letting out one last sob before you cum again.
he pulls out, laying down on top of you and rubbing around your body soothingly to calm you down from your heavy breathing.
he covers your full cunt with your underwear so his cum doesn’t ooze out. he kisses your clothed pussy, and you flinch from the sensitivity. “making sure it’s in there.” he smirks.
after a few minutes, he helps you sit on the table to put your undergarments back on. your eyes are half closed from the post-sex haze.
matt grabs you water and a bag of chips before giving you one last hug. you guys talk for a little before he makes sure the coast is clear for you to get out without being seen.
you’re limping like crazy back to your car, seeing hannah impatiently tap her foot while leaning against the door.
once she sees you, she comes storming over. “you’re so lucky you’re my best friend or i would kill you.” she threatens. “i’ve been standing here for an hour.”
“i’m sorry.” you rasp out.
she studies your face, and it looks like you quite literally saw god. “oh my god, are you sure you are alright? you look like you got jumped.”
“it’s the after-show feeling.” you lie. “i’m exhausted. let’s go.”
she doesn’t question anymore, not even the random snacks and water you have. you start the car and place the stuff matt gave you down until you see there’s a post-it note attached to the bag of sour cream and onion.
to my favorite fan,
xxx-xxx-xxxx
text me when you get the chance, gorgeous
- matt :)
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturniol0s @sturniologirly @hbvfb
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!#[ ♛ ] ° • meet & greet
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TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN— matt and chris sturniolo x reader
synopsis— you and your friends decide to play a dirty drinking game. but with matt on your left, and chris on your right, how will you ever be able to decide who you want more?
warnings— suggestive themes, drinking, brief suggestive moment with waylon felipe (that man is FIIIIINE) use of a dirty scenario card game, ysb tril and brandon (gwhip) are in this but there’s not really anything suggestive with them (even tho they’re FIIIINE and underrated as fuck), basically the most ooc dumb shit ever, just use your utmost imagination pls lmao
foreword— i got this idea from a card game i own. it’s called kinkies get legless if anyone would like to know. voila!
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
why, on god’s green earth, did you agree to this? you knew exactly what you signed up for when nate had organised a party— nothing big, just all your close friends— and revealed a card game for everyone to play.
“if anyone wants to back out now, this is your only chance.” nate chuckled when nick and madi both stepped back. he’d already explained the card game to everyone:
complete the dare written on the card, or skip the dare and take a shot. straightforward, until he gave an example of said cards.
“choose which person in the group you’re most likely to have a wet dream over.”
you laughed, but deep down you knew this was not going to end well.
after all, you were sat between matt and chris. you were close friends with the triplet brothers, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t harbour a crush for the two you were currently sandwiched in between. you’d already admitted these feelings to madi, who gave you the sound advice to choose one.
but it wasn’t that easy, was it? they were both so… great, and yet so different at the same time.
maybe you could use this opportunity to decide.
as it stood, matt was on your left, chris on your right, and waylon, another good friend of yours, directly opposite you.
nate, being the host and also the orchestrator of this hellish game, pulled a card first, and read out loud.
“give the player of the person on your left a lap dance? hell yeah!” nate exclaimed, standing from his seat and giving trilly the most dramatic lap dance of his life. everyone laughed at this, knowing nate would most likely do all of his dares.
before you knew it, it was coming up to your turn. but first, chris had to pull a card.
you prayed to every god you knew that he didn’t pull a card that involved you.
“oh my god, this game is crazy.” chris laughed, before reading out his card, “act out the doggy style position with the person to your left.”
you could die of embarrassment. this was truly a terrible, no good, awful idea. why did you agree to this?
the room was filled with ooh’s and aah’s, waiting to see if chris would take a shot instead of doing the dare. he glanced over at you, as if to say you could choose.
you shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact you were screaming inside.
“come on, let’s get this over with.” he motioned you over with his hand, and you hesitantly stood.
you felt chris behind you, his hands moving to your waist as he pushed his hips up to yours, though he didn’t move.
immediately you laughed, and everyone else followed.
“this is literally the dumbest thing you’ve ever suggested, nate.” you shouted through everyone’s laughter.
“agreed.” chris sat back down, but not before placing a pillow over his lap.
“but it’s so funny!” nate replied.
it may have been funny, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about chris’ hips pressed up to your ass. you almost wished he moved.
regardless, it was your turn to pull a card.
“choose three… okay, what the fuck.” you covered your mouth, giggling.
“let me see,” matt leaned over to read the card and pulled a face, “choose three players you’d make a sex tape with.”
how could you even begin to answer that? why did you agree to this?
you weren’t going to skip the card, you didn’t want to be the first to do it. so you’d have to answer. and lie.
“i guess if i had to pick, i’d say tril, waylon aaaaaand… this is hard actually…. brandon.” you spoke.
the three boys dapped each other up, which made you chuckle.
“don’t get too excited, it’s never gonna happen.” you teased.
“i guess it’s my turn,” matt piped up, grabbing a card from the deck.
“oh this one’s easy, it says confess the least sexy thing someone has said to you. one time a girl asked me if she could call me nick while we were, you know…” he clicked his mouth and whistled.
“wait, what the fuck?” nick perked up from the other side of the room.
chris cackled loudly, “shit, i remember that. you told me not to tell him.”
“well, did you let her do it?” tril asked jokingly.
“that’s fucking gross! i swear to god matt you better have said no.” nick yelled, which only made chris laugh more.
“obviously i said no, you moron.”
by now, the deck of cards had gone around the room a couple of times.
waylon pulled the card, let the person opposite you sit on your face which you accepted gracefully after successfully sneaking yourself a couple of shots.
at some point you pulled the choose the players you’d most likely have a threesome with card which you chose matt and chris immediately took a shot.
nate had rank the asses of the players from best to worst, and while chris was number one, you were satisfied with your ranking at third— he placed himself second.
already it was back to chris.
“i actually don’t think i can do this one.” chris covered his eyes.
“what does it say?” you asked. you wished you didn’t.
he turned the card over to you. it read, whisper the dirtiest thing you’d do to the player on your left.
“chris, don’t be a pussy, you already skipped the last one.” nate raised his eyebrows.
“dude, i don’t care how close we are, i’m not passing you an ice cube from my mouth.” chris spoke incredulously, which made everyone chuckle, though you were too busy wondering what chris would even say to you.
“new rule, if you skipped your last card you can’t skip the next one.” nate shouted, to which chris flipped him off.
“you good with this?” chris turned to you.
“sure. it’s just a game right?” you pretended to be unfazed.
chris leaned into your ear, as everyone watched.
“if we were alone right now, i’d fill you up so deep that you’d forget how to talk.”
oh.
“what did he say– oh my god, y/n’s face has gone red!”
oh.
“damn chris, you’re looking kinda red too.”
oh.
“okay move on, please.” chris laughed it off.
but you wanted to do anything but move on, partly because you were sweating— is it hot in here?— and partly because it was your turn again.
let the person to your left give you a love bite.
you weren’t sure you could handle this game anymore. you were barely over the words chris had whispered to you, and now you were supposed to let matt give you a hickey?
and to make things worse, because of the new rule (thanks a lot, nate) you couldn’t skip your turn.
“this game is getting intense, i can’t lie.” waylon mumbled to brandon, who agreed with him excitedly.
“sorry matt, i can’t skip.” you said awkwardly.
matt quickly downed a shot, before replying, “don’t worry about it.” and moved his lips to your collarbone.
he made quick work of sucking on your skin while embarrassment waved over you.
there were a million thoughts running through your head at once but the one that stood out most was how good it felt to have matt leaving a trace of his lips on your body. you were acutely aware of the slight pain mixed with the considerable amount of pleasure that came with his bite.
after what seemed like way too long, he soothed your collarbone with a lick and parted ways with it.
“i didn’t know matt had that dog in him.” tril joked.
briefly, everyone had split into their own conversations, leaving you to your own chaotic thoughts.
but matt placed a hand on your thigh.
“you okay?” he asked you, and of course you were not.
“mhm. just didn’t think this game would be so insane.”
matt smirked ever so slightly.
“me neither. are you having fun, at least?”
“yeah, it’s pretty entertaining. are you?” you responded honestly.
matt’s thumb softly caressed your thigh while the rest of his hand squeezed lightly.
“definitely.”
how could you be expected to choose?
yet another around had gone by and it was regrettably your turn to pick a card.
you slowly picked up the card on top of the deck and read the words.
“what does it say?” matt and chris spoke in unison.
you cleared your throat, looking between the two boys on either side, then at everyone else eagerly waiting.
“go into another room with the player of your choice for ten minutes.” you sighed.
“i was hoping someone would get that card. who are you picking, y/n?” nate asked you.
you should skip this round. you should definitely skip this round. but something was telling you that this was your opportunity to finally choose which brother you wanted, just like madi told you.
the choice was too difficult.
but if you were honest, you knew who you really wanted.
so, you went with your gut.
“i pick…”
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
a/n this feels so ASS but i love this idea so much so idc. the part two’s for matt and chris will be linked below once they’re written. hope u enjoyed!
p.s PLSSSS follow my tiktok yall 🙏🙏 same username apclyptc ill prob take some requests on there
if you choose matt if you choose chris
© APCYLPTC 2023. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works here or any other websites.
#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#the sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo oneshot#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo oneshot#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine
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𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
you comfort miguel when he lashes out after a memory —a ficlet featuring begrudgingly lovesick miguel and a flirty spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 1.5k
cw implied ptsd and accidental rough handling
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Miguel can feel your heart-eyes on him. You're sitting behind him on the floor in his office, or, as you've fondly nick-named it this week, The Control Room, humming and making little origami flowers.
So far you've made five, promising him without prompting a multi-coloured bouquet. He doesn't know why you've stopped (or why you started), but he doesn't have to turn around to confirm it. He can tell. You're shameless either way, proven when you say, "Hey, handsome?"
He sighs with more annoyance than he feels. "What?"
"How'd you know I was talking to you?" you ask, with a laugh he loves and hates at once. Loves, because it's a really nice sound, and hates, because he knows how this goes. "I could've been talking to Margo."
"She is handsome," Lyla chimes in.
"Very much," you agree.
Margo, alias Spider-Byte, looks up from her tablet screen to flash a smile. "Thanks, guys."
"What did you want, then?" Miguel asks.
He's surrounded by girls who live to annoy him —they all laugh as though they know something he doesn't, and when he turns to glare at them they laugh more. Lyla zips out of his eyeline, disappearing from view with a sympathetic, "He's dumber than he looks."
"Hurtful," Miguel says, turning back to his screen. "Why do I bother?"
You stand up with your bundle of paper flowers crinkling in your hands and approach him. You're of normal height, while Miguel is of 'ridiculous' height (your word choice), and so you have trouble looking him in the eye when you stand close. You have more trouble keeping your distance, craning your neck all the way up with your rubber capped shoes to his spidersuit ones.
"Can you lean down a bit, please?" you ask.
Margo laughs, “Oh, here we go.”
Miguel has trouble saying no to you. And by trouble, he means he finds it impossible, and he hasn't done it in a while. He leans down very slightly, worried you're going to try and kiss him in front of the others. He's kissed you already (which he hates himself for, what a stupid thing to do) (but was a good kiss, as things go, your lips soft under his, his ardency undulating in the face of your little gasping sound when he'd bitten your lip, when he'd grasped at your side like you were slipping through his fingers), and you've kissed him. But never in front of other people.
Which isn't to say they don't know. Everyone definitely knows. They're just too scared or too kind to say. Or, like Lyla or Margo, they find it funny.
Now in reach, you lift an origami flower to his ear and attempt to prop it there. He has a flash of a memory, a small hand by his face, the summer sun on his neck, and he can't deal with it. He grabs your wrist and pushes it away from him.
Your eyes widen. You're not unused to his bad moods, but Miguel doesn't grab.
You look back, and he thinks it's because you're scared, and he wishes he could take it back straight away, but you're looking for Margo and Lyla. When you see they aren't there, you take his face into your empty hand and ask, "What's wrong?"
Miguel doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say. Sorry would be a good start, but his mouth is dry. He frowns down at you.
"I didn't mean to overstep," you say, uncharacteristically serious.
"I didn't mean to grab you," he says.
"I know. It wasn't so aggressive, anyways. I'm genetically enhanced, you know?" Your smile creases the delicate skin at the corners of your eyes. "I'll make you something else. A fan, for the heat, or a jumping frog."
You turn and take a step away. Again, Miguel reaches for you, but when he takes your wrist this time it's with the kindness you deserve.
"I'm sorry, cariño," he says.
He’s embarrassed for having pushed you away, even if he couldn’t control himself. All you were trying to do no doubt was make him happy. It's usually your main prerogative besides winding him up, and he can't find any ill will in a paper flower.
"Cariño," you quote in a murmur. It doesn't take a second for you to return to your smiley, loving self. "That's definitely something nice."
"It's affectionate." He doesn't explain more than that.
You force your hand into his, twirling inward like a half-hearted dance. "I can tell," you say giddily, dropping your cheek into his chest.
He rubs the back of your hand. Sorry, sorry, it says, each pass of his thumb against your skin.
"Miguel," you say, in the lilting cadence of a girl with a favour to ask, "now you've ragged me around–"
"Not what happened–"
"–I was thinking maybe I could do something to you." You smile cheekily around your words.
He sweeps his gaze across the office to make sure there's no one here with you both, or about to be. Complicated you may be, but Miguel knows you well. Better than he should. He spent a long time denying his feelings for you, aggrieved and guilty, and a longer amount of time resenting you for being so damned enchanting. Which wasn't your fault in reality —you're a weird creature, and you can be a little off-putting; it's Miguel's problem alone that he wants you as badly as he does. To feel your neat, teasing smirk under his lips. To have the line of your jaw against his hand as you whisper flirtation or laugh at your own awful jokes.
To take your hip into his grasp and squeeze.
There have been times where Miguel wanted to press you up against a wall and kiss you into silence, quieten your taunting teasing with a bite to match his bark. And there have been times where he wanted to rub the tense line between your shoulders, having caught you in a vulnerable moment, and promise that things will be better.
He isn't making any more promises, not in this life, but he thinks that someone like you, who tries too hard to make people happy and sometimes wears two masks at once deserves to do whatever it is they want to do to people like him.
"Okay," he says quietly. His voice is rough as hewn stone.
You have a pocket full of paper stars that crunch as you lean in. "I'm gonna kiss you, if you promise not not to freak out. Is that cool?"
Okay, you deserve some softness, but Miguel would rather lead. Your hand falls to his chest, and his hands find your face. His fingers behind your ears, his thumbs aligned with your smile, he squeezes your cheeks in his hold gently, tilting your chin up, and up. The column of your throat is bared and begging to be scandalised. He can imagine it, the bruising his lips would leave behind like crescent moons and the pinprick crimson stars from his needling fangs if he were to only press down.
"We'll compromise. I'll kiss you, and you'll let me apologise again."
"I don't need you to say sorry again," you say softly.
"Then I won't say it."
The implication has heat rising to your cheeks. Your hand grabs uselessly at his suit as you close your eyes, and Miguel knows his cue. He leans down and kisses you, tender but a little rough, your lips soft and warm and eager as he encourages your head to one side. It feels like you try to say something but you don't move back, and so he doesn't either, kissing and kissing and kissing until he's sure he'll remember how it feel tonight, hours from now, when he's staring at a screen wishing you were haunting his office rather than in a doze in the girl's dormitory.
"Miguel," you say, practically into his mouth. This time he pulls away, and you take a small step back so you don't have to crane your neck. "I, uh…"
Miguel wipes the sheen from your bottom lip, not not listening but certainly not giving his full attention. He's hoping you'll let him kiss you again.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the flower," you say.
His eyes lifted to yours. "It's not that. It's not you. Don't waste any time thinking about it, okay?"
He pinches your chin between his forefinger and his thumb. You hold his eyes for a moment.
"I don't really think," you say bashfully, wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him a hug he doesn't have time to reciprocate.
"You think," he says, blinking as you retreat from him completely, waltzing back to your origami station on the floor. Your hips don't sway, but there's a movement to them he tracks.
"About you, handsome? All the time."
Miguel groans and turns back to his screens. Lyla appears silently, and sticks a finger into her mouth in a mock gag.
"That's in poor taste," he says.
"I would like to hand in my resignation."
"You can't resign, Lyla. You're a hologram."
She pushes her heart-shaped sunglasses up her nose and blinks out of view, refusing to speak to Miguel for the rest of the day outside of official Society business, and even then she's cranky. You fill the void of conversation with a mixture of nonsensical and merited suggestions, and by the time you leave for the night, his desk is decorated by a rainbow menagerie of paper animals, each one made with care.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! please consider reblogging if you have the time! <;3 if you have a request of this pairing or other miguel fics and want to share, im eager to see them!
my other miguel fics
#miguel and spidergirl reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fanfic#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel o’hara scenario#miguel o’hara blurb#miguel o’hara oneshot#spider-man: across the spider-verse#spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers#spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction#across the spider-verse spoilers#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse spoilers#spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel ohara fanfic#miguel ohara fic#miguel ohara drabble#miguel ohara scenario
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Friends to lovers with hotch. Bau!Reader has been pining forever but is deciding to move in after seeing Aaron and Beth be with each other. New guy also happens to be a single dad with a boy in jacks grade. Jack is not happy about another boy stealing his mom figure yk? Father son duo working together to get the girl.
Tbh idc what you write coz its always good. And im a sucker for jealous hotch ALWAYS
okay can i just say that when i saw this ask i got obsessed with the concept immediately!!! like that’s so cute???? also while writing this i was thinking “jack is such a little sweetie he wouldn’t have an attitude” but then i thought of this tiktok and remembered he can actually be salty af <33 LMFAOO
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
“Buddy, what’s wrong?”
Jack hadn’t spoken a word the entire ride from school. Aaron was used to his bubbly sweet voice filling the car, telling him all about his day; so the silence was deafening.
“Nothing,” he replied, dropping his small bag on the floor and running to his room.
The truth was, Jack had been pretty moody lately and it was all because of you. Well, it wasn’t your fault of course, but it was your absence that had Jack throwing tantrums in a way he never used to before.
As Aaron’s best friend, your presence in his house, in his home, was a constant. Movies, dinners, board game nights…Jack had grown used to you. And he absolutely adored you.
When Beth came into Aaron’s life, though, things started to change. You were pulling away from him, from them. At first, Aaron thought that maybe you were jealous; and if that was true, he would drop Beth in a heartbeat and run into your arms. After all, she was only a distraction to him in order to get over you.
All those dreams of him were shuttered one day, when he had called to ask you if you’d join him and Jack for a movie night, only to be told you had a date: a date with the dad of one of Jack’s classmates. You told him the two of you met when you went to pick up Jack from school one day, and Aaron cursed the moment he had asked for your help. If he knew the dads there would be all over you, he wouldn’t have let you set foot into that damned school in the first place.
“Jack?” Aaron said, knocking on his door.
“Go away!”
“Jack, please talk to me. I want to help.”
There was a long pause before Jack finally opened the door and let his dad in.
“What did you do to her?” he asked with tears in his eyes.
“Buddy, what are you talking about?”
“Y/N. Why isn’t she your friend anymore?” Jack looked incredibly sad and it broke Aaron’s heart.
“We’re still friends,” he answered, softly. “What makes you think we’re not?”
“She’s never here anymore.”
“I know,” Aaron said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not our friend anymore. We’ve just both been busier than usual.” He wasn’t technically lying, but he still felt bad.
“Why couldn’t you get together like they do in the movies?” Jack raised his voice. “Now she’s with Charlie’s dad. And she packs Charlie lunch and makes him sandwiches that look like dinosaurs like she used to do with me! It’s not fair, she was ours first!”
Well, that explained why he was so mad after school today.
Aaron couldn’t find any words to say, and how could he when he was just as jealous as his son? Jack was right; you were theirs first. And they’d win you back.
--
“And dad told me we’ll go get ice cream later with Y/N!” Charlie exclaimed, but Jack did not share his enthusiasm.
“Okay,” Jack answered, rolling his eyes.
“And maybe we’ll go to the movies after. She said she loves watching cartoons! She doesn’t think they’re boring like all grown ups,” the kid continued, not realizing he was making Jack upset.
“I know, we watch cartoons all the time together,” he replied.
Right next to them, their fathers had a separate conversation, but very much similar to theirs.
“The kid loves her already,” Charlie’s dad, Nick, said, watching you from afar. They were all waiting for you to finish your little chat with that teacher friend of yours, so they’d finally leave the school building.
“And how can he not, I mean she’s so great,” he added.
“She is,” Aaron agreed, though gritted teeth.
“I’ll take them for ice cream now so they can bond a little more. This girl loves ice cream.”
“Yeah, I know.” Who did that guy think he was? Thinking that any detail about you would be news to Aaron. Of course he knew you loved ice cream. He knew you better than anyone. Anyone.
“Sorry!” you said, walking fast towards their little group. “I hadn’t seen my friend in a while.”
“That’s alright.”
“It’s okay.”
Aaron and Nick talked at the same time, which ended in them sending annoyed glances to each other.
“Well, we better get going then,” you said with a smile.
As all of you walked out of the building, Aaron heard you telling something to Nick and Charlie. “Can you wait for me in the car? I’ll be back in a minute!”
To Aaron’s surprise you approached his car with one eyebrow raised. Oh no, you were mad.
“Y/N,” he said, but you cut him off.
“Why are the two of you being mean to Nick and his son?”
“We’re not mean to them,” Aaron said, but Jack’s voice was louder. “Because we hate them!” he said.
“Jack.”
“What? It’s true. You said that Mr. Nick is ugly and a jerk!”
“Jack, language!” his dad scolded him.
You turned your gaze to Aaron. “Is this true?”
He sighed, in defeat. “Jack, can you please get in the car? I want to speak with Y/N.”
“Fine,” he said, and followed his dad’s request.
“So?” you said when you were finally alone.
“So…I may have said some things about Nick.”
“Why?” your soft voice asked.
“Because, I can’t stand the thought of him with you. God, Y/N, I can’t do this anymore. I want you. I want you to be mine. I wanna be the one who takes you for ice cream and the one who brags about you to the other dads.”
“Aaron…”
“I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”
“Of course, I feel the same way, you idiot,” you said. “But then Beth showed up and I thought it was one sided!”
“Beth’s in the past.”
“She is?”
“Yes. She didn’t mean anything to me. It’s always been you,” Aaron admitted.
“Wow…” you said, placing your palm on your forehead.
“Yeah…”
“Well, I have two people waiting for me in the car right now. And I don’t want to just blow them off.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll talk to Nick tonight. I promise,” you said, touching his hand. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Aaron smiled.
“She touched your hand,” Jack said with a smirk when his dad got back in the car.
Aaron stared at him through the rearview mirror with furrowed eyebrows, but Jack could read him very easily. So he just giggled.
--
“Ew!” Jack yelled, his face forming a disgusted expression at the sight of you and Aaron kissing.
“Hey, you got your wish!” Aaron told him. “You should be grateful.”
“You know what I think?” you asked.
“Hm?”
“That our little Jack is jealous because he’s not getting any kisses.”
“No!” he giggled, as you and Aaron chased him, ready to cover his chubby cheeks with sweet kisses.
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nick nelson , is that my shirt?
‘ mhm, ’ delicate pink dusts pale skin, brightening the apples of her cheeks as carter glances down at the shirt she’s wearing. hands tug lightly at the fabric hanging from her form, palm smoothing any wrinkles along her torso before she’s glancing up at nick again. ‘ it’s so comfortable, nicky. and, y’know, it . . . it kinda still smells like you, so i just . . . i thought i’d wear it today, ’ rarely is the confident girl sheepish, but she finds herself giving a hopeful grin to the boy. ‘ is that okay? ’ @metiered.
#♡. i hope you find the love that's true ; so the morning light can shine on you. nick / metiered.#answered.
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Masterlist
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Thank you all for reading my writing it means so much to me, I mainly write smut on here so if you don’t like it fucking leave it, but I kinda wanna try writing something different in the future so look out for that!! My account is all fun, love and jokes so don’t be shy to message and have a chat I love making new friends, everyone is so pretty on here.
I will always have a warning list, a summary and a little author’s notes right before each piece of writing, just so you know what you’re getting into. Request/ask whatever you want, I love love love answering questions, there’s rarely anything I won’t write apart from:
- One on one incest, I am open to writing threesomes though…
- Golden shower kinks
- Nick x fem reader (bc that’s lowkey just not okay).
Anything else is just dandy, I love you all <3
𐔌♫ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆ Matt 𐔌♫ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆
The headset
Cherry popper
Cherry popper p.2
Pulling on pigtails
Dirty little monster (feat. Chris)
Teddy bear
I mean it
. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ Chris . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹
Sour diesel
Sour diesel p.2
The favour
Silk ribbons
Tokyo drifters
Dirty little monster (feat. Matt)
“Cool spider…”
₊˚⊹ᡣ𐭩 Coming soon ₊˚⊹ᡣ𐭩
Gear grinder, Matt
Motor mouth, Matt
Cherry popper p.3, Matt
Groupie love, Chris
Tag teamin’, Chris + Matt
᧔♡᧓
Everyone please make sure to head on over and also follow my second joint account @luv4gamermatt
♱ Made with my lovely favourite girl on here, @luv4kozume we aim to get our collab published soon, as we’ve both now hit 2k!! ♱
#matt sturniolo#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sub matt sturniolo#sturniolo#mommy k!nk#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader
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hi! could you make a robin buckley x reader where she thinks the reader is dating steve but in reality the reader has a crush on her?LOL and im the end they both confess and it’s like awkward but cute? THAMK U! i hope that made sense
gold medal babe
A/N: this is the sweetest fkn thing i LOVE a good awkward wlw confession
Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (platonic)
Summary: Robin still doesn’t understand everyone’s apparent obsession with Steve. Turns out, neither do you! 1.7k words
Warnings: fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, angsty/jealous gay behavior
Each poke, each wise crack, each inside joke made Robin want to suffocate. Steve must have been exposed to radioactive waste or something because there’s no way a girl like you agreed to date him without some lawless external force. Not when you’re all smiles and graphic tights and kitten heels and pearl studs. Not when you’re the perfect girlfriend—thoughtful and soft and so charismatic, not to mention the epitome of grace and all things lovely—and Robin’s starting to wonder what makes Steve so goddamn lucky.
So here she is, flicking through random names on the store’s computer screen, bored out of her mind listening to Steve explain the rules of some obscure European sport you’ve never even heard of. She’s scrolled through twelve Richards already when you laugh, clutching your stomach and doubling over from where you’re perched on the edge of the counter, legs swinging out when you lose your balance.
Robin’s quick to whip around in her chair when you tilt forward a little too far, only to find Steve’s hands already on your shoulders. And he looks constipated with worry, which only makes you laugh harder. She spins back around, flushed and jittery hoping you didn’t catch her overzealous reflexes.
“Somebody’s had one too many slammers.” Steve teases, and you flick at his chest.
“Shut up, Harrington,” you say. Robin catches you in the blurry reflection of the monitor: the unmistakable curve of your cherry red lips, the dainty chain peeking from the neck of your dress, the way your ringed fingers brush over the hem of your uniform green vest.
“Shut up, Harrington,” he whines.
“Oh, that’s real mature. What would your mother think?”
“Hey, lay off’a my ma.”
“That’s not what she wanted last night—gross, gross, stop!” you squeal because he pops his pinky into his mouth, pushing the slick little finger towards your ear. But you snag his wrist and shove him away before he can get any closer.
The glass door swings open to a cute little family of four, the two kids bursting off from the group. Excited squeals fill the aisles of shelved tapes, and you chirp out a generic greeting—the one they coached you on when you were hired.
“Not it,” Steve huffs. Robin sighs and stands from her chair, planting her palms on either side of the register with a deflated look. Almost like a grimace.
“I can take this one,” you coo, tugging at her sleeve and hopping down with the nicest fucking smile she’s ever seen, and it’s enough for her to fumble the play and shuffle around a little.
“Oh, no, I can—I’ve got it. Besides, now you and Steve can go… yunno, whatever. ‘S no problem.”
“Okay.” You nod, lips pursed, glancing back at Steve, wide-eyed and kind of panicked while he just whistles and turns on his heel to weave through the store.
He plucks one of the movies off the new release stand, scanning the back when one of the kids scampers up to him. Not saying a word, just breathing heavily and watching him.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving her a warm smile that she gleefully reciprocates with about half her teeth missing. The little girl grabs at his hand, her gold pigtails bouncing as she tugs him to the section deemed the kids section, decorated with paper butterflies and instruments.
“What the hell was that? Did you see that? God, that was horrible—”
“You loved Snow White? Maybe you’ll like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty—speaking of princesses,” Steve stands just to glare directly at you, “I’m trying to do my job. You know, the one I’m paid to do, not relationship counseling or some sh—”
“You can’t counsel something that doesn’t exist! You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington, remember? You get all the ladies, this should be a walk in the park.”
“Clearly not all of them, thanks to you two,” he says, crouching down to the child with her hands grabbing at any and every movie with a cartoon animal on the cover, “let me introduce you to my friend, she’s nice sometimes, and she’s also really good at picking out movies, okay?”
The little girl looks up at you with her big green eyes, and you sigh, smacking Steve on the arm and handing her a film from the top shelf.
“I think you’re gonna find Alice in Wonderland a lot more interesting, honey, here you go”—the blondie hugs the tape to her chest and skips back to the front of the store, babbling with each hurried step. Meanwhile, you turn to Steve who’s leaned against the wall like a bastard—“you promised to help me.”
“Yeah, that was when there was something in it for me. Oh, wait, there never was, I’m just an insanely good friend.”
“Steve, I swear to God, if you help me, I will never bother you again.”
“Robin—!”
The family scoots back through the doorway when Robin sees the two of you huddled awkwardly near the back of the store. Steve grabs your hand and walks you to the counter with a bared-teeth-grin.
“Robin, (Y/n), you’re both girls, right? Great, my friend just called and said it was an emergency, so I’m going to leave. And hey, since it’s only”—he checks his wristwatch frantically—“five minutes until your shifts are over, why don’t you ride home together? Sound good? Awesome.”
And he practically bolts for the door, whipping his beamer out of the lot while you and Robin stand across from each other, mouths open in shock and awe
“What does us being girls have anything to do with that?” She says, and her head swivels to look at you, her hair wild and her heart racing, and you’re smiling at her which isn’t making any of it better. It’s like you’re a siren, and she doesn’t know whether to surrender or seek shelter or swim. You drown every coherent thought she’s ever had with one bat of your swooping lashes, and standing right here is like facing God dripping in grape-flavored sin.
Then you giggle, hiding your face in your hands, which makes her laugh, which makes you laugh until you’re both leaned back against opposing countertops and heaving in deep, huffing breaths between his watch doesn’t even work and he has no other friends.
Once you catch your breath, you’re not even safe. Her head is tilted back, pretty eyes fixed on the speckled ceiling, lips parted and smiling just a little at the thought. The thought that you might actually like her. The thought that you’re everything she has ever wanted and the thought that she’s crazy for it. Even if you are breathless at the sight of her, you’re dating Steve. She’d be nothing but your sidequest. Something to achieve and forget.
“Alright,” she sighs, “I better go. My shift ended thirty minutes ago.” She grabs her blazer from the back of the office chair, and you watch her wave when she steps outside. Her shoes are heavy on the pavement, and she almost doesn’t want to walk away. The thought of you keeps dragging her back by the bootstraps. Every time she tries to leave, get over it, live another day, she sees you and she’s back at square one.
“Robin!”
Her heart sinks. The way you say her name is like life support. The IV drip of gods, feeding her straight simple syrup like she’s a hummingbird with an ache. Indulgent and sated and licking her lips because she’ll always know the taste of your girlish charm.
“Robin, wait,” you pant, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath and drawing a sweat across your brow, “d’you wanna go… out? There’s this super cute diner downtown, Steve showed it to me when—”
“You mean just you and me?”
You tilt your head at her, surely smirking at what she may have thought you meant.
“Yeah. Just you and me. And a little dinner. Is that… oh, did I—? Did I read this wrong? I’m so sorry,” you say, scratching the back of your neck and sighing deeply into your chest.
“Wait, what? No, no, sorry, I just think… I’m pretty sure Steve would kill me,” she says with a laugh.
“Why would… why would he kill you?”
“Oh, I dunno, maybe because I’d be going out with his girlfriend.”
“His girlfriend? Me? Yeah, I’ll pass. He’s so…”—you wave your hands out in front of you before shrugging—“I mean, he’s handsome, I’ll give him that, but…”
You’re not dating Steve. So then what the hell were the last three months for if she wasted them sulking over her two favorite people who were theoretically sucking face behind the scenes. All that fuss for absolutely nothing. Well maybe not nothing, because the way you’re looking at her now—all tender and soul-crushing—might bring her to her knees.
“Wait, you mean you don’t like Steve? Not even a little?”
“Not even at all. What I feel for Steve is and will always be a friend thing. Strictly platonic,” you say, “plus, why would I need him when I’ve got you to worry about?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Why would I need him when—”
“No, no, I heard you, it’s just,” she huffs, “you worry about me?”
“C’mon, I know you reel in the babes. Gotta make sure I stay in first place.”
She’s short-circuiting right about now. Someone up there’s taking a screwdriver to her central power and going ham. Because this is something straight out of dreams. There’s no cheesy indie rock playing, but there’s a helluva lot of confessing happening. And she feels a little weird standing a sidewalk’s length apart.
So she hops onto the curb. And suddenly, you’re a lot closer now. And she can feel your body heat when you inch towards her in your squeaky new loafers.
“Like it’s even a competition for you,” she mumbles. And your chest swells with pride, flooding hot and sweet with the bright look in her eye. You reach for her waist to pull her close enough to count her freckles one by one. How the sun blessed her skin with kisses and made it predestined at that. Showed her where they’ll be even once they fade for the winter. They’ll come back, and you’ll count them all over again.
“Guess that means the feeling is mutual,” you say, twisting a strand of her wild auburn hair between your fingertips.
“Very mutual,” she says. You nod, grinning so wide it would hurt if you weren’t so stuck on the way she’s holding your hips.
“So… how d’you feel about milkshakes?”
masterlist
#stranger things#st4#stranger things fic#stranger things fluff#stranger things x y/n#stranger things season four#stranger things x reader#x reader#x fem!reader#wlw#robin buckley fic#robin buckley fluff#robin buckley x fem!reader#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley x you#nick answers ♡#*#fluff
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this was supposed to be a headcanon, just me explaining that I want to see their routines bleed into each others and it turned into 3k words. So, you can also read it on ao3 here. And here are the rings I was visualizing. I hope you enjoy it <3
One of the first nights he stays over, Eddie stands outside Steve's bathroom door and asks Steve what he's doing in there.
He got in before Eddie went to shower across the hall and Eddie's clean and changed into his borrowed PJs now, and Steve's still in there, and it sounds like he's banging pots and pans inside.
Steve laughs, but calls "Don't laugh,"
Eddie swears "I would never," as Steve opens the door, and when Steve comes out with his face covered in green goo, instead of laughing, Eddie gasps.
"What's that?" Eddies asks, his finger already drawing a line across Steve's cheek.
Before Steve can answer, Eddie puts the goo into his mouth.
Steve's eyes go wide as plates.
"Eddie!" he protests "You're not supposed to eat it! What if it's toxic?"
"Is it?" Eddie asks, licking his teeth, "tastes like cucumber. But like, way too clean,"
Steve chuckles, "It is made of cucumber, its a mask. Supposed to keep your skin nice." he explains, going back into his bathroom to cover the strip that Eddie scrubbed with more of the goo.
Eddie does not hesitate to follow after him. Hopping up on the ample counter to observe.
"Well, it's doing its job well, I think" Eddie points out.
Steve tries his best not to smile. "Thanks," he says "You're not freaked out by it?" he asks,
"I think it's cool" Eddie shrug,
Steve can't help his smile this time.
"Well this works out well because I have to keep it on for 10 minutes and this way i won't get bored." Steve offers, "What were you saying about Stevie Nicks before?"
Eddie talks his ear off while Steve tidies up the containers in his counter.
Once it's time to wash the mask off, Eddie watches him, then, he dutifully washes his own hands so he can poke a finger at one of Steve's cheeks.
He says it's cool to the touch and really soft. He approves.
Steve feels butterflies fluttering inside his chest.
☀♡☀♡
After that, it becomes a habit, Eddie goes and showers and changes and when he's ready for bed he comes keep Steve company, knocks twice for Steve to open the door and once he does he walks in and takes his place up on the counter.
A few months after they get together, Steve notices Eddie staring during a lull in their conversation while Steve is going through his skin care.
He's done it before a few times in the past weeks, Steve figured he was maybe off on a train of thought but now he's curious. Eddie's got his head tilted to the side, his mouth is scrunched up like he's stopping himself from saying something and he's fiddling with his rings, and suddenly something clicks for Steve.
He's applying a mask with a little wooden applicator and he extends it towards Eddie, presents it in front of his big beautiful brown eyes.
"D'you wanna try?" he offers
Eddie's eyes twinkle. His mouth blooms into a smirk, his dimples showing up as he enthusiastically nods and cranes his neck forward, like the only possible option is for Steve to apply it for him.
Steve laughs quietly, stepping closer to him and placing a kiss to his cheek.
"Why didn't you say?" he asks, still kissing him, his lips moving against Eddie's cheeks and making him giggle.
"I don't know" Eddie says "What if you didn't wanna share it? You've said before, this stuff is personal"
Steve draws back and immediately goes back in to press kisses against Eddie's other cheek.
"Well, yeah, we have to get you your own stuff if you like it, but you can share mine for now, sunshine." another kiss. "I don't mind." and another kiss "I would love for you to share it actually" he presses one final kiss and draws back to admire his work: Eddie's smile as wide as it gets and Eddie's cheeks tinted with the softest, prettiest red.
"You have to teach me." Eddie demands "I know I've watched you do it since forever, but i don't think I can do it on my own" he adds.
Steve smiles, completely enamored "You've done it for me before. Several times" he points out
"Yeah, with you coaching me through it!" Eddie whines, "I'd mess it all up" he's so serious, Steve finds it incredibly endearing.
Steve chuckles and leans over to press a small kiss against the bridge of Eddie's nose. "Mmkay" he murmurs "we gotta wash your face first"
☀♡☀♡
Little by little, Eddie gets confident enough to do it himself. Once he understands what everything does and sees the effects it all has on his skin, he even picks and chooses the steps he wants to do each day.
Steve loves it so much he can't put it into words. And he loves that he doesn't have to do this alone anymore.
Even when they're apart Eddie calls while Steve goes through his routine, sometimes they do it together but over the phone. Even when Eddie doesn't feel like doing anything at all he still sits by him and they talk about everything and nothing. Steve never imagined something so simple could make him so happy.
☀♡☀♡☀♡☀♡☀♡☀♡
For Eddie, it's even more simple but just as important.
The first time he catches Steve eyeing his rings is while he's being forced to listen to a Tears for Fears record.
Steve insists that they're good, Eddie's been staunchly refusing, but only because he likes seeing Steve get riled up. He gets bitchy and Eddie thinks he's the hottest person he's ever met.
Eddie's been trying to rile him up again as they lay on his bed and listen to the record, but Steve is not listening, his eyes are trained on Eddie's hands as he moves them around to explain his points. Once he figures it out, Eddie goes quiet for a bit, just moves a hand.
Steve's eyes follow it.
Eddie slides his skull ring off his hand and offers a waiting hand.
Steve's hazel eyes look at the ring, then at his waiting palm, then at Eddie. Eddie raises his eyebrows and smiles encouragingly and Steve finally places his hand in his.
Eddie slides the ring on and off three of Steve's fingers before he finds the right fit.
"There you go" he says, his voice quiet under the music. His throat dry from all the places they're touching.
Steve raises his hand above their heads, turns it around as he looks at the ring.
"I like it" Steve decides with a smile.
"You can keep it" Eddie says, without thinking.
Steve looks at him with wide beautiful eyes. "I- I don't" he stammers,
"Oh" Eddie says "I mean, you don't have to. It's okay" he tells him.
Steve shakes his head a little. "It's not-" he seems to have trouble finding the words.
"Give it here" Eddie supplies after a beat, offering up his waiting palm again.
Steve puckers his lips and slides the ring off his hand, places it on Eddie's waiting palm for him to slide it back on.
☀♡☀♡
After that, Eddie expects the looks will stop, maybe Steve just wanted to see what it was like to wear one, that's okay.
But, that same weekend, while they're smoking, lying on Eddie's bed this time, Steve is doing it again, his eyes focused on Eddie's fingers whenever they pass the blunt between them.
Eddie tries a different approach this time.
"Which one do you like?" he asks,
When Steve raises his eyebrows, Eddie raises both his hands above their heads, clicks his rings together.
"Which one do I like the most?" Steve asks,
Not what Eddie said, but-
"Sure" he shrugs, intrigued.
"Hmm" Steve hums, bringing his fingers up to trace Eddie's rings. Eddies tries his best to suppress his shiver.
Steve finally lands on a ring, one with a deep brown stone in it.
"This one." he states quietly.
Wordlessly, Eddie hooks his right pinky around Steve's left index finger and holds on while he twists their hands around to slide the ring off his finger and onto Steve's.
"It's pretty" Steve comments, slowly disentangling their hands.
Eddie hums an assent.
Steve moves his hand around. "Feels heavy." he notices.
Eddie turns his head to look at Steve's face. "Yeah," he confirms.
He waits until Steve looks back at him to offer.
"Do you want that one?" Eddie whispers.
Steve looks into both his eyes, one after the other and the handsomest smile blooms on his face, he nods.
"If I can have it." Steve whispers back.
Eddie clears his throat so his voice is not so hoarse "It's yours" he confirms with a smile of his own.
"Thanks, Eds. I'm gonna buy one for you to replace it" Steve promises, admiring his ring.
"You don't have to" Eddie tells him, "I'm giving it to you"
"I know. I want to" Steve says.
Steve holds their blunt to Eddie's lips again, says "Tell me about your song again" and once Eddie leans up and takes the blunt, Steve hooks their pinkies together.
Eddie tells him about the bridge he found and how he can't quite find an ending.
☀♡☀♡
A week or so later they share their first kiss. Huddled together under Steve's bed covers in the middle of the night.
In between that night and the first time they tug at each other's clothes, tucked inside Eddie's van in the early hours of the morning after a very intense Corroded Coffin gig, Steve continues taking Eddie's rings and wearing them for random stretches of time.
He calls Eddie "sunshine" and Eddie calls him "sweetheart". They cook for each other and then together, they watch movies, they talk after they have nightmares, well into the sunrise. They go for swims and they have picnics and they hold hands.
Eddie takes his rings off to go to the bathroom and often he'll come back to find one missing, or, not really missing, just on one of Steve's fingers. Steve usually gives it back by the end of their hangout or the next day they see each other.
Sometimes, Steve takes the rings right off Eddie's hand and Eddie lets him. Steve tries on each and every one, and keeps his favorite, rearranging the rest on Eddie's hands in some particular way, by size, or by color, or by "symbolism" he said once. Eddie adores him.
Those rings he usually gets back within the week.
Some other times, Steve will have a specific request, he even called Eddie once to ask if he could borrow a specific ring he thought would go well with the outfit he had planned for their date the next day. Eddie was delighted.
The first rings Eddie buys for Steve are an ordeal for him. He's so nervous, afraid that Steve won't like them, or that he won't want to have any of his own (even though he wears the one with the brown stone every day), or that he'll refuse to accept them.
He tells Steve that the girl that helped him said he could exchange them even for store credit if he didn't like them. Which, is a lie, but Eddie can make it happen if need be.
Thankfully, he doesn't have to, Steve loves them. Eddie chose one of intertwined metal bands, one with the phases of the moon around it and one that looks like arms are hugging Steve's finger. Steve especially likes that last one.
After that, Eddie takes Steve with him when he goes shopping for rings.
The first ring Steve buys for Eddie, the one that's supposed to "replace" the one with the brown stone, is a sun signet. Eddie maybe tears up a little bit.
It becomes such a part of them, that soon it's virtually impossible to say whose rings are in their bedside table.
Some mornings one of them is in charge of assigning the rings. Some others whoever gets to the side table first gets to choose his rings and leave the rest for the other. Regardless, Eddie loves to sit down and watch Steve pick out and put on his rings for the day. Taking time out of his day, every. single. morning. When he didn't wear rings before Eddie gifted him one. It makes Eddie want to cling to him and press kisses to his beautiful hair.
Some days, when it's Steve's turn to assign the rings he gets a little too into it. Organizing and reorganizing them in different ways, always in neat little rows until they're five minutes late and Eddie has to force himself to say "Stevie, we have to go" even though he could watch Steve organize things and mumble around the explanations for each method for days on end.
The real kicker though, is when Steve buys rings for Eddie that are more Steve's style. He buys rings for Eddie that he would like to wear himself. Because he knows eventually, he'll end up wearing Eddie's rings, no matter what. It's such a declaration of his intent to stick around that Eddie never quite knows what to say.
Steve also plays with his rings now, just as he plays with Eddie's, fiddles with them, removes them for cooking or cleaning, puts them in his pockets or in his glove compartment, they're a part of him as much as Eddie's rings are a part of Eddie, as much as Steve is a part of Eddie.
Eddie likes when their rings clink together when they hold hands, he loves feeling Steve's rings against his skin, in the small of his back or up his sides beneath his shirt. And he absolutely adores stealing Steve's rings too, slipping them off his fingers and into his own, feeling the residual warmth form where Steve's been going about his day with this piece of metal in his hand, Eddie can think of nothing better.
☀♡☀♡
"Eds have you seen my ring?" Steve asks him one night, coming into the kitchen where Eddie's making them pancakes for dinner.
"You're gonna have to be a little bit more specific, big boy" Eddie answers, flipping a pancake.
"No, Eddie" Steve presses, the panic in his tone finally registering and Eddie immediately turns to look at him.
His hair is a mess, like he's been pulling on it, even though he was in the middle of his shower when Eddie left him to come make dinner.
"Oh," Eddie says, finally understanding he means the ring with the brown stone. "I don't have it baby, where did you see it last?" Eddie asks, turning off the stove.
"I left it in the bedside table!" Steve explains, clearly frustrated "it's not there anymore, and it's not on the drawers or on the bed or in the floor or behind the door. I don't know where it is." he finishes, tears forming in his eyes.
Eddie hates seeing him so stressed, he walks up to him and runs his hand up and down his arms.
"We'll find it sweetheart, it's okay. Did you check under the dresser?" Eddie asks.
There was a dresser in their house when they bought it, inside their bedroom. Apparently, the previous owner did not want to deal with the trouble of getting it out and as it turned out, neither did Steve and Eddie. It was a beautiful vintage piece of furniture and it was heavy as a motherfucker.
"Oh. I didn't?" Steve says, "How would it get all the way there?"
The dresser is placed across their bed, so in the wall opposite their bedside tables.
"It seems crazy, but it's happened with a couple of mine" Eddie tells him, "I'm telling you, this place is on a slant" he says, already grabbing Steve and tugging him towards their bedroom.
"Fuck, I hope it's there" he mumbles.
"It will be," Eddie assures him
"What if it went down the drain?" Steve anxiously asks,
"You almost never leave your rings in the bathroom, handsome"
"But what if I did?" Steve insists,
"Then I will go down to the sewers to get it for you" Eddie tells him as they enter their bedroom.
Steve goes to get on the floor but Eddie brings their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss there, says "Here, I'll look" and gets on his hands and knees in front of their dresser.
Sure enough, there's a small shadow at the very back, the object nearly touching the wall. Eddie comes up to tell Steve and bangs his head against one of the dresser handles.
"Jesus!" Steve exclaims, rubbing Eddie's head for him, "Is it there?" he asks.
Eddie scrunches his eyes shut against the pain and gives Steve a thumbs up, "Mmhm, I think so," he confirms, "You have a ruler on your desk," he tells Steve
Without needing another word Steve goes and gets it for him.
When Eddie finally fishes the ring out, Steve grabs it and clutches it to his chest
"Ohmygod. Thank you" he says, leaning his head against the dresser.
Eddie gets up off the floor and drags him to stand in front of him as Eddie sits in their bed.
Steve takes a couple of moments to breathe deeply, letting go of the last dregs of his panic. Eddie clings to Steve's waist and noses his shirt up to kiss the scarred skin on his side.
Steve finally chuckles softly, bunches his fingers up at the top of Eddie's head.
"Does it hurt too much?" he asks, rubbing at Eddie's head again.
Eddie shakes his head.
Steve switches to petting his hair and softly laughs "God, I almost got a heart attack"
Eddie chuckles, leaning his chin on Steve's stomach to look up at him.
"I love you" he reminds him.
Steve traces his dimples, says "I love you", then grabs one of Eddie's hands from his waist and slides the ring on his hand.
"It's your job to take care of it now. When I'm not wearing it" Steve tells him.
"I will." Eddie promises.
Inevitably, Steve ends up taking care of Eddie's sun signet whenever he's not wearing it, just in case.
The longest they wear those rings for the other is a few months, between getting engaged and exchanging them again at their wedding ceremony.
#i might write their first kiss from this later on. for now- i hope you love this. i sure do! even if its a little all over the place :3#steddie#steddie headcanon#steve x eddie#steveddie#stranger things#.
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It had been a hard hit, one that had the usual powerhouse of a player crumpling to the ice with his shout of pain clearly heard across the ice, every player sliding to a stop at the unfamiliar sound. He was called Moose for a reason, the winger able to take a hit and give one in return without so much of a blink, able to play through the pain no matter what was thrown at him. He had taken pucks to the mouth, had players land on him, been flipped fully off his feet only to get back up and keep playing, but this? This was bad.
One thing most everyone knew about Nicky is that he didn't swear, and when he did, it was never anything that would be considered overly vulger. He had grown up around cameras, people watching his every move on the ice, it was bad PR to swear, not that he felt a need to anyways, but he always tried to keep it clean. So when he was checked into the boards, his leg twisting at an odd angle that had him unable to even stand, writhing there on the ice with unmistakable pain on his face as his voice bounced across the stadium? It had the entire game at a standstill, just over one word.
"Fuck!"
It was enough to call an all stop, players from both teams surrounding him, trying to check his wellbeing, trying to help as he was stretchered off the ice. Even through his pain, vison a blinding white as he was hauled off the ice, Nick managed to grip a fist in the front of his coaches shirt, wrenching him downwards to nearly pull him onto the stretcher alongside him. "Tell Kichiro I'm alright." Even with his leg undoubtedly broken, they were still the first thing on his mind... //we both know kichiro dont believe him lmao
- ✩ 「 @from-across-the-stars 」 ✩
「 ☆ 」 Kichiro never knew much about hockey until they met Nick. Honestly? They still doubt they know much about it… Far too swept up in the high-energy excitement of the game, rules are lost on them in the thrill of simply being there. Getting to watch these men duke it out in a gladiator-esque game of will and strength. That’s how Kichiro likes to think of it. Perhaps that’s overdramatic; a romanticization of a game they can’t be bothered to study when not watching their crush best friend skating on the ice, but it works for them. So, why change it? Despite their limited knowledge— they can tell when someone scores, and that seems to be the basics of any game —it’s crystal clear when things have gone wrong during a game. It happens. Often.
But this? This isn’t the usual wrong… This is WRONG.
Immediately standing when Nick hits the boards, before the curse can even echo— as if instincts had taken over —Kichiro is hurriedly making their way past seats. Hasty apologies quickly break into irritated snaps to ‘ watch it ’ after they’ve tripped a few times over uncaring feet refusing to scoot out of the way, politeness merely a formality that was unconcernedly cast aside when not returned. Frankly they’d force their way through a tightly-packed crowd if need be to get to Nick, only the fact that everyone else was sitting keeping them from getting unceremoniously shoved aside. In the grand scheme of things, everyone here matters very little. Practically walking dust in the swirling mass of an uncaring universe.
In the grand scheme of Kichiro’s life? These people matter even LESS than that… Heart pounding painfully, they force themselves to watch their breathing, gaze riveted intently on the stretcher as it takes Nick away, and not on their own frantic footwork. Determined to see where it goes, Kichiro loses their balance, haphazardly fumbling to the ground with a hissed, ❝ Shit. ❞ Much like Nick, they aren’t usually one to curse. Especially not for things like this, having grown rather numbed to incidences both big and small. But in their frazzled state— Nick had looked like he was in immense pain; a sort of pain that Kichiro never wanted to see on his face —it’s the first and only thing out of their mouth.
Picking themself off the ground, Kichiro scrambles to their feet, clumsily wiping blood from their split lip as they look around for the stretcher. It had only been out of sight for a moment, but in the chaos, that was enough. No matter. Kichiro saw the general direction it was going and they’ve watched enough games to have a good enough guess of where severely injured players would get hauled off to. Without any regard to whether they are even ALLOWED this close, they shove themself towards where they need to be, bristling when a coach steps into their path. Panic Aggravation practically making them tremble, Kichiro glares up at the man with the intensity of someone willing to get into ANY amount of trouble...
❝ I need to see Nicky. Now. ❞ 「 ☆ 」
#(( kdjfngdjkgdd - Kichiro is ready to Fite a man right now lmao ))#not-bcring#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ; ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴛᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Kichiro IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ; ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ’ꜱ ᴀʟɪɢʜᴛ ❞ ◌ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴇᴠ. ᴀᴜ ¦ 「 Kichiro 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʏ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ❞ ¦ 「 Nick 」#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴅ; ᴀ ꜱᴏɴɢ’ꜱ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴀᴅ ❞ ¦ 「 Kichiro and Nick 」#from-across-the-stars#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴏʙᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ꜰʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」
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⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Doc-Ringo⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
✮ Yandere! Boothill x Reader
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: There's a slick black-clad little gal who's been messing with his bounties recently. Boothill's been dying to rustle her up and take a bite
⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, war trauma, Genie trying to do a cowboy accent.
⁺₊𝄞₊⁺: Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett
And I don't hardly know her,
But I think I can love her,
Ah, now when she comes walking over,
I've been waiting to show her,
My mind's such a sweet thing
I want to do everything
What a beautiful feeling
It's not like the movies, they fed us on little white lies.
~💜
The first time he sees you there's a tempest of bullets rattling off his chest. Metal singing metal, as shells vie for an opening. It's all very lethal,
like the center of a rabid dust storm. Kissing death and sucking in her poison. Boothill can't tell where the bullets are coming from only that there's a dozen at a time ringing over his head. He shields his face with the metal of his forearms peaking through the gap to catch a glimpse of black.
Pure black.
That's the first thing he notices as your frenzy yields, You're clad in black from head to toe, even going so far as to dawn an eerie familiar mask. He's seen this scene play out somewhere before, he just can't remember where. "Morning mister", he likes that voice, jejune and teeming with confidence. It reminds him of himself, back when the sunset used to mean something and he could still feel wheat stocks under his soft palms.
"Howdy lil'lady I reckon you're in my way. Mind stepping aside before you get yourself hurt?" Your answer comes in the form of an aimed pistol, spine straight, midnight serape caught on the wind. He thinks you look a little too much like the folks back home -back when there was a home- blood boiling over eager for a fight. His bounty is standing just over yonder, blocked partly by your stubborn shadow. Boothill doesn't think twice before firing two rounds.
He's met with four...
He's in a cheap motel on Penacony, screwing in bolts that came loose. In the end, you laid claim to his bounty. Dragging him away to the hills. He's left growling at the thought, bested by a muddle-fudging fox. Lil gal probably ain't never even been in a proper shoot-out. The screwdriver cracks under his metal fingers. Boothill ain't about to start letting some pretty little thing get in the way of him and his targets.
The TV screen flickers to a melancholy monochrome. The films are old, distorted, crippled in parts. But he keeps them around, much like everything else about him, it's a bygone thing refusing to die.
He still likes to play them from time to time, trying to elicit the tastes of home. Hearing Nick and Graey setting plates out for dinner as his siblings rush downstairs. The movies are older than the new universe in more ways than one.
They come from a simpler time.
He'd always wondered why someone would bother painting such precious things in black and white. Spilling melancholia into picture frames, leaving everything tasting of vodka and vanilla.
It doesn't matter though, not really. All that matters is the sound of hooves on sand and bullets shooting. So long as the cowboys live their stories, everything else can be forgiven.
But this time something's off. The bandit's black mask shines through, gleaming something awful making him grind his sharp teeth. That damn mask, sitting pretty over a sly smirk. it reminds him of you, little cutie with your slick attitude. What bandit goes around doing hero's work anyway? What kinda twisted little lady are you?
He's getting mighty sick of this. Do you think you own the universe or something? "Been seeing way too much of you lately." There's sand in his Synesthesia Beacon his voice coming out horse, brittle. He kicks the head of an IPC lackey trying to drive home a point. "You getting on my nerves cutie". The ground looks nothing short of a graveyard, bodies scattered some piled. The blood paints the sands in a deep maroon, reflecting the glint of the distant stars. The last soldier is cowering behind you, his whimpers singing in Boothill's ears, one more bullet, that's all it'll take. "This one's mine" you mutter, and he wonders for a moment if the dry weather is getting to you too. "Not a chance pumpkin" his gun's drawn, firing bullets before you can even feel for your holster. The smirking bullet impales your abdomen, aimed point blank at the officer's head. But before the last body can be claimed you kick the man out of the way.
"Damn it" Boothill's anger is tangible, he knows you can feel it between your teeth. He's going to kill you, tear off that star-saken mask, and riddle you with bullets. You're getting too confident.
He doesn't notice your bullets at first. Protostars trying to act all rough and mighty. There's a temporary cluster of dust, a fraction of a second where his eyes aren't pinning you down. That's all it takes and then you're off. Sinking into the darkness and swimming away, taking his target with you.
It's only after the initial anger wears off that Boothill notices a tear on his thigh. A letter scrawled on the frayed leather of his pants. So you've started leaving your own marks, ay cutie?
He almost wishes he could feel the sting of your blade on his flesh. Feel your nails scrapping along his shoulders as he pins you to the ground.
Boothill fires at the moon.
Next time.
Next time for sure....
He's been chasing you for some time now. But catching up with you isn't as easy as he first thought. Seems like you go wherever the wind takes you and he's too busy with revenge to be following your capricious whims. The IPC ain't going to kill itself you know. And Boothill damn well wishes you'd start sitting still. He's heard from a reliable source that the IPC soldiers are throwing a little get to together down in one of the bars. Just a happy birthday for a colleague, nothing fancy. The thought alone makes his mouth water, place will be crawling with pests just waiting to be gunned down. Maybe tomorrow he'll try looking for you again, but tonight? Tonight's his night.
The neons have dulled now, they never were terribly bright to begin with. Penacony may be the land of dreams but not even dreams can stop reality from seeping through. The bar's loud, some new pop singer's music blasting from every speaker. Boothill downs his drink, liking how the ice cubes chime like a bad omen. He shoots the speakers first, needing some peace to focus on what comes next. The peace corp's lackeys are drunk, they stumble over themselves trying to reach him. He shoots each one like a kid playing carnival games. It's almost too easy...
The door is stampeded over by a heard of reinforcements. Somehow even in his drunken daze one of those yella-bellied lapdogs called for help. They're swarming the place like panicked rats, pushing past tables and chairs. Firearms aimed at his head. And for the first time, in a long, long time, Boothill feels a sliver of panic run down his bionic spine.
Motherfudger...
Boothill hears the familiar tumult of bodies hitting the ground before he sees what's actually going on. He feels you before he actually sees you. You're pushed up against his back, guns drawn locked, and loaded. "Heard you needed some help" Even though you offer your usual bravado, Boothill still picks up the nervous lilt in your voice, despite everything he thinks he likes it. It almost tastes sweet. "Best get away before you get yourself hurt little fox." "And let you have all the fun? Never."
"Certe murmur pugnando" Boothill laughs, he remembers those very words coming from a buddy of his before a duel. 'At least we'll die fighting' Somethings never change, even if you've carved out every principle from your body with a rusted kitchen knife. You'll always have those pesky morals stuck inside. He hears you chuckle, wonders if you find it odd that a rowdy galaxy ranger such as himself knows a dead language.
Well, he knows a lot about the dead.
The shoot-out lasts longer than he'd have expected.
But the real surprise lies in how neither of you are dead. Boothill's half laid across the bar, looking at you from under his hat. You're making him a drink following his instruction like a good little wife, not contradiction dressed in ebony. Gunpowder withers on his tongue, the bullet smoke permeates the air mixing with the gleeful tang of spilled blood. "Your drinks sure are complicated" you mutter pushing him his cup before picking up a bottle and reading its labels. "What's so hard about it pumpkin? Little bit of white gem and gin. All's you need." He sips your drink slowly, savoring your flavor. He imagines he's gulping you down, holding you for ransom behind his teeth, feeling your delicate little fists pounding against him. "I don't drink" you mumble as you sit across from him, you look so damn elegant, like a little princess from a fairy tale he use to read to a certain someone. You drink deeply from your glass of ice and water. Boothill focuses on the gentle motion of your throat. He licks his lips, trying to push down the thought of ringing such a fragile thing between his palms.
"So little lady, s'about time you start answering some questions...The hell you doing? Running off with my targets?" You set your cup down, eyes locking on his, there's the deficiency he's missed all night. The trigger hair that's just waiting for the right push. "They're not your targets...not really. They're just people. People whose planet got muffed up. I've been trying to gather them all in one place." For a second Boothill thinks you're talking about his planet, his home, his people. But it only takes one more look at you to understand.
"So, how'd yours die?" There's shrapnel in his throat when he asks, open wounds bleeding once more, filling his throat with bitter memories.
You stiffen, and he knows he's thumbing a broken bone, letting his finger dig between the cracks and snapping their frail linings. "Don't know, wasn't there. All I ever got to see were a few limbs, nothing enough to make a full person." you squeeze the glass until your knuckles turn white.
There's vindication rooted in your veins.
He knows the feeling all too well.
"We ain't so different you and I, reckon we make a pretty good team." His metal fingers lace between your soft skin, tracing the lifelines like an old map.
There's a goldmine hidden behind your lips, he imagines he'll have to kiss you to find the little nuggets. Your lips part, eyes filled with an odd-looking sympathy. What he wouldn't give to feel your plump lips bleed between his jagged teeth. "So..." you ask as his mechanic heart skips a beat. "What about yours?"
You've been laughing for five whole minutes. Boothill shouldn't find the noise as ethereal as he does. His anger lays heavily on his bones, he should be even angrier, lounging a bullet through your thick skull. But he finds the noise a little too perfect to disturb its source. Even if it's only created at his expense. Instead, he has half a mind to slap you, hard enough to shut you but and another to kiss you so hard you forget to breathe. "Damn hell so funny, cutie"
You look at him with those luminous eyes. Filled with pain and riddles. Boothill never did like solving puzzles. He only likes tearing things into bits. He needs you spartan, easy to read and use, and kiss. Not something he needs to piece together first.
"Dear stars you have no freaking idea how ironic you are." You say between bursts of spiteful-rooted giggles.
Why do those words sound so haunting like a ghost kiss? they should open phantom pains, but they sure as hell don't. Why do you always leave his head spinning? Boothill rolls his eyes, then leans over to pull down your mask. You jerk back, rewarding him with a dark grimace. You're out the window before he can ask your name.
"See you next time, cowboy"
"Next time I'm drawing blood"
The moment's over.
Fiddlesticks..
That night, Boothill dreams of you. He's lying in a stiff musty bed. It's too dark, even the moon is scared of showing her face.
Boothill dreams of the old saloons back home. Of their cracked wooden floorboards and the worn-out plush of chairs. In the dreams, you're wearing a black lace gown, like the saloon girls used to. He finds it all too funny that even in his dreams you still haunt him in black. Only now you're smiling, really smiling. Not that sly smirk, or mirthless grin you gave him back in the bar on Penacony. No, this here is a genuine smile and he's damn sure he's the one who put it there. You reach out for his hand, he feels warmth.
His
Yours
The dream is thick and dense like swimming through molasses. In another scene he's dragging you through the old doors, laughing as bullets and card chips hit the floor. There's a horse waiting outside. His horse. At least he thinks it used to be his. He pulls you up roughly in front of him. He's high off the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the rugged reins. High off the steed he holds in a vice grip between his thighs.
He's riding faster than he's ever ridden before, clambering for the sunset trying to engulf the sun. You hold on tight, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart is beating something fierce between his ribs. He feels like an Aeon watching the universe collapse under his galloping feet.
He feels alive.
With the sun's rays behind you, Boothill could almost mistake you for the star-dwelling angels Nick used to tell him about. There's something poetic in all of this. The cowboy standing off against the black fox.
Dare he call it cinematic?
Boothill creeps closer. Tilting his hat and watching you flash a nervous smile through his lashes. "Volo sentire te inter dentes meos" so you know that dead tongue too. "You will soon darling, that's what I'm hoping for" his reply only dwindles your smile.
He's missed the old duels. Missed staring into the eyes of the one who could kill you. It's all a matter of skill and luck. Whose faster, who the aeon will trust?
Somewhere in the distance, the tumble weeds begin to rattle.
"Now"
His bullet glides through the air, piercing through the dust and sand. Your bullet reverberates from your gun a fraction too late and ricochets past his cheek. Leaving a juicy trail of blood.
But his bullet was aimed at your chest.
And Boothill never misses...
You want vengeance he won't deny you it.
So long as you stay by his side.
He'll tuck you away somewhere safe.
Somewhere you won't be leaving him again.
Boothill cradles your body to his chest. "I promised you blood little fox, and Boothill never goes back on his word." His cheeks hurt from smiling as he lays his hat atop your head. He's Picking you up and walking into the sunset. He knows a good ol'doc who'll patch you right up. And then it's a happy life together.
Well for him anyway.
The end
Taglist: @hihellomy @salhanskkdbfkekfb @gasoline-eater @sp1cym0chi
#yandere#yandere x reader#yancore#yandere x you#yandere aesthetic#honkai star rail#hsr#boothill#boothill x reader#yandere boothill#boothill x you#boothill headcanons#yandere boothill x reader#yandere boothill x you#hsr boothill#yandere imagines#yandere hsr#yanderecore#hsr x reader#yandere male#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#hsr boothill x reader#yandere cowboy#boothill imagines#hollywood aesthetic#old hollywood#hsr headcanons#tw dark content#male yandere
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✿ ONE ✿
ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: guess who’s back in town: the sturniolo triplets. it’s for their birthday party their parents are throwing, the same party your parents force you to go to.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,054
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: we’re locked in on the series, folks!
you can’t go a day without seeing something along the lines of the sturniolo triplets, and it fucking pisses you off.
your parents went to high school with theirs and were really close. your mom got pregnant with you around the same time marylou got pregnant with the triplets, your “best friends.”
the same triplets that left you months ago because of their career of being youtubers. the least they could’ve done was still message you, but no. they unfollowed you on everything.
you texted them multiple times, but all you got was one-word answers or no answer at all. as much as you didn’t want to, you stopped trying after a while because it was no use.
your parents still hang out with marylou and jimmy, sometimes even justin when he’s in town. at least you got one more best friend that you grew up with, nathan doe.
nathan is the youngest out of the four of you. nick, matt, and chris are turning twenty tomorrow and nate’s turning nineteen on the ninth. you’ve been nineteen since april, so you’re right in the middle.
you guys met him in elementary school and he was the last piece of the puzzle. you guys were even called the FOREVER FIVE, something you all made up at a sleepover in the fourth grade.
of course the three stooges didn’t drop him when they left. favoritism, i guess.
you scroll angrily on tiktok. it’s like the app senses your hatred for them and decides to put edits or clips from their videos on your for you page. this shit is definitely not for you.
then, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. “come in.” you call out, and your mother comes in. she sits on your bed and sighs. “what’s up?” you ask.
she gives you a face of sympathy, and it scares you a little. “the triplets are back in town.” she starts, and that gains your attention. “and i want you to come with me and your father to their birthday party tomorrow.”
“no.” you flat-out say. it’s no secret that your mom knows about your hatred either since you cried to her for a week straight about how they abandoned you.
“y/n, please.” your mom puts a hand on your knee. “marylou would love to see you there. she asks about you, you know. she misses you.”
frowning, you start to think. you miss her too. you never blamed her for what her sons did, but you haven’t seen her since they left. she is the sweetest lady you’ve ever met. “and they’re celebrating nate’s birthday, too. you have to at least show up for him, okay?”
you exhale sharply. “okay.”
you pull up to the party the next day with your parents, making your way to the backyard where it’s held. not a lot of people are there, just close friends and family. you scan the area at the top of the steps for nathan, getting disappointed when you don’t see him.
marylou engulfs you in a hug the moment you step on the grass. “hello, sweetheart!” she exclaims, pulling away with a big smile on her face. she places her hands on your shoulders. “how are you doing? you feeling okay?”
“i’m doing fine!” you reply in the same tone, putting on a fake smile.
“thank you so much for coming. i know it’s been a little… strange for you for the past few months. i’m sorry about that.”
“please don’t apologize. you did nothing wrong,” you say and she pulls you back in for another hug.
“if you want, the boys are standing by the chips and dip. if not, don’t be afraid to make yourself comfortable.” she points to the numerous folding tables set up.
god, you missed this woman. “i will. thank you so much.”
you walk over to the table where your parents are, placing your things down before joining them.
“twenty years old is fucking disgusting.” nick rants, dipping a chip in onion dip and popping it into his mouth.
the other two giggle. “yeah, well—” chris pauses when he turns his head and lands eyes on someone. “holy shit, guys.” he taps both of his brothers on the arm.
“look.” he continues, pointing at you from across the way when he gets his sibling’s attention. “we have to talk to her.”
“chris, no.” matt says. “do you not know that she hates us? it was shitty, what we did. that’s honestly my biggest regret.”
“we are petty losers for that.” nick chimes in.
chris crosses his arms. he would do anything to get you back into his life. there was no specific reason why they did what they did. they ghosted a lot of old friends ever since they moved to LA, and you got unlucky. “fine. if you guys won’t, i will. i want to get my best friend back.”
“chris, wait! that’s not a good idea!” the two scream at him as he starts to march over to you, who’s now pouring pepsi into a red solo cup.
you gasp out of shock when you turn around and see a brunette towering over you. “hi.” he says lowly. “i didn’t think you’d come.”
“i came for nate.” you say coldly. “where is he?”
“he has to do something before he comes.” you move over to start walking, but he steps in front of you.
“chris—”
“i’m so fucking sorry.” he apologizes. “we miss you.”
“should’ve thought of that before you woke up one day and decided to pretend i didn’t exist.”
his heart aches at your words. the three of them really are assholes. “can we just start over? please?”
“start over?” you scoff. “we can’t start over after all of that. i practically known you since birth, and you want to start over?”
“y/n, i’m—”
you peek over his shoulder and cut him off. “nate’s here.” you eventually get out of his way and start to head over to nate, but stop and turn back around.
there’s a hint of hope in chris that you changed your mind, but he was wrong. “i kept the note.”
he furrows his eyebrows. “what note?”
ouch.
you laugh to yourself. of course, he doesn’t remember. “never mind. happy birthday.” you mumble, walking off into the crowd.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fluff#[ ✿ ] promise?
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oh my ur writing is so good 😭 i was wondering if you could write something where chris is on tour and since he’s been away he’s been needy so like hes texting the reader saying how he’s horny and needs her, so the reader calls chris and they end up having phone sex and chris is like whimpering and unable to keep quiet.. sub chris please 🙏
foreword: aaaaahhhh i love this idea, and thank u! as for sub chris…. im not sure if i can fully capture that since i cant imagine it but i shall give you desperate chris!
enjoy ☺️
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
your boyfriend, chris, was steadily becoming one of the most famous influencers and with that came the task of touring the states.
he’d already been on tour with his brothers once before, but this time he’d gained millions more supporters.
he was midway through his travels, briefly stopping for a couple days from charlotte to nashville. you hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks, and you were starting to miss him.
you missed the way he made you laugh, always including you in his busy schedule, letting you bond with his brothers.
more importantly you missed his hands on you, gliding over your waist, his lips softly kissing the shell of your ear, down to your jaw, your neck, and then finally your lips.
you didn’t realise how long this month without him would feel like.
neither did he, which was why your phone buzzed at the side of your bed. his bed, which you were sleeping in for the next couple of days. his parents treated you like their own, so you graciously used the key they made for you to infiltrate your boyfriend’s room.
you picked up your phone, the screen lighting up your face as you read the message chris had sent you
chris: i miss you
you: i miss you too
i was just thinking about you
chris: yeah?
bet you were thinking something dirty
he knew you so well.
you: no…
i’m just in your bed
i hope you don’t mind, i got cold
*image attached*
chris: damn
so you raided the hoodies already baby?
you: i couldn’t miss the opportunity
chris: you know i love it when you wear my shit
you: of course
can’t you cancel your tour and hurry back to me
chris: if i could i would be home already
you need me that bad huh?
you: oh? but who texted first?
chris: you got me there
i just wanna see your fine ass
you: how bad
chris: bad
hard just thinking about it
wish you were here to help me out baby
you immediately pressed the facetime icon at the top of the screen, watching the phone ring.
after three rings, your boyfriends face appeared.
“hey ma.” chris’ voice cut through the speaker, instantly making you feel better. you rarely had time to speak to him on the phone since he was so busy with the tour.
“ew chris. stop saying ma when i’m in the room.” nick could be heard from behind. you giggled. it always made you laugh when nick expressed a clear dislike for PDA.
“hi nick, how’s tour?” you spoke. chris turned the camera to his brother.
“it’s good! i can’t wait to get off this tour bus though, i hate taking a shit in public bathrooms.” he complained, causing you to laugh at his outwardness.
“should i pass the phone to nick since you wanna speak to him so much?” chris taunted, angling the camera back to himself.
“don’t be jealous of your brother, chris. how is my handsome boyfriend doing?” you smiled at him.
“bored. come to nashville.” he replied.
you shook your head, “you know i can’t.” you had to stay home to work on your own projects. unbeknownst to chris though, you had already arranged with nick and matt to surprise him at the last show of the tour.
“hey y/n. bro do you want anything from target?” matt popped his head into the view of the camera to say hello, and you waved.
“obviously you know what drink i want. get me something sour as well. thanks bro.” he answered matt, then turned his attention back to you.
chris waited until he heard his brothers leave and slam the door of the tour bus.
“i love that pretty face.” he smirked at you.
even over the phone, chris had a way of making your cheeks tint a light shade of red.
“i wish you were here in bed with me.” you spoke quietly, even though no one was home.
“i know, baby. when i get home i’m gonna make you forget i was ever gone.” chris swapped the phone over to his other hand, while he snaked his free hand under his sweatpants.
“how are you gonna do that?” you feigned innocence, knowing exactly what he was hinting at.
“i’m gonna pick you up, throw you into my bed and fill up that throat real good.” chris palmed himself through his underwear, feeling his dick harden.
you felt that twang in your stomach that appears whenever you hear his filthy words.
you took it upon yourself to set your phone down on the bedside table and slip your hands under your panties.
“is that what you want? you want me to suck your dick, baby?” you asked him, while you lazily played with your clit.
chris groaned, not used to you talking like this to him, “yeah, gonna make you swallow all of my cum. god, i want to feel that pussy round me.”
chris, by now, had pulled out his dick, moving his hand up and down and squeezing slightly at the base. he wished it was your tight cunt squeezing around him.
meanwhile, the lazy strokes on your clit had turned into desperate circles, wishing it was his thick, long fingers playing with you. you used the slick building up to coat your fingers, then pushed them inside yourself.
“are you touching yourself, y/n? fucking yourself on your fingers pretending it’s me?” he moaned softly, his hand moving faster.
“yes… want you inside me.” you whined, giving him the vocal stimulation he needed.
chris angled the phone down to his throbbing cock, willing you to watch as he masturbated.
“you see this, baby? ‘s all for you, fuck.” chris let out a quiet whimper, imagining you were next to him right now, your small hands pumping him instead of his own.
you watched his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back as he stroked faster.
“take off my hoodie, let me those tits.” he demanded, though he was in no position to bark orders as he rutted into his hand desperately.
you paused the motion of your fingers inside of you to quickly discard his hoodie and your shirt, revealing your tits to the screen.
“fuck… touch ‘em for me, i wanna see you touch yourself.” he whined at an unfamiliar pitch.
you grabbed your own boob in your hand, kneading it just like he would as you continued thrusting your fingers in and out of your aching pussy.
it was all too much, and yet not enough, without him helping you.
but even so, you felt the knot twist.
“i know that pretty face. you gonna cum?” he asked.
“yes! oh fuck, chris. fuck, want to cum on your face, baby.” you babbled, half incomprehensible.
your words drove chris into madness, moaning and whimpering as his thumb massaged his weeping tip.
“fuck, fuck, fuck. wanna feel that pussy around me, gonna fuck you good, shit, i’m–“ his own orgasm cut his words short, bursting out of his cock, coating his hands. a stray droplet landed on his stomach.
the sight of your boyfriend panting and moaning from his high prompted you to cream all over your fingers. your mouth dropped open as you continued to finger yourself through it, until your adrenaline finally depleted.
both of you took a second to catch your breath.
“i need to clean this mess up before my brothers get back.” chris tucked his softening dick back into his underwear and grabbed a hand towel next to him.
“i love you, chris.” you spoke after he was done cleaning himself up.
“i love you too. i can’t wait to see you after tour is over.” he smiled at you.
“that was the worst target ever.” nick burst through the door of the bus, scaring chris.
“jesus, nick! you scared the shit out of me.” chris clutched his chest and you laughed, quickly throwing your hoodie back on.
“wait why the fuck are you sweating?” matt asked, following his brother inside.
“chris was showing me some top secret basketball moves he’s been working on.” you interjected as you watched chris’ eyes widen at the question.
how embarrassing it would have been if they’d caught you.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
a/n: i hope that was what you wanted!! part two of reader surprising chris at the last show? lmk your thoughts :p
© APCYLPTC 2023. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works here or any other websites.
#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo oneshot#chris sturniolo smut
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