#two days of early mornings are starting to tell and I’m out of it
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Yandere Lusamine x male s/o
It’s fairly well known amongst employees of the Aether Foundation that the once bubbly and kind personality of their president took a sharp turn for the worst when Lusamine’s husband disappeared several years ago, even to the point of driving her own two children away, which only helped to damage her psyche even more.
Whether it be to find something/someone new to bestow her affections onto, or perhaps to cure a well hidden loneliness, Lusamine eventually began obsessing over something other than Ultra Wormholes and pokémon, that being a man named s/o.
S/o is a nice looking man in his early thirties who used to work for Silph Co. in the Kanto region during his younger years before joining the Aether Foundation due to his love of caring for pokémon.
“Hello Miss Lusamine! My name is s/o, and it’s an honor to be working for you.”
This was what s/o said upon meeting his new boss for the first time after being hired to be her assistant, thus kicking off Lusamine’s obsession.
“Yes! He’s the one! I can tell already that this man is worthy of the love so many seem to throw away! I will make him mine soon enough.”
Aether’s president thinks to herself before turning to s/o and smiling sweetly at him.
“Such good manners. I like that. I look forward to having you by my side s/o.”
She tells him in a tone that both flusters him and unnerves him slightly.
“T-thank you ma’am. I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”
“Glad to hear it. Now come along s/o, there’s already work that needs to be done.”
“Yes ma’am!”
Following Lusamine to her office, s/o begins his first day working at the Aether Foundation.
Working for Lusamine was rather strange to s/o.
Despite being his boss, she seemed to be doting and almost…loving to him.
Yet s/o didn’t think much of it, and in fact actually enjoyed it due to developing a crush on Lusamine.
The more time they spent together, the more Lusamine’s unhealthy attraction to s/o grew.
“I can’t hold back anymore! The longer I wait, the more I risk some other woman sinking her claws into my darling s/o! He is the only person deserving of my love, and I will not lose him!”
She tells herself before deciding to confess to s/o first thing in the morning.
“Before we go over our itinerary for the day. There’s something you need to know s/o.”
“W-what is it ma’am?”
He asks in a shaky voice, fearing he’s about to be fired.
“I’ll get straight to the point. I want you to be mine.”
She says with a blank expression, which changes to a small smile once seeing her darling’s flustered expression.
“C-can you repeat that please? I might have misheard you.”
“You heard me just fine s/o. Ever since you’ve started working for me, I’ve become romantically attracted to you. I repeat, will you be mine?”
Not wanting to pass the chance to be with his crush, s/o nods and smiles.
“I’d like that. Honestly, I kinda fell in love with you not long after I became your assistant.
Hearing this brings a great big smile to Lusamine’s face as her heart beats faster, incredibly happy that her darling loves her back.
“Oh s/o! Come here so that I may shower you with my love!”
She pulls him into a bone-crushing embrace and kisses him passionately.
“I’m yours now my love, just as you are mine, and I will never let you go.”
Lusamine whispers into s/o’s ear, thus officially making them a couple.
Unknowingly dating a yandere can be problematic at times because Lusamine very much tries to isolate s/o from his friends, family, and coworkers.
If s/o ever questions her behavior, his girlfriend manipulates him into believing whatever lie she comes up with.
“I’ve heard them say awful things behind your back my love, so it’s best that you cut them out of your life and focus on me. You know I would never treat you badly, unlike those wretched people.”
Due to being incredibly trusting, s/o believes everything Lusamine tells him, much to her glee.
Lusamine gets jealous very easily, and if she sees another woman talking or Arceus forbid flirting with s/o, bad things are about to happen.
While not a murderous kind of yandere, Lusamine has the money and connections to ruin the lives of anyone she deems a threat to her relationship with s/o.
A woman flirted with s/o?
Well, she will soon gets a call from work telling her that she’s fired, and unfortunately for her, no other reputable business or company will be hiring her thanks to Lusamine.
“Hmph! That’s what the harlot gets for messing with what’s mine.”
Lusamine thinks to herself while smiles like a lunatic after receiving the news.
One benefit from being in a relationship with the president of the Aether Foundation is that s/o is constantly showered with gifts, whether it be clothes, jewelry, trinkets, or anything else.
Nothing is too grand or expensive for Lusamine’s darling s/o.
“Honey, I appreciate everything you do for me, but you didn’t have to get me this.”
“Nonsense, you deserve it for being such a loyal and loving boyfriend.”
“But a weeklong stay at a villa in Undella Town? That’s all the way in Unova!”
“Yes, considering it a reward for all your hard work as my assistant. It’s about time you and I take a vacation together don’t you agree?”
Lusamine is also incredibly affectionate with s/o, even in front of her employees.
“Have you seen the way the President acts around her assistant?”
“Yeah, she seems so much happier than before. It’s like Miss Lusamine’s back to her old self again.”
A pair of employees whisper to each other while watching Lusamine cling to s/o with a happy smile on her face while touring the Conservation Area of Aether Paradise.
If s/o has any pokémon under his care, they automatically become Lusamine’s favorite pokémon.
After all, if these pokémon belong to her beloved darling, then they’re worthy of her love as well.
“Look at you. You’re all so beautiful! Much like your trainer, but to a lesser degree of course.”
She tells s/o’s pokémon with adoration in her voice, although they are slightly scared of her due to sensing the crazy vibes of their trainer’s girlfriend.
Because of the age difference between her and s/o, Lusamine often feels insecure about their relationship.
“My darling says he loves me, but what if he meets someone younger! I’m a previously married woman in her 40s with two ungrateful children! Not that I’d ever let him leave me, but what if s/o woke up one day and decided he no longer wants my love?!”
This thought drives Lusamine to the brink of insanity, but luckily s/o reins her in and does his best to reassure his girlfriend, unaware of her darker thoughts.
“I don’t care that you’re older than me, or that you had a family before we got together. I love you Lusamine, and I’m never gonna leave you.”
“D-do you promise?”
She asks him, letting the more innocent and child-like side of her personality shine through.
“Yes. I’d never lie or joke about something like that babe, you know that.”
S/o’s reassurance calms her down quite a bit as she hugs him tightly.
“Thank you my darling s/o. You truly are deserving of all my love and affection, even more so than the rarest pokémon in the world.”
Not long after this, Lusamine asks for her beloved’s hand in marriage one day after having a very romantic evening together, which he happily accepts.
“S/o, the light of my life, will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”
Before she can even get on one knee and pull out the ring, s/o gets up from the table and nods with a very ecstatic smile on his face, much to her delight.
“Yes! Absolutely! I love you Lusamine!”
He hugs her with happy tears in his eyes as she chuckles and smiles softly with a crazed twinkle in her eyes before speaking.
“I love you too my dear, and once we’re married, our love will be eternal.”
Despite her previous husband and children leaving her (at least in her twisted point of view), Lusamine takes solace in knowing that s/o, the lone person worthy of her immense love, will never abandon her like they did, and if someone foolishly dares try to steal the object of her obsession away, well…
The experiments Lusamine and the Aether Foundation plan on conducting involving Ultra Wormholes will require a few test subjects….whether they’re willing or not.
#pokemon#pokemon x reader#pokemon x male reader#male reader#alola#generation 7#pokemon sun and moon#pokemon lusamine#lusamine#lusamine x reader#lusamine x male reader#yandere lusamine#yandere x reader#yandere x male reader#pokemon alola#aether foundation#yandere pokemon#pokemon sun and pokemon moon
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“Do It For Us.” Pt.2
Summery: A quirkless girl tired, sick and tired of being helpless, tired of being weak. Bullied all her life along side her best friend and longer term crush, Izuku Midoriya. Happy she isn’t alone…but he gets in to UA? Leaving her behind…what’s left for her? Seems a blonde takes pity on her.
M. Izuku x AFAB! Reader x B. Katsuki
Pt.1
The morning with katsuki Bakugou was, weird to say the least. He wakes you up bright and early, his face a bit pink, you were confused into why. You two waited for each other to change, you two brushed your teeth together. It felt weirdly domestic.
Breakfast was wonderful, Mrs. Bakugou made some special Omurice for you and Bakugou and it was delicious! And surprisingly Bakugou barley spoke this morning just the few remarks here and there. Guess he’s not a morning person.
Walking to school with Bakugou was even weirder, it was awkwardly silent. You never tried to start any conversation, except you just wanted to thank him. And ask why the sudden change of heart? Why help you after putting you through so much? Did something happen?
“Hey, I just wanted to say-“ of course the timing couldn’t be worse, his lackies and more boys bombarded him, pushing you out the way. You simply shrug, glancing at the blonde boy before making your way into the school to wait for Izuku. Realizing that Izuku is probably wondering where you were.
“Where were you Y/n!? I was worried sick!” Izuku ran to your desk, worry in his face. You were currently staring into the distance for what seemed like ever.
“I was…not home..so I walked to school in a different path.” You smile, grabbing Izuku’s hand to try and soothe his worry. “Oh…why? Why weren’t you home!” He proceeded to grab your hands with both his.
“Uh…just some personal stuff, nothing too serious !” You laugh, giving him a soft look. You loved whenever he worried for you, it made your heart soar and your serotonin levels went off the charts.
“Oh…well if you have more trouble. Please, come to me…I would hate for you to get hurt. Again.” He looked at your hand dejectedly, “oh! I have something great to tell…” as soon as his smile was up it faded as soon as it came. It’s like he realized something.
“I’m going to get into UA…I will. I have a chance now!” He gave you the most determined look, a look you haven’t seen since you were young. One where you knew you couldn’t argue against.
“Good luck Izu…work hard! Do it for…do it for us! We quirkless people need a rep too!” You let go of his hands as the rest of the class came flooding in. You couldn’t help but think. What if he really got in? Am I a bad friend for not believing in him? Is it bad to hope?
What if he leaves me behind?
Questions and thoughts raced through your mind, not even noticing you were staring at the back of Izuku’s head.
Don’t go…
Don’t leave me alone…
Being so stuck in your head, you never even noticed the day ending. Until you finally heard Izuku calling out your name.
“Y/n! Are you okay? I’ve been calling out your name for ages!” You turn to Izuku, noticing the almost empty classroom. “Oh! Sorry just lost in thought!” You laugh sheepishly, scratching the nape of your neck. Izuku shook his head chuckling.
“Oi! Y/n…hurry yer’ ass up.” The familiar hot head was standing at the classroom door way, you quickly get up to gather your things. Izuku was clearly confused by this. What did Bakugou mean? Are you two hanging out? How and why?
“Wh-what? Why would she-“ he stops, seeing the smile on your face when you look at Bakugou, the same smile you always give him. That friendly and loving smile.
“See ya Izu! I gotta go but we’ll talk later!” You giggle waving him goodbye as you make it to Katsuki’s side. The two of you making your way out of the classroom leaving the green-haired boy with so many questions.
When did you two become friends…?
It had been a few months since you’ve been staying in the Bakugou family households. You’ve never been happier, you felt as if they were your own family! They helped you with everything, you almost forgot about your old family. Almost.
That is until you were walking to the school with Katsuki one day, talking about breakfast and how katsuki wakes you up way too early.
“No! Katsu-…you really wake me up way too early I always have an hour left of free time!” You protest to the boy, playfully shoving his shoulder.
“Yeah yeah whatever, you wouldn’t wake up at all without me!” He argued, he grabbed your bag throwing it over his shoulder. Katsuki had made it a habit to carry your bag. How sweat. You thought. Everything finally felt right, the bullying almost stopped, you had a nice family! You’re ere finally happy!
“Y/n?” The voice made you freeze, like a dear in headlights you stopped in your tracks to see your father standing at the school gates.
“Y/n! Oh my gosh we’ve been worried sick!” Your father reached out for you only for Bakugou to slap his hand away, putting himself in between you and your dad. Giving you a chance to compose your self, something strange happened, katsuki grabbed your hand. And tightly at that.
“What do you want old man!?” Katsuki shouted anger my glaring at your father. “Y/n!? You’ve been running off with some boy while your mother suffers!?” This caught your attention. What? What happened to your mother?
“What…? What’s wrong with mom…?” You peek from behind Katsuki, righting your grip on his hand. “She’s sick! In the hospital all because you’ve gone missing! I can’t believe it!” You could tell he was getting angry, really angry. Your heart started racing, continuing to cower behind katsuki never letting go of his hand.
“Don believe him…it’s a trick. They all always use the same excuse. Cmon Y/n.” Katsuki pulls you along with him making sure to keep distance between you and your father.
“You’ll regret this Y/n! What if your mother dies huh!?” This made you stop katsuki from walking, turning to your father. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know what to say.
Shall you return to save your mother?
Or stay where it’s safe.
You look back up at Katsuki, the boy who’s given you so much.
“If your mom cared about you wouldn’t she go searching? They don’t love you Y/n. I know you love your mom…but she doesn’t love you anymore. And if she did she’d want you to stay where it’s safe…” he fully turned around to steady you. Cupping your face in his hand, you could tell he was worried. You trusted him.
Your father couldn’t be trusted, katsuki who had changed so much for you. You’ll believe him. “S…sorry dad…but you are no longer my father! I’ve been happy! Tell mom…I love her and hope she finds happiness herself!” You scream, quickly pulling Katsuki along with you as you run away. Run like your life depended on it.
Katsuki let out a sigh of relief.
At school you and katsuki always parted ways. But he left you alone for the most part! Especially not wanting to be around Izuku.
“It’s the last day…and the exams are in 3 more months…” Izuku mumbled to himself. “Really? I’d didn’t even notice that…” you’ve been having such a good time lately you didn’t notice it was your last day of jounior high.
“Hey…Izu…what if you do get in? Where…where would I go?” You finally said it looking into Izuku’s eyes, looking for a sign, anything for him to stay with you.
“I…I don’t know…but I’m doing this for us!” He gave you his signature big smile, the smile that you loved. But you knew that loving him will give you nothing, it’ll only hurt you.
You knew you could never keep up with him.
You were his past. Not his future.
You knew you had to push these feelings down, you had to look to your own future. You just didn’t know what. It’s always been with Izuku. It’s always been him. You felt your words get stuck in your throat as you try not to cry.
“Yeah…do it…I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines. Just don’t forget about me when you become number 1 Izu.” You give him a big smile, tears streaming down your face, Izuku embraced you, you breath in his scent for one last time.
Goodbye, Izuku Midoriya, my first love.
My everything.
As you hugged him you noticed something different, he was a lot musclier than normal.
“H-have you been working out?” You sniffle, leaning away from him. He lets out a long laugh at your sudden statement.
“Uh…yeah! Yknow heros, they can’t just be smart.” You two share on last laugh together.
AN: Part 2 is a little shorter! I might drag this out for 3-4 more parts! Because I love this little story <3 I hope you all enjoy! Get ready for part 3! What will the reader be? How does she live without Izuku by her side anymore!?
#mha x reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#mha fanfiction#mha writing#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha angst#deku x reader#deku angst#mha deku#midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya#izuku angst#mha izuku#izuku x reader#izuku midoria x reader#izuku midoryia x you#deku x you
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I went and stood in front of a judge who said congratulations and got my name changed. Now I have to wait two weeks for my social security appointment before I can change my ID or passport, but I did the first step!
#ramblies#my beloved was really trying to hype me as I left the house and I’ll probably be excited later but right now I’m just exhausted and loopy#two days of early mornings are starting to tell and I’m out of it#I went right to the DMV thinking I could get seen quickly since it’s the asscrack of dawn but I have to do social security first booo#my last class of the semester is today and I have to help tear down our team space and I’d like to unsubscribe from activities today
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My cat likes you
Pairing: Lee Know x gn!reader
Genre: fluff
Summary: your cat is behaving strangely lately and a walk outside your apartment shows you exactly why.
Warnings: none
A/N: I saw a video on Instagram with a cat rubbing on the floor when they saw a cute guy and I was like "why is this so Lee Know coded?" And had to make something like that with him heheheh
It's been a few days since your cat started behaving strangely, she'll wake you up early in the morning meowing at your room’s door. At first you thought she did that because she was hungry, but when you put food in her bowl she ignores it and keeps meowing.
You realized then, that she wanted you to follow her as she twirled and rubbed on the floor. She would wait for you at the door and would keep scratching it, waiting for you to open it.
“It's too early for a walk, Bo-mi”, you tell her, shaking your head and turning around, going back to your bed to try and sleep a little bit more before work.
She keeps insisting on the early morning walks, but you don't give in, you can't have her get used to going out when it's still time for you to be sleeping.
After a few days, Bo-mi starts having that same behavior late at night, when you are already in bed, ready to go to sleep. She meows for minutes straight until you get up and walk with her to the door.
“Bo-mi, we can't go out now, I'm already in my pjs”, you sigh, patting her. But she keeps scratching the door and meowing for you to go out. “Tomorrow is Friday, okay? So I can stay up late to take you out for a walk”, you tell her before going back to your room.
You spend the next day trying to figure out why she's acting this way. You think about the possibility of her being sick, but she's eating and drinking water normally and she's sleeping the same amount as she always did. Her last check up wasn't even two months ago, even so, you should definitely make an appointment with the veterinarian.
You arrive at home and Bo-mi comes running to you, purring and rubbing herself on you. After you pet her, she goes back to the couch, getting comfortable there again, she doesn't even try to go to the door. Why does she just want to go out when it's late? Or early in the morning? It’s just strange.
Thinking too much about it won't help you find out what's going on, so you give up on the thoughts and just go to the bathroom to take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes since you have to take the lady of the house for a walk in a few hours.
Everything kind of makes sense when you open the door and Bo-mi goes running to the corridor, however, she stops at your neighbor's door, sniffing a bit. The sound of the elevator takes you out of your thoughts and your cat walks in that direction finding a strange man coming out of the elevator.
He looks at her and smiles, trying to go past her but she throws herself in the ground, showing her belly to him and rubbing herself on the floor.
Before you can speak, the guy bends down, petting and making her meow. You look at your watch to see that he's arriving at the exact time that Bo-mi tries going out every night. The weirdest thing is that she hates strangers, especially men.
“I’m sorry”, you finally get out of your head to say something, “she has been acting strangely lately”
“It's okay”, he says, without looking at you. Hypnotized by your cat's little meows and cuteness. “I actually saw her on the balcony one of these days, but couldn't pet her because of the distance”, he chuckles. “What's her name?”
He finally looks at you when asking that and for a moment it seems like the world stops for the both of you. He's the most handsome man you have ever seen in your entire life, with cute boba eyes and an innocent look.
“It's Bo-mi”, you tell him, feeling your cheeks a bit warm.
He clears his throat, petting your cat for the last time before standing up again, fixing his clothes. He didn't look at you at first, but you are so pretty it actually left him speechless and that is a hard thing to achieve. He was even going to make a joke about cats, but couldn't even manage to get that out while looking at your face.
“I'm sorry to ask, but do you also go out around five a.m.?” You ask out of nowhere, making him look at you suspiciously.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I think my cat is in love with you”, you tell him, pointing at Bo-mi, rubbing herself on his legs. “She always tries to go out around five in the morning or at this time of the night, I guess she wanted to see you again”
You really understand Bo-mi on that, you would also want to see him everyday if you had the chance.
“Oh”, he smiles, “I'm Minho by the way, I moved here two weeks ago”, he says pointing to his apartment.
“I'm y/n”, you give your hand for him to shake, “I know it's weird to ask this, but can I bring her out sometimes so she can see you?” You ask, shyly, making Minho chuckle.
“Yeah”, he nods, “maybe you can also meet my cats”, he says, feeling his ears warming up. “I mean, in a housewarming party, of course”, he completes.
“I would love that”, you smile and he feels like he could melt just with that, “I'll take her home now”, you catch Bo-mi in your arms even though she struggles to get out of your grasp and go back to Minho, “I'll wait excitedly to meet your cats”
Minho watches you go into your apartment, waving to him before closing the door. Now, how the hell does a housewarming party even work?
#lee know scenarios#lee know imagines#lee know x y/n#lee know x you#lee know x reader#stray kids lee know#skz lee know#lee know scenario#lee know imagine#skz x y/n#skz x you#skz x reader#skz scenarios#skz imagines#stray kids scenarios#k-labels#stray kids imagines#skz fluff#lee know fluff
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Welcome to Miami
Lando Norris x Messi!Reader
Summary: a crazy weekend in Miami leaves Lando with his first Formula 1 win, one very pissed off football legend, and a baby-shaped surprise set to arrive in just about nine months
Warnings: 18+ content and unplanned pregnancy
Note: based on a request by @glitterquadricorn that I may have ended up going a little overboard with
You wake up with a pounding headache, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the hotel room window. As you blink your eyes into focus, you realize you’re not in your own bed. The sheets are unfamiliar, the decor is generic and impersonal.
Panic starts to set in as you try to reconstruct the previous night’s events.
The space next to you is still warm, indented from where someone else was recently lying. You glance down at your lack of clothes and tousled hair. Yep, definitely had a one-night stand.
Wracking your brain, you vaguely recall meeting a charming stranger at the club, letting him buy you drinks until everything became a blur of flirtatious banter and wandering hands.
Your phone is on the nightstand and you grab it, hoping for some clues. A new contact catches your eye: “Lando 🍆”. You snort at the stupid name and obvious (if cringey) innuendo. At least he has a sense of humor.
You wonder what kind of guy calls himself Lando these days.
As you get dressed and leave the hotel, already trying to put the awkward walk of shame behind you, fragments of the night come back in flashes. Lando’s warm blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. His skilled hands roaming over your body. The way he whispered filthy praises in your ear between searing kisses.
You shiver, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him again. But a one-night stand is just that — one night. No need to dwell on the best sex you’ve had in … well, maybe ever.
When you arrive home in the early afternoon, your dad greets you at the door with a knowing smirk.
“Have a good night, mija?” Leo teases, taking in your mussed appearance.
You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any details. “It was fine.”
He chuckles. “If you say so. I’m just glad you’re home safe.”
Over the next few weeks, you put Lando out of your mind completely. Your life goes on as normal — training with the University of Miami’s football team, doing promotional appearances, and spending time with family and friends.
But then one morning about a month later, you wake up feeling nauseous. You brush it off as a stomach bug at first.
When the queasiness persists for several days along with strange cravings and bouts of fatigue, a nagging suspicion forms in your mind. You dig through your bathroom cabinets until you find an old pregnancy test leftover from a scare last year.
Your hands are shaking as you wait for the result. This can’t be happening. You were so careful with Lando, you’re almost certain … but maybe not careful enough.
The little plastic wand displays two solid pink lines. Positive.
“Oh shit,” you whisper, feeling like the ground has dropped out from underneath you.
How could you have been so stupid? Getting knocked up from a drunken one-night stand with a guy you can’t even remember properly. What are you going to do? How will you tell your parents? What about your athletic career?
A million thoughts race through your panic-stricken mind as you try to process this massive, life-altering situation. You want to call your best friend and cry, but you’re almost too overwhelmed to formulate words.
Part of you wants to be furious at Lando, that reckless idiot who came inside you so carelessly. But you know you’re just as much to blame. You obviously consented, you just can’t recollect the exact circumstances.
God, why did you let yourself get so sloppy drunk and make such terrible decisions?
You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. Okay, first things first — you need to confirm this with a visit to the doctor. And if it’s still positive, you’ll have to figure out your next steps. Tell your family, decide whether to keep the baby or not. That’s still your choice, at least.
Your mind keeps drifting back to Lando, wishing you knew more about him than just a stupid contact name. Was that even his real name? What did he do for a living? Where was he from? Was he ready for the responsibility of being a father? Not that it mattered — you barely knew him. For all you knew, he could be married or secretly twisted.
No, you reason with yourself, trying to shut down that line of thinking, he seemed like a good guy. At least in the moment. Even through your tequila-soaked haze, you got a feeling of genuine warmth and kindness from him. Maybe you’re both just a couple of random people who made a reckless mistake after having too much fun together.
You take another breath and stand up, your mind made up. First, you’ll go to the doctor and get an official test. Then you’ll deal with everything else from there. There’s no use panicking until you confirm this is actually happening.
But deep down, you know this cheap little test is accurate. You’re pregnant with a virtual stranger’s baby. And in that moment, feeling so lost and overwhelmed and terrified, you can’t help but wonder — who the hell is Lando?
***
You sit on the couch, hands trembling as you clutch the results of your blood test. Tears stream down your face as the weight of the situation crushes down on you.
How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You’re supposed to be a role model, setting an example for young girls. And now you’re pregnant from a one-night stand with some random guy.
The shame and fear swirl inside you until you can barely breathe. You need to tell your dad. He’ll be so disappointed in you. But you can’t keep this a secret, it will only get harder as your belly grows.
You hear the front door open and your dad’s familiar footsteps. Bracing yourself, you call out in a shaky voice, “Papa? Can you come here please?”
Leo wanders into the living room, his expression turning to immediate concern when he sees your tear-stained face. “Mija, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as you try to find the words. “I … I’m pregnant,” you finally choke out.
His eyes go wide with shock. “Pregnant? How …” Realization dawns on his face. “Was this from that night you came home ...” He doesn’t need to finish the question.
You nod miserably, a fresh wave of tears falling. “I’m so sorry, Papa. I was drunk and stupid and … and I don’t even know who the father is, not really.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Just some guy I met at a club, his name was Lando or something. I barely remember anything!”
To your surprise, your dad’s expression softens into something like sympathy instead of the anger or disappointment you expected. He moves to sit beside you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.
“Shh, it’s alright mija. I’m not happy about this situation, but I’m not angry at you either. We all make mistakes.” He pauses, seeming to think something over. “This Lando guy … was it around the time of the Miami Grand Prix in early May?”
You nod again, not understanding the connection. “I think so, why?”
A look of recognition crosses your dad’s face. “There’s a young driver in Formula 1. I’m a bit of a fan actually, been following his career when I have the chance. It’s not the most common name.”
Your breath catches in your throat as the pieces fall into place. The drunk recollections of warm color-changing eyes and a charming smile. The weird name followed by that stupid eggplant emoji in your contacts.
It all fits.
“Oh my god … you think the father is Lando Norris? Like, the Formula 1 driver?” Part of you wants to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but another part feels an undeniable certainty that your dad has hit the nail on the head.
Leo nods firmly. “I think it’s highly likely. He was in Miami for the race that weekend. Reckless kid probably went out partying after finally managing to win.”
There’s a hard edge to your dad’s voice at that last part. You can’t really blame his protectiveness — finding out your daughter is pregnant from a one-night stand, especially with a relative celebrity, can’t be easy for any father.
“What am I going to do?” You whisper, scared all over again at the massive upheaval your life is facing.
But your dad just pulls you into a tighter hug, his touch reassuring and strong. “We’ll figure it out together, mija. Don’t worry. If this Lando character is the father, he’ll damn well take responsibility. I’ll make sure of it.”
You let out a shaky breath, letting your dad’s words soothe you. He’s right — you’re not in this alone. And if Lando Norris really is the father, well, he signed up for this whether he knew it or not.
“Thank you, Papa. I was so scared to tell you, but I shouldn’t have been. I’m lucky to have you.” You hug him fiercely, fresh tears spilling but this time born of reassurance instead of fear.
Leo just holds you close, his embrace full of fatherly love and protection. “Always, mija. I’ve got your back, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”
After a few moments, he pulls back, his expression turning more stern. “And as for this Lando kid, he better step up and be a man about this situation. Because if he tries to abandon you or this baby ...” He lets the implied threat hang in the air.
You can’t help but give a watery laugh. “I have a feeling he won’t want to mess with you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
Your dad allows a small smile at that. “Smart boy. Now, do you have a way to contact him? I’m sure someone can get us his information if not.”
You think for a moment, then remember — your phone contacts. You grab your cell and pull up the fateful entry.
“Here, just this number with the stupid eggplant emoji.” Your cheeks flush a little as you say it.
Leo arches an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes out his own phone and dials the number, his expression hardening with determination.
“Right, listen up, Lando Norris ...” he begins, leaving no room for argument.
You take a steadying breath as your dad starts laying down the law to the man who knocked up his precious daughter. For the first time since staring at those two pink lines, you feel a tiny kernel of hope taking root.
No matter what happens, you’re not alone in this. Your dad has your back, and Lando — well, Lando better prepare himself. Because when Leo Messi demands you take responsibility for your actions, you don’t dare say no.
***
Lando jolts awake to the harsh buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He blinks blearily at the harsh red numbers of the alarm clock — 2:51 am. Who the hell is calling at this ungodly hour?
He fumbles for the phone, squinting at the unknown number with a +1 country code. Probably a spam call from across the pond. He’s tempted to just silence it, but something makes him swipe to answer with a groggy “Hello?”
“Lando Norris?” The deep voice on the other end is vaguely familiar, but Lando can’t quite place it in his sleep-addled state.
“Yeah, this is him. Who’s this?” He tries and fails to smoother a huge yawn.
“This is Lionel Messi.”
Lando’s eyes shoot wide open, any lingering drowsiness evaporating like he’s been doused with ice water. Leo freaking Messi is on the phone with him? His brain scrambles to comprehend what’s happening.
“I … uh … Mr. Messi, sir. This is … I mean … wow. What an honor!” He cringes at his own stammering, feeling very much like a star-struck fanboy rather than a fellow professional athlete.
Messi’s voice remains calm but firm. “I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember a young woman you slept with recently? The night of the Miami Grand Prix a few months ago?”
Lando feels his stomach drop out. Suddenly this phone call is taking on a very different context than just a casual chat with a sports legend. He racks his brain, trying to recall the handful of women he’d casually hooked up with around that time.
There was that petite blonde from the club after sprint qualifying … no, she was just a make-out in the back alley behind the valet. The pair of Brazilian bombshell twins he’d brought back to his hotel room on Saturday … no, they made him get tested after that escapade just to be safe.
Then it clicks into place — the gorgeous young woman with a killer smile that he’d met at the LIV Nightclub afterparty. They had danced and drank together all night until everything descended into a sweaty, semi-public grope fest in one of the VIP booths before he convinced her to come back to his suite.
He remembers her gasping and whimpering his name as he pounded into her from behind. Remembers the way her nails raked down his back when he made her come apart with his tongue. Remembers being too drunk and worked up to put on a condom before sinking back into her tight, wet heat and ...
Oh shit.
“I … yes, sir. I think I know who you’re referring to,” Lando forces out, his mouth incredibly dry.
“Good. Then you’ll remember getting my daughter pregnant that night as well.”
Lando actually feels the blood drain from his face, a rushing sound filling his ears. He must have misheard, right? There’s no way Leo freaking Messi just said Lando got his daughter pregnant!
“I … I’m sorry … your what?” He sputters out dumbly.
Messi’s tone takes on a steely edge. “My daughter. The young woman you slept with, she’s my daughter. And now she’s pregnant with your child.”
The room starts to spin. Lando tries to force air into his lungs, feeling like he might actually pass out. “Oh my god, I … I had no idea! We were both so drunk, I never would have … oh fuck, I’m so sorry, sir!”
“Sorry doesn’t really fix this, does it?” Messi’s voice is like sharpened steel. “You got my little girl pregnant from some drunken fling and now she has to deal with all of this.”
“I … yes, you’re right. Completely right.” Lando presses trembling fingers to his throbbing temples. This can’t actually be happening, right? “What … what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, whatever you need!”
There’s a weighted pause on the line before Messi speaks again, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“First, you’re going to meet with me and my daughter in person so we can discuss this situation. Then you’re going to take responsibility and be a part of this child’s life, understood? Step up and be a man about it.”
“Yes! Yes, absolutely, of course!” Lando is nearly shouting into the phone, desperation and panic clawing at his throat. “Whatever you want, sir. I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”
“Good. I’ll have my people set it up and send the details to your team.” There’s a hint of grudging approval in Messi’s voice now, like he’s satisfied Lando appears to be taking this seriously. “I suggest you get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”
The line goes dead before Lando can respond. He stares dumbly at the silent phone in his hand for several long moments, trying to process everything.
Leo Messi’s daughter.
Pregnant.
With his baby.
Holy shit, what has he done? What is he going to do? How did one reckless, drunken night blow up into such a massive catastrophe?
His head is spinning and he can feel his overtaxed body starting to shut down from the shock and stress of the harrowing phone call. He tries to take a deep breath, pushing away the panic and leaning back against the pillows.
Sleep. Right. He needs sleep if he has any hope of dealing with … with all of this. But how can he possibly rest now?
Lando’s eyes start to drift closed despite his whirling thoughts. His body has other plans, sucking him under into blessed unconsciousness as he slumps fully back onto the mattress.
The last thing he’s dimly aware of is his phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor, followed by his own body going entirely limp.
When Lando finally does manage to sleep, it’s to the terrifying vision of Leo Messi’s furious face snarling “you got my daughter pregnant” over and over again behind his closed eyelids.
***
The flight from Nice to Miami feels like it takes an eternity, but also happens in a terrifying blur. Lando can barely remember booking the first available ticket, throwing some clothes into an overnight bag, or making his way to the airport in a daze. He runs on autopilot, his mind spinning in frantic circles.
He got Leo Messi’s daughter pregnant. How is this his life?
A private chauffeur is waiting at the baggage claim when Lando deplanes in Miami, holding up a printed sign with his name. Of course Messi would have people to handle something like this.
Lando swallows hard and approaches the stern-faced driver. “I’m Lando Norris. Uh, Mr. Messi is expecting me?”
The chauffeur gives him an appraising look but doesn’t respond beyond a curt nod. He turns on his heel, expecting Lando to follow.
The drive to the Messis’ palatial Miami mansion is silent and tense. Lando fights the urge to fidget anxiously, his knee bouncing until he forces himself still.
Get it together, man. This is it.
All too soon, they’re pulling through an immaculate gate onto perfectly manicured grounds surrounding the huge home. Lando takes a steadying breath as the driver gets his bag from the trunk.
Then the front door is swinging open and there’s Leo Messi himself, looking as intimidating as Lando has ever seen the football icon. His expression is stony, jaw clenched tight as he measures Lando up.
Before Lando can even open his mouth, Messi beats him to it, tone leaving no room for argument.
“I don’t like you.”
The words are like a kick to the gut. Lando forces himself to hold the steely gaze, giving a small nod.
“I understand, sir. I’ve made a terrible mistake and you have every right to be angry with me. I’ll accept whatever consequences I have to.” His voice is strong, despite the way his heart is jack-hammering in his chest.
Messi holds the intense eye contact a moment more before giving a short nod of what might be begrudging respect. He turns and heads inside, clearly expecting Lando to follow.
The foyer opens into an elegant living room where a familiar woman is sitting on one of the plush couches.
You.
Lando’s breath catches in his throat as memories from that hazy night come rushing back. Your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved rhythmically to the music. Your throaty laugh and sparkling eyes as you flirted shamelessly over your fourth … no fifth … mojito. The velvet silk of your hair brushing his face as you ground down against his lap.
He swallows hard, trying not to stare. The situation is awkward enough without dwelling on the admittedly incredible sex that caused this whole mess. Though he can’t deny the sharp spike of pure physical want that hits his gut at the sight of you.
Your eyes are wide and nervous as you take him in. “Um … hi.”
“Hi,” he replies simply, feeling incredibly self-conscious under the weighty stare of your legendary father.
An agonizing beat of silence stretches between the three of you.
“Well?” Leo prompts impatiently, making you both jump. “You got my daughter pregnant. What do you plan to do about it?”
The blunt words make Lando’s face flush hot, but he forces himself to meet your father’s stern gaze head-on.
“Whatever I need to do, sir. I’ll take full responsibility. Financially, emotionally, being there for the child … anything you need from me.” He pauses, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “That is … if the mother wants me to be involved as well?”
He looks at you then, trying to convey his sincerity. Despite the casual nature of your hook-up, he meant what he said — he will step up and do the right thing for this kid.
His kid.
You seem to consider his words for a long moment before giving a small nod. “Yes … yes, I’d like you to be involved if you’re willing. This is as much my responsibility as yours. We … we can figure this out. Together?”
The uncertain note in your voice tugs at something in Lando’s chest. For all your father’s bluster, you just sound like a young woman in a scary, overwhelming situation. Just like him.
“Together,” he agrees firmly, returning your nod. “We’ll, ah, we’ll be good co-parents. For the baby.”
The words feel strange leaving his lips, but also fill him with a sense of resolve and determination.
Leo watches the exchange between you both like a hawk, his expression unreadable. When he speaks again, his words are measured but dismissive.
“Get it sorted out then. Find a way to make this work. I don’t care about the details as long as you two take care of my grandchild properly.”
With that, he gives a curt nod and turns to exit the room, leaving you and Lando to your own devices. The sudden lack of his intimidating presence seems to deflate the tension somewhat.
You let out a long, shaky breath, shooting Lando a wry look. “He’s … taking this about as well as could be expected, all things considered.”
Lando can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the nervous knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “Yeah, I’ll say. Your dad is legitimately terrifying, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” you say with a small smile.
An odd sense of camaraderie falls over you both then — two young people bonding over how Lando quite literally knocked you up. It’s almost enough for him to relax a bit.
Then you glance down at your still-flat stomach and all humor drains away. “So … co-parents, huh? You really want to do this?”
Lando doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course. It’s my kid too, yeah? My responsibility, like I said.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not exactly how I pictured becoming a father, but … I’m in this all the way. For the little one’s sake.”
Something in your expression softens at his words and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, Lando. That … that really means a lot to hear.”
Before he can think better of it, Lando closes the distance between you and pulls you into an impulsive hug. You stiffen for just a moment before relaxing against him.
“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you and me,” he murmurs as he holds you close. “We’ve got this, baby mama.”
You stiffen again and pull back sharply at the words, a look of mortification on your face. Lando frowns in confusion until a familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room.
“Lando Norris, I swear if you ever call my daughter that again, they’ll never find your body.”
Leo Messi is back, leveling Lando with a look that would liquefy steel. The driver nearly swallows his tongue, flushing scarlet.
“Y-yes, sir! Of course, sir! It, ah, it won’t happen again!” He stammers out, mentally making a note to permanently delete those words from his vocabulary.
Messi just grunts in response, apparently satisfied, before retreating from the room once more.
You’re staring at Lando with wide eyes and badly-suppressed laughter. He groans, dropping his face into his hands.
“Why did I say that? God, I’m an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, that smile breaking free. “This is just … all a bit surreal, isn’t it?”
Lando peeks through his fingers to meet your gaze, unable to stop the rueful grin that spreads across his own face.
“Just a bit, yeah.” He drops his hands with a defeated chuckle. “But your dad’s right — we’ve got to take this seriously for the little one.”
You nod, smile fading into a look of grim determination. “We do. Which means you can’t call me baby mama if you actually want to stay alive to see your child.”
“Deal,” Lando agrees readily, feeling lighter than he has since your father first called to drop that bomb on him.
Maybe co-parenting won’t be easy, but somehow he gets the sense you two just might be able to figure it out. And with the entire weight of Leo freaking Messi’s protective rage motivating him, Lando is damn sure going to try his best.
***
Ten Months Later
The vibrant Miami sun beams down on you as you carefully lift Maia out of her stroller, cradling the bundle of joy in your arms. Your daughter’s wide, curious eyes dart around, taking in all the sights and sounds of the paddock for the first time.
“There they are! My two favorite girls,” Lando’s voice rings out as he jogs over, already wearing his team gear in preparation for the drivers parade. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning his attention to Maia. “And how’s my little princess doing today?”
Maia lets out a delighted squeal and you can’t help but smile at the pure adoration on Lando’s face as he gently brushes a finger over her chubby cheek. “She’s been an angel all morning. I think she knows this is a big day for her first race.”
“That’s my girl,” Lando grins. “Going to be a little racer before we know it.”
“Lando! There you are, mate.” The Aussie accent cuts through the paddock as Lando’s teammate bounds over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for … oh wow, is that her?”
Oscar’s eyes go wide as they land on Maia, taking in her tiny features with an almost comical look of awe. “She’s … she’s so small,” he says dumbly.
“What did you expect, she’s a baby,” Lando scoffs with a roll of his eyes, though his tone is good-natured. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Can I?” Oscar asks eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overexcited puppy.
You laugh and carefully transfer Maia into Oscar’s waiting arms, guiding his hands to properly support her head. “Just watch the grabby hands. She’s got a pretty strong grip these days.”
Oscar nods rapidly, looking a bit intimidated as he gingerly cradles Maia against his chest. But the instant she lets out a little gurgling coo, his face splits into the biggest, most boyish grin you’ve ever seen.
“Hey there, little Norris,” he murmurs softly, instantly transfixed. “I’m your favorite Uncle Oscar.”
“Oi, who said you get to be the favorite uncle?” Another voice cuts in as Carlos saunters over, immediately zeroing in on the form in Oscar’s arms. “Is that her? Dios mio, she’s gorgeous!”
Without hesitation, Carlos plucks Maia right out of Oscar’s hold, completely ignoring the other driver’s sputtering. “Well hello there, princesa. Don’t worry, your Tío Carlos has got you.”
Maia blinks up at the new face peering down at her, tiny fists waving as if to grab at the Spaniard’s perfectly coiffed hair. Carlos simply grins and nuzzles his nose against her cheek, seemingly not caring one bit about any damage the squirming infant in his arms can do.
“Are you seeing this?” Lando mock-whispers to you, looping an arm around your waist and leaning in conspiratorially. “How are we supposed to get her back now?”
You stifle a giggle behind your hand, watching in amusement as Carlos and Oscar descend into bickering over who Maia’s favorite uncle will be — only to be interrupted as another figure appears beside them.
“What do we have here?” Daniel Ricciardo pipes up with a wide grin, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you two are fighting over babysitting duties already?”
“Something like that, mate,” Lando chuckles, reaching out to clap Daniel on the shoulder in greeting. “Up for putting your name in the hat too?”
“You know it!” Daniel agrees easily, quickly sidestepping Carlos to peer down at Maia with a wide smile. “Hey there, little monkey. Look at you all bright-eyed and curious.”
Amazingly, Maia seems entirely unperturbed by all the fussing going on around her. She simply blinks placidly up at each new face, soaking it all in like a tiny sponge. At one point, she even lets out a delighted squeal and flails her arms — prompting a fresh round of cooing from the three drivers clustered around her.
“Aw, I think she likes me best already,” Daniel declares with a wink, gently booping Maia’s button nose and making her giggle.
You shake your head in fond exasperation even as Lando tugs you tighter against his side, completely content to bask in the scene. That is, until Daniel’s next words nearly make you choke.
“So just how old is this little angel?” He asks idly, eyes still trained on Maia’s sweet face. “Four months now?”
“Three months and one week,” Lando answers automatically — only to tense a split second later, mouth falling open in realization. “Oh. Oh.”
The smug grin that slowly spreads across Daniel’s face is borderline devlish as it clicks into place for everyone exactly when Maia would have been … well, conceived. A heavy silence falls over the group, disturbed only by Maia’s happy gurgling as she remains oblivious to the sudden shift.
“Well, well, well,” Daniel drawls, dark eyes dancing with mirth as he bounces Maia playfully in his arms. “I think someone got a little overexcited celebrating his win last year, didn’t he?”
The only response is a strangled squawk from Lando as his face flushes bright red — no doubt remembering exactly how the two of you celebrated his first time on top of the Formula 1 podium. Meanwhile, Carlos and Oscar openly gape at the revelation, eyes nearly bugging out of their skulls.
“Don’t you dare,” Lando manages to choke out, stabbing an accusatory finger in Daniel’s direction. “We are not having this conversation here.”
“Why not?” Daniel shrugs blithely, gently jostling Maia to the crook of his elbow in a way that has her giggling. “It’s a perfectly natural thing, nothing to be ashamed about. That must’ve been one hell of a victory lap!”
The innuendo hangs heavily in the air, made all the more mortifying by the lecherous waggle of Daniel’s eyebrows. Lando, meanwhile, looks like he’s two seconds away from spontaneously combusting on the spot.
“I’m going to kill you,” he mutters through gritted teeth, dragging a hand over his rapidly reddening face.
Before Daniel can respond with another quip, however, you quickly step in — scooping Maia out of his arms with a stern glare. “That’s enough of that, I think.”
Daniel wisely snaps his mouth shut at the warning in your tone, offering a cheeky salute instead. “I’ll lay off … for now.”
With a wink and a last jaunty grin towards a still-sputtering Lando, he bids the group farewell and heads off to prepare for the race. Oscar, seemingly remembering you’re all congregating in a very public place, manages to pick his jaw up off the ground long enough to clear his throat awkwardly.
“Right, well … I need to go, you know, do driver things,” he mumbles before beating a hasty retreat, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.
Carlos, for his part, has the audacity to start outright cackling the second Oscar is out of earshot.
“You never fail to entertain,” he manages between wheezing gasps, wiping away mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.
Lando flushes even deeper, if possible, and shoots you a helpless look. You simply raise an eyebrow, letting him squirm for a moment before taking pity.
“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” you chide Carlos lightly, shifting Maia higher on your hip. “Unless you want to be the one explaining the birds and the bees to her when the time comes?”
That seems to sober Carlos up somewhat, his laughter trailing off into a few more chuckles as he waves a hand dismissively. “You wound me, amiga. As if I would corrupt the ears of such an innocent little one.”
You give him a pointed look and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m done.”
With a roguish wink, Carlos reaches out to gently pinch Maia’s cheek — earning a bright smile from the bubbly infant.
“You’ll learn soon enough that your papá can be un poco loco sometimes, princesa.”
“She really doesn’t need to learn that at all, thanks,” Lando grumbles, shooting his friend an exasperated glare.
You can’t help but shake your head fondly at the pair of them, even as Lando tucks you snugly against his side. For all their bickering, it’s abundantly clear just how enamored all the drivers are with Maia already.
The tender moment is interrupted, however, by a voice calling out for your boyfriend from across the paddock.
“Lando, we need you over in the garage. The parade will be starting any minute now,” a press officer arrives to herd him away.
Lando exhales a put-upon sigh, dropping a kiss to the top of Maia’s head before meeting your gaze apologetically. “Duty calls, I suppose. You’ll be okay here with my littlest fan club?”
You wave him off with a warm smile. “We’ll be fine. Just focus on having a good race, yeah? Maia and I will be cheering you on.”
The brilliant grin Lando flashes you is enough to make your heart flutter. “How could I do anything else with my two favorite cheerleaders?”
With one last lingering kiss, he tears himself away — offering a half-hearted wave to Carlos before disappearing through the paddock. An oddly serene quiet falls in his absence, the crowd breaking up to get settled before the race.
Carlos seems to sense your pensive mood, stepping up beside you to gently bump his shoulder against yours.
“You know, he really has changed since becoming a papá,” the older driver muses, casting a fond look down at Maia. “Far as I can tell, it’s done wonders for him.”
You smile softly, bouncing Maia gently as you watch Lando’s retreating back weave through the controlled chaos of the paddock. “He’s been … amazing. And he loves Maia more than life itself. My father complains that he has run out of things to threaten Lando over, which is the biggest compliment coming from him.”
Your daughter simply blinks at the two of you for a long moment before that sunny smile you’ve grown to adore stretches across her face, little fists waving happily in the air. You can’t help but chuckle at her antics, brushing a knuckle over her soft cheek.
As the bright Miami sun shines down and anticipation slowly builds in the background, you feel a surge of nearly overwhelming contentment. No matter what twists and turns life throws your way from here, you decide, you’ll always be able to find your way back to moments like this.
So much has changed in the course of a year, but you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.
Even if Lando still can’t quite look your father in the eye.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lando norris#ln4#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris fanfic#lando norris blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#miami gp 2024#f1 x female reader#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x y/n#mclaren#lando norris one shot
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inspired by a conversation i walked past during my commute this morning
Eddie is outside when Steve arrives home from work, sitting on the front porch and waiting for their daughters’ bus to drop them off from school.
“Hey!” Eddie grins as Steve makes his way up the steps, “You’re home early.”
“Last client of the day canceled,” he replies, and he grabs Eddie’s hands to pull him to his feet and into a long kiss.
“I love you,” Steve said when he pulled away, snaking his arms around Eddie’s waist to hold him close, “So much.”
“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie laughed, “Something happen today?”
“Not really. There’s just this guy – the guy who started at my practice last month.”
“The one you don’t like?” Eddie clarifies.
“Ed – I hate him. He came in all smug and smiling today and looked so thrilled to be there, and someone was like dude, what’s your deal? And he had the audacity to say, my wife is home with two sick kids, so…”
Eddie made a face.
“Like, don’t sound so fuckin’ proud of yourself, man,” Steve continued, shaking his head, “Whatever. Anyways, I looked at his schedule and – get this – he had one client today. At three in the afternoon. So he spent the entire day lounging around the office doing jack shit while his wife was home with a sick baby and toddler.”
“What a prick.”
“Right? Anyways, I just want to make sure you know how much I appreciate you and how you stay home with our ridiculous children while I go to work, and that I’m thinking about you guys all day, and all I ever really want is to be home with you.”
“I know you do,” Eddie tells him, because he totally does. He knows it in the way Steve’s week is about as short as it’s allowed to be, and in the way he always checks in on Eddie when he gets home to feel out the day he’d had and to give him a “night off” if he needs one.
Steve nods, and then he adds, “When I was leaving I made a whole point of saying, like, headed home to spend time with my husband and children who I adore more than anything.”
“Of course you did.”
“Kind of forgot he’s also a licensed and practicing therapist so he totally knew I was being passive aggressive.”
#steve is perpetually cursing the job he still happens to love#otherwise he would have quit the second moe was born#eddie is like: well that’s what happens when you have a *calling* steve-o#steddie#liv’s steddie dads verse#steddie dads#steve harrington#eddie munson#judgy-steve my beloved
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Lather
(Inspired by our curly, long-haired Pedro with his broken wing) When Joel injures his shoulder, he needs your help washing his hair and getting off 🧴🧻💦🧼🚿🛀(4k)
Part one of a new mini series!!
Tags- shoulder injury, forced proximity, hair washing, handjobs, blowjobs, Joel finishes little too early, sexual tension, masturbation, pissed off joel, impish reader as per ushe. Joel starts out soft and gentle, this will not last long. Just you wait for part two, mwahahahahah!!
A/N- This new series is written for and inspired by my very dear friend @noxturnalpascal , please do not eat Pedro’s fucking hair. I’m begging you. And thank you @tightjeansjavi for the title name!!
Generously edited by my dear friend, the lovely @papipascalispunk
You’re at the dinner table, watching Joel awkwardly cut his chicken and potatoes with the side of his fork, held by his left hand. He brings the food to his mouth kind of slowly, deliberately, like he has to consciously think about where his fork will end up. He catches your watchful gaze and looks at you, “What?”, he scowls.
You shrug, “Nothing.”
“Quit lookin’ at me,” he huffs, “Creep.”
You’ve been living in Jackson with Joel and Ellie for quite some time now. Ellie’s got the garage and the downstairs bathroom to herself, you and Joel live in separate bedrooms upstairs. It works out. Kind of. The stairs are an issue. They’re old and steep, kind of slippery. It was only a matter of time before someone slipped and fell, and last week, that’s exactly what Joel did. Early one morning, he had misstepped and totally ate shit, landing hard on his right shoulder. You rushed to help him, but Joel shrugged you off, insisting he was fine. But you could hear in his voice he wasn’t, how he strained to speak. And in the following days, you noticed how his routine changed in the aftermath of his injury. He’s been favoring his right arm heavily, eating, cooking, opening doors, picking things up all with his left hand, rarely his right.
Ellie gets up from the table to rinse her plate. When she passes you and Joel on her way back to the garage, she stops next to Joel and just stares at him, a look of confusion and disgust on her face. She reaches her hand forward, pushing her fingers slowly through his hair and watching the curls stand up straight. Joel freezes before turning to look at her, perplexed and irritated. “What’s the matter with you?”, he asks.
“Gross,” Ellie giggles, still playing with his hair. He swats her hand away.
“Yeah, shut up,” Joel grumbles, “You’ll have gray hair one day too. It ain’t that funny.”
“I’m not talking about the color. Your hair is disgusting, Joel. It’s like, sticking straight up. Are you hydrophobic or something?”
“Leave me alone,” Joel tells her, “Go do something. Go play in traffic.”
“You smell like you’re hydrophobic,” Ellie retorts as she continues towards her room.
You turn your attention back to Joel, who looks insulted. Subtly, he turns his nose to his armpit to smell himself and then checks his reflection in the window, using his left hand to mess with his curls. He notices you staring at his reflection as well, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”, he asks defensively as he messes with his hair a little more, flipping the mess to one side of his head, then to the other, rubbing the strands between his fingers. Joel sighs deeply then, gets up from his seat, and – using his left arm – he drags his chair across the kitchen and sets it in front of the kitchen sink. “I need help,” he confesses in a tone hardly audible, like he’s sheepish and uncomfortable. Disappointed, too.
“What?”
“Washin’ my hair,” he speaks louder this time, “It’s hard with my uh…shoulder. I need your help.”
“Took you long enough to as–”
“Knock it off,” he interrupts. It was probably around day four post-staircase incident that you noticed Joel’s hair taking on a more dirty appearance. You stare at his hair a lot lately now that he’s growing it out for winter. His hair curls in all sorts of directions, little cowlicks all over his head. The ringlets at the bottom of his neck are your favorite part. How gorgeous they look with the multitude of colors on his head. Deep, chocolatey brown with highlights of caramel and silvery gray streaks. With resources being fairly scarce even in Jackson, Joel doesn’t wash his hair every day, which is honestly fine for him. However, the days that he does wash his hair, he struggles to scrub his scalp properly with just his left hand, hence the dirty and greasy appearance. And really, it doesn’t look that bad. Probably feels worse for him, though, all that schmutz built up. Probably itchy and uncomfortable.
You take your plate to the kitchen sink and give it a quick wash before drying it and putting it away. Joel sits in the chair he’s placed in front of the sink, and reaches behind himself for the dish soap, then kind of just puts it in your hand. You look at Joel, tilting your head in confusion. Sure, it's slim pickings for resources, but there’s a reason you’re close with the soapmaker here in Jackson. It’s the little things that keep you going; one of the little things being fruity scented shampoo that the soapmaker hooks you up with.
You place the soap back on the kitchen counter and leave quickly to grab your shampoo, then come back to meet Joel at the sink. Joel looks at the bottle of shampoo in your hand, “What the hell is that?”, he asks.
“My shampoo. It smells kinda like strawberries, see?”, you open the cap and squeeze the bottle to waft the scent towards him.
Joel scrunches his nose, “It’s too girly.”
“You’re too girly,” you taunt, and Joel rolls his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m washing your hair, so I get to pick the shampoo. It’s like a spa night,” you chirp happily.
“Nope, not a spa night,” he replies harshly, “Just wash my damn hair. No funny business.” When you stare down at him, unimpressed with his attitude, Joel backtracks, “Please,” he begs.
“Spa night.”
“Fine,” Joel sighs in defeat and leans his head back into the sink, scooting down the chair. He looks deeply uncomfortable already, putting his weight on the left side of his body and raising his shoulder up and away from resting on the sink. Poor guy. You turn on the sink and begin to run the water over his scalp with the detachable faucet, but Joel yelps in pain. “Hot, s’ way too hot,” he says loudly, craning his neck away from the stream.
“Sorry,” you apologize, quickly turning the faucet lever in the other direction.
“Cold, cold, Christ—cold,” Joel hisses as he reaches behind himself to try to haphazardly adjust the lever himself, swatting his hand violently. He ends up hitting your hand instead, resulting in you dropping the faucet on his forehead. He yelps again and quickly sits up straight, water flinging across the room from his wet hair. “This isn’t gonna work,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Think we need to get this over with in the shower.”
“I think that’d work better,” you agree.
So, you and Joel make your way upstairs, you’ve got your fruity shampoo in your hand. Joel’s wet hair drips down his neck and back as you follow him towards the bathroom where he turns on the shower, letting the water warm up. He shuts and locks the bathroom door before unbuttoning his flannel, again with his left hand only. Turning away from you, you watch Joel twitch and wince in pain as he tries to take off his undershirt. It kind of makes you sad, seeing him struggle like this. You wish he would have asked for help before now. “Joel?”, you tap his back.
“Hm?”, Joel turns around and you reach his right arm. “Oh,” he says. Carefully, you do your best to painlessly help him out of his shirt, pulling his sleeve towards your body and keeping his arm as low as can be. You pull the rest of the shirt off of his body, catching a glimpse of his torso, his soft, pillowy belly. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“No problem.”
“I uh–,” Joel begins, turning away from you again and undoing his belt, “I’m gettin’ undressed and gettin’ in, okay?”
“Am I getting in there with you?”
“I’d reckon that’s probably easiest, yeah. And if ya don't wanna get your clothes wet, then you can take 'em off too,” Joel offers, “I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, so I'm keepin’ my eyes shut and facin’ the shower head the whole time so I don’t see anything I'm not ‘sposed to.”
“I appreciate that,” you reply. You’ve been through a lot with Joel, and truth be told, you’re both past the point of modesty, all that you’ve been through together. You have endless trust and respect for each other. Still though, you appreciate what he’s doing to keep you feeling safe and comfortable with him. A lot can be said about Joel, but he’s never been anything but respectful and considerate towards your safety and comfort. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll undress. Just give me a minute.”
“Not a problem,” Joel says. You face away from him as he takes off his belt, it lands with a clatter on the floor. Next his jeans and boxers, then each of his socks. You hear the sound of the shower curtain moving and his heavy footsteps in the bathtub. “M’done. Eyes stayin’ closed now.”
“Okay,” you say as you look at Joel through the shower curtain, unable to see much. You have no doubt he is, in fact, squeezing his eyes shut, but you smile to yourself when you notice where his arms lie. They’re resting across his body, his hands cupping his member securely. Oh, Joel. He’s a grump, but a gentleman nonetheless.
After taking off your own clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor, you move the shower curtain aside and step inside of the tub. It’s a tight fit, despite being relatively spacious. There’s a built-in bench to the side of the shower where your soaps sit. Joel always complains you have too many lotions and potions taking up space, that they always fall on his toes when he bathes. Dramatic.
Immediately you’re in awe of Joel’s beauty. You can’t see his face, but you can see his back, freckled and scarred and striped with stretch marks here and there. Water trails down his neck and his spine. You can’t help but steal a peek of his ass, so firm and plump. He’s blessed, truly.
“Doin’ okay?”, Joel interrupts your thoughts.
“Oh– yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Gonna shampoo you now.”
“Get to it,” he tells you.
You reach for your strawberry shampoo and squeeze a small amount into the palm of your hand, then reach up to lather it into Joel’s scalp. “I need you–”, using your hands to guide Joel to tilt his head back, “Yeah, like that. Thanks.”
“Mm,” he hums in response.
You begin to wash Joel’s hair, building up a thick lather of bubbles. You pay special attention to the sides of his head, down towards his neck, scratching and massaging his scalp. It’s almost imperceptible, but you hear a slight groan, a soft exhale of relief as you scrub Joel’s head. Washing the hair near his neck, you toy with his curls, wrapping them around your fingers and watching them bounce and swing when you pull your hands away. You’re about to reach for more shampoo when you really see it– the bruise on his shoulder. It’s yellowing now, but there are still purple and blue splotches of his skin. “Fuck, Joel,” you mumble, tracing your fingers lightly over his bruise.
“Yeah, yeah.”
It was an accident. You know this, so you’ll spare Joel from your long-winded lecturing about taking care of himself. Instead, you just press a soft kiss to his bruise.
“You– I um–”, Joel clears his throat, a little bashful now, “Need you to wash up by my hairline, f’ya wanna come up front here.”
“Yeah, of course,” you speak softly. You begin to scoot past Joel, but the tight fit of the two of you in the shower makes it difficult to move. You slip and reach for Joel’s arm.
“Careful,” he warns you softly, “Here, I gotcha.” Joel, still keeping his eyes shut, holds your waist and helps guide you to stand in front of him. When you’re situated, he quickly protects his modesty once again.
You grab some more shampoo and reach for the front of his scalp. This time, you can admire more of him. His face, eyes scrunched tightly shut. Careful not to look at what he’s not supposed to. That little line between his eyebrows is more deep and prominent than usual. Water drips down the slope of his aquiline nose and his plump, rosy lips. Droplets cling to his wiry salt and pepper facial hair. He’s a work of fucking art. When Joel’s properly shampooed, you reach for the detachable shower head and start to rinse his hair, watching the strands fall on his forehead.
You’re not sure exactly what happens, but in an instant, Joel is unexpectedly groaning and reaching for the shower head from your hand. You step back and watch him scramble to wipe his eyes and blink quickly. “Fuckin’, ahh,” he hisses, “Got soap in my eyes. Jesus.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“S’okay, was an accident. Fuck,” Joel hands you the shower head and then wipes his eyes a few more times before he stops and stares at you before him, not even thinking about his rule. Fuck. He shuts his eyes quickly, but the damage is done. His mind is swimming with images of your body, the drops of water rolling down the curves of your breasts, your hips, thighs. His cock hardens almost instantly, and he hurries to cover himself again. “Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s not cause of you.”
“Okay, Joel,” you reply calmly.
Joel groans. “No, it’s not like that, you– you’re– it’s…My shoulder’s been hurtin’, y’know how it’s been.”
“Mhm,” you hum, knowing where he’s going with this, “It’s okay.”
“Haven’t been able to take care of myself, uh…in that regard,” Joel clears his throat before continuing, “So I’m just a little wound up– oh–”
Joel’s interrupted when you step forward, reaching for his wrists to pull them away from his member. “I get it,” you whisper, “I can help with that too, if you’d like.”
“Jesus, fuck–”, Joel hisses as you touch his hips, his thighs, skating your fingers along his skin. He moans softly when your fingers lightly touch his heavy balls, the base of his cock, then trailing them up his shaft. “Quit– fuck – quit teasing me, hon. Not a smart idea.”
“I’m not teasing you, Joel.”
Except Joel’s not listening. All he can think about is how fucking good it feels to be touched where he needs it most. He reaches for your hand, but doesn’t pull it away. Like he’s at battle with himself, doing what he thinks he’s supposed to do, not that he actually wants to. He wraps his fingers around yours, encouraging you to grip his cock tightly. But with his brow furrowed, he looks conflicted. “Don’t know what’s gotten into ya, but–”, he says shakily, “Hon– you gotta stop cause, fuck–”, he breathes, “Don’t think I have it in me– fuck – to walk away from you.”
“You don’t have to, Joel,” you coo quietly as you grip his cock tighter. You lean closer to Joel, wrapping one of your arms around his waist. Joel opens his eyes then, and you kiss his cheek, still stroking his cock. His thick head is nudging your hip as you work him, “Why don’t you let me help you with this?”
Joel nods, sighing in relief as he gives into you, gives into pleasure. He’s been hard as a rock all week. Left hand just doesn’t do the trick, but yours, your hand does just fine. “Lord have mercy,” he gasps, “Thank you.” Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, you kiss his neck, then lower, his collarbones and his chest. Lower still, sinking to your knees as you kiss down that soft and pillowy tummy of his, trailing your tongue along that patch of hair that leads to his cock. You take his thick base in one hand and his ass in the other, then press sloppy kisses to his blushed tip, flicking your tongue over his soft skin. “Sweetheart,” he warns softly, “Doin’ too much for me.”
“I don’t think so,” you tell him innocently before trailing your tongue along a prominent vein of his cock.
“I disagree,” he mumbles quietly. Oh, Joel. Silly Joel. As if you’d satisfy him with just your hands. But this is as much for you as it is for Joel. You’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about him, kissing him and fucking him. He’s who you think about at night with your hand between your thighs. So no, taking him in your mouth is not too much. It’s what you both need.
Joel hums sweetly as you guide him to your mouth, his thick head parting your lips. You toy with him, swirling, flicking your tongue, alternating between taking him deeply and more shallow in your mouth. He’s warm and thick, just like you imagined. His cock feels heavy in your mouth as you take him deeper and deeper, hollowing your cheeks to massage him. You love his smooth skin, how he squirms and his hips stutter when you slide his cock to the back of your throat. As he gains more confidence, he begins to draw in and out of your mouth slowly, an action encouraging to both you and himself.
“Good god,” Joel groans as you work his shaft, one hand still squeezing his ass cheek, the other now fondling his balls, cupping and squeezing them gently. You hum against him, sending vibrations down his shaft. He reaches down, stroking your cheek with soft and warm eyes as you work him. His hand finds the back of your head, grunting as he inches you forward to take him deeper.
“Not lastin’ long the way you–”, he chokes out, a stuttered string of profanities following as you feel his cock stiffen and twitch under your tongue, spurting hot ropes of his spend down your throat. It’s salty and warm and masculine, taking you by surprise. His orgasm surprises himself, too. You don’t mind, though. In fact, it’s flattering the way he’s come undone for you so quickly, so desperately. Poor Joel, so worked up and bent out of shape all week. Probably part of the reason he’s been so cranky.
He takes heaving breaths above you, his chest rising and falling steadily as he stares down at you in admiration. He’s got the kindest eyes. When you pull off of his cock, he offers his hand to you, helping you back to your feet. He thanks you again, then apologizes for finishing how he did. You assure him that you don’t mind a bit. “M’not gonna leave ya high and dry, you know,” he says, “You just give me a few days to get myself right and I’ll take good care of you. Return the favor and all that good stuff. Hm?”
Sure, Joel, you think, nodding to him. He nods back at you, feeling good and satisfied, already dreaming about getting you off in a few short days. How soft and wet your pussy will be, pulsing around his cock, all for him. He’ll make you come just as hard as he did, if not harder. He can see it now, he’ll have you falling to pieces under his tongue and his fingers. He just needs to fucking heal first. While Joel’s been favoring his right arm quite a bit, he still hasn’t been taking it as easy as he should have been. But he’s got a woman waiting on him now, and healing is his top priority.
Joel smiles, you smile sweetly back at him as you wrap an arm around his waist for stability and set one of your feet on the ledge of the bathtub. His smile contorts into a confused frown as he watches you take your free hand and snake it between yours and Joel’s bodies, your fingers toying with your center. “Whatcha doin’?”, Joel asks.
“Oh, you know,” you reply plainly. You sigh softly, tilting your head back as one of your fingers circles your hole.
“No, no, no, no,” Joel protests, “No, thought you were gonna wait your turn.”
“My turn’s right now,” you breathe, now dipping a finger into your entrance, curling it and swirling it around. “You’re not the only one with needs.”
“I know you got needs, hon, thought we just agreed I’d be the one to take care of ‘em,” he tries, “Right?”
“It’s alright,” you purr, “I got it.”
It’s almost cartoonish, how Joel’s expression turns from one of satisfaction and bliss to betrayal and astonishment. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, “It’s teasin’ me, you know.”
“Oh, Joel,” you whimper softly, your fingers now rubbing over your clit, “What don’t you like?”
“Uh, that,” he spits, “Don’t like hearin’ you moanin’ my name when I’m not the one touchin’ ya. Don’t like that at all.”
You pout, “Oh, you can touch me,” you offer as you take his left hand into your own, sliding it up your body. He thumbs the plump underside of your breast and glides his fingers over your nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.
“Oh, real nice. You’re playin’ dirty,” he accuses, “You’re nothin’ but trouble. Shoulda known.”
You don’t bother replying as you begin to trace steady circles into your clit, dipping your fingers at your entrance to collect more of your arousal. Your fingers slip and slide through your folds with such ease.
Joel growls, squeezing your breast harshly one last time before his arm finds your waist and he pulls you flush against his body. With your head still tilted back as you whimper quietly, Joel takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, biting and nipping at your hot, dampened skin. It only fuels you. “Joel,” you cry, “Fuck, oh my god,” as that warm, sticky feeling deep in your gut is beginning to build.
Joel watches you, conflicted. How sweet his name sounds falling from your lips with your broken, honeyed moans, but Jesus, he needs to be the one touching you like that, not you. He should have known it’d turn out this way, that you’d revel in having this one-up on him. Your fucking audacity. I made you come so hard you saw stars, and I’m doing the same thing to myself. And you can’t do a single thing about it. Ha. Ha.
Joel holds you tighter when your cries begin to get louder as you reach your peak, your knees beginning to buckle. You moan frantically, loudly, and Joel watches you knit your brows together and your mouth drops open as you begin to fall apart. Your fingers massage your clit faster, harder, feeling that tension in your gut snap and splinter as waves of pleasure overtake you, washing over your body. With your eyes shut, you feel it deep in your stomach, down the back of your thighs, riding out your orgasm on your own fingers as Joel holds you close to his body.
When you finally open your eyes, Joel’s glaring at you. He says nothing. Deep down, he knew you’d probably end up taking care of yourself tonight, but in front of him? You’ve got some fucking nerve.
When your breathing slows, Joel lets you go. He stares at you, unimpressed, mouth slightly agape. You take the opportunity to slide two of your fingers past his lips, letting him taste your sweet arousal on his tongue. His brows furrow and his eyes flutter shut as he groans deeply, hungrily. “Seriously?”
You nod with a smile, then press a quick kiss on his lips before shimmying past him to reach for your towel. You dry off and step out of the tub, and when you look back at Joel, he wears a scowl.
“You’re the fuckin’ devil.”
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#strang3lov3#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller#the last of us#pedro pascal#the last of us hbo#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal joel miller#pedro pascal the last of us#pedro pascal x reader
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𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦
you slept at tannyhill every night now.
it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.
he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.
he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.
sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.
“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.
you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.
maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.
you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.
rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.
“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.
“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.
“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.
“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”
“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”
“you’ll have to make me.”
“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"
“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”
“i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”
“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”
“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.
"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"
“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away.
“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant.
“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”
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Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)
For The Weak And Weary
PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?
WORDCOUNT: 6.2k
WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.
A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.
And this was entirely new to you.
He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.
But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.
You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.
But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.
If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.
“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”
It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.
He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?
“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”
Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.
Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”
“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”
The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”
“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”
“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”
A stiff silence falls.
“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.
“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.
You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.
Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.
You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.
He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.
When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.
And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.
So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.
But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.
Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.
Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.
In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.
A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.
Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.
How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?
Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.
All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.
How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.
You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.
If only Keegan could see you now.
Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.
Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.
“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.
You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.
“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.
Everything would be done if another city fell.
Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.
Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.
You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.
Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.
Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.
Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.
“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.
Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.
Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...
When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.
—
It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.
On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.
Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.
Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.
“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.
The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.
Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.
“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”
The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.
“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”
On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.
Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.
And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.
With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.
You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.
I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.
While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.
It rang a devastating bell.
Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.
Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.
The only love of your life.
“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”
Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.
The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…
Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?
Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.
“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.
He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”
“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.
You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.
It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.
“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.
Your face gains heat.
“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.
“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”
“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.
He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.
“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”
Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.
Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.
At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.
So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.
“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.
“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”
The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.
“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.
You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”
Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.
“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.
Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.
You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.
Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.
More than one-thousand miles.
But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.
Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.
Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.
Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.
—
The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.
Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.
But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.
But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.
You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.
In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.
Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.
The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.
“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”
You weren’t going to stop until you found it.
Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.
“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.
Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.
“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.
“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”
You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.
“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”
“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.
Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”
“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.
“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”
“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”
“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”
Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.
“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.
“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.
“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.
Yelling is on the other side.
“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.
“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.
…Keegan?
“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.
“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”
“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.
Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.
Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.
Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.
Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.
The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.
Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.
“...Sweetheart?”
His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.
You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.
The door shuts, but neither of you notices.
“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”
He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.
“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.
Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.
“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”
“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”
His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.
“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”
Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.
The man forces a weak huff.
“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.
You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.
Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.
Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.
He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.
“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”
You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.
“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”
You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.
The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.
“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”
“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”
You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.
Not to leave again anytime soon.
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is it casual now?, pt. one
pt. two
dumb love, i love being stupid, dream of us in a year. maybe we’d have an apartment and you’d show me off to your friends at the pier. i know, “baby, no attachment,” but we’re… knee deep in the passengers seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?
“but like… why not just tell him?” robin asks. they’re laying on their backs on steve’s floor, side by side, legs tangled together while a fleetwood record spins out the low sounds of stevie nicks’s voice. “you’re already banging, so what’s the point? you’re practically dating.”
“what? no.” steve replies, taking one last hit from the joint they’ve been passing back and forth before handing it back to robin so she can drop it into the ashtray near her elbow. “it’s not dating. it’s strictly sexual.”
“you’ve never in your life been strictly sexual with anyone,” robin snorts.
steve scowls. this is kind of a sore subject for him because yeah. he’s never done this casual thing before and he’s never really wanted to. he doesn’t even really want to now.
he’s silent for so long that robin’s perfectly capable of understanding exactly what he’s thinking. “oh,” she breathes out. “oh no.”
“stop, please. it was mutual.” steve doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.
“okay. yeah. sure.” steve hates how much she sounds like she’s trying to placate him.
“it’s really not a big deal. it’s fine. we’re having fun. i’m having fun.” steve’s embarrassed by how rehearsed he sounds.
“yeah, no, totally. for sure.”
they lay there without speaking again for a long time after that.
~*~
“god, you’re so cute, stevie, cooking me breakfast.” steve’s standing in front of the stove in his kitchen a few days later when eddie comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzling into steve’s neck. steve can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
“don’t get too used to it,” steve tells him, plating the first batch of french toast. “woke up early enough to eat before work for the first time in, like, three months.”
“well i appreciate it,” eddie says, letting steve turn in his arms. steve can’t help himself; he leans in for a kiss and eddie returns it enthusiastically.
eddie’s never spent the night like this before. usually he’s out of the house before steve wakes up in the morning. most of the time he leaves before they even have the chance to fall asleep together. steve tries not to take it too personally. eddie’s a busy guy and what they’re doing is nothing serious. eddie had been sure to make that clear the first few times they’d seen each other naked.
steve tries not to read too much into it as eddie takes the plate from his hands and pulls himself up to sit on the island countertop just across from where steve’s leaning next to the stove with his own plate. he tries not to get his hopes up but he can’t help the flutter in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach as they eat breakfast together before he has to go to work. he tries his best to ignore the pull he feels toward eddie, the way his hands itch to plant themselves on eddie’s hips and pull him in. he pushes down the disappointment that arises when eddie changes out of the sweats he’d clearly taken from steve’s dresser drawers and back into his own clothes. he ignores the tiny little pang in his chest when eddie says goodbye and leaves, even though steve has to leave for work in ten minutes anyway. he tries to ignore the little voice in his head that points out that eddie doesn’t even kiss him goodbye.
~*~
it goes on like that for a while. eddie starts spending enough nights at steve’s house that steve can’t help but become hopeful. he has his own green toothbrush sitting right next to steve’s red one on his bathroom sink. his hair has started to smell like steve’s shampoo. eddie’s stopped insisting that they’re just casual every time steve leans in for a kiss. sometimes they don’t even fuck, they just fall asleep together watching a movie, with the tv playing softly in the background.
steve’s not delusional. he knows that it’s not a relationship. but that hope is back and he’s helpless against its forces building inside him every time he says goodbye to eddie at his front door. his t-shirts have started going missing, ones with hawkins high emblazoned across the front, ones that he knows robin wouldn’t be caught dead in. eddie’s the only one who could be taking them, but steve can’t figure out why he’s being so secretive about it. he still hasn’t been able to catch him at it. but it has to mean something, right?
steve starts to let himself fantasize about what could happen if he just confessed to eddie. if he just admitted, once and for all, that he’d never wanted to do this whole friends with benefits thing that eddie’s been insisting on. he’s not totally sure that eddie would be a hundred percent receptive, but it’s only happening in his own brain, so he can have the ending he wants for now.
“jesus, dingus, what the hell is going on with you lately?” robin asks, sounding irritated as she comes to stand next to him behind the counter at family video. “i’ve been trying to get your attention for ten minutes.”
“what? sorry.” steve drags a hand across his face. “just thinking.”
“oh really,” robin snorts. “about what?”
“just…” steve sighs. “remember when we were talking a few months ago?”
robin raises her eyebrows at him.
“i mean, you know. about eddie.” his voice drops into a whisper at the end, as if eddie might be hiding behind one of the vhs displays, even though it’s a tuesday morning and the two of them are alone in the store.
“oh. yes. i remember.” robin sounds just a tiny bit apprehensive.
“well… i think something’s changed.”
“changed? how?”
“i mean, he’s started sleeping over my house a lot more. sometimes we don’t even… you know. have sex.” he whispers the last two words, looking over his shoulder. “i think he’s stealing my t-shirts.”
“okay,” robin draws out the second syllable, elongating the ‘a’ sound, making it clear that steve has to be a bit more specific.
“do you think he… i don’t know. do you think maybe he wants something more? like, maybe to date? or like, whatever.” steve runs a hand through his hair nervously. this is the first time he’s admitting he wants something more out loud.
robin considers for a long moment. “honestly, i don’t know. i’ve never made it past kissing anyone before.” steve’s shoulders slump. “but there’s only one real way to find out.”
“how?” steve grunts, even though he already knows the answer.
“you gotta talk to him, man.” steve groans. “i know, dingus. it sucks.” she reaches out to rub his back, an attempt at comfort.
it almost works.
~*~
steve thinks about it for a few days. about three weeks ago, eddie had started kissing him goodbye every time they parted ways at steve’s front door and he hasn’t missed a goodbye kiss yet. that has to mean something. it has to.
it’s a movie night—eddie’s choice—when steve finally gathers the courage to say something to him.
“can i talk to you?” steve says, sounding far more confident than he actually feels. he’s pulled his legs up under himself on the couch and turned sideways to stare at eddie’s profile.
“um, yeah,” eddie replies a bit distractedly, eyes glued to the tv screen as he reaches for the remote next to him. he pauses the film and only then does he turn to face steve. he smiles, dimples showing. “what’s up, stevie? i don’t pause the thing for just anyone.”
that makes steve feel a little less nervous. it feeds the hope in his chest. he runs a hand through his hair. “okay, well. i was thinking about, like, what we’re doing.”
“what we’re doing?” eddie tilts his head to the side just a little, looking confused.
“yeah, like. you know. you’ve said you want to keep things casual but i was thinking that maybe we could…” steve trails off, unsure of how to continue.
“we could…?” eddie prompts, but he’s starting to look a little apprehensive.
“i mean, i know you said that you don’t really do the non-casual type of thing or whatever, but i was thinking like. i don’t know, that we could, like, go on a date? maybe?” steve hates how unsure he sounds at the end, how his voice turns up at the end.
eddie just looks at him for a long moment. “i thought we were on the same page, steve.”
okay, he’s not ‘stevie’ anymore, but maybe this is just a miscommunication.
“we were,” steve responds, swallowing hard. “i mean, we are. i think.” then he corrects himself. “or, uh, thought.” he looks down at his hands for a second and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “i really like you, eddie. and i want… i don’t know what i want but i know that i like you a lot. and i don’t want to be just friends who sleep together.”
“so,” eddie speaks slowly, still looking just a bit confused, “you don’t want to sleep together anymore.” he doesn’t really say it like a question, more like he’s not really all that surprised.
“no, i mean…” steve’s feeling just a little frustrated with himself. “i like that part. that part’s, like, really good. i just… i want more than that.” he runs his hand through his hair again. “i… i guess want to be your boyfriend.”
eddie laughs then and it makes steve’s chest feel hollow. eddie must see something on steve’s face because his laugh cuts off abruptly. “sorry, man. you’re serious?” eddie sounds almost disbelieving. steve can only nod, his throat tight. he definitely does not want to cry in front of eddie right now. “oh. well. um. i don’t really…” steve’s heart drops and the little bubble of hope that had been building since that first time eddie had stayed for breakfast abruptly bursts. “i’m sorry, dude, i genuinely thought we were on the same page. i’m not—that’s just—” eddie clears his throat. “that’s just not really something i want.”
steve has nothing to say to that. he supposes that eddie had been honest from the beginning and that he was the one who hadn’t been truthful so he can’t even really be mad.
“right,” steve responds, avoiding eddie’s eyes. “sure, okay.”
“i think i’m gonna go for now. but i’ll see you around, okay, stevie?” steve’s eyes snap up to eddie’s face and eddie’s eyes are wide and panicked. he looks like a cornered deer. a part of steve can’t help but feel sorry for putting that look on eddie’s face.
“yeah, okay. see you.” steve tries to smile at him, maybe to reassure him, but eddie doesn’t even look at him as he gathers his shoes and keys before leaving.
once eddie’s gone, steve sits there for a long moment, wondering where he’d gone wrong. maybe he should have waited until a little bit later, when they were upstairs tangled up together and he could distract eddie with kisses. maybe he should have waited until breakfast, when eddie’s soft and sweet, warm from sleep. maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.
steve turns off the tv and goes upstairs to bed alone for the first time in a while.
there’s a part two already half written so no worries, i only write happy endings (except that one time).
#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steddie ficlet#steddie blurb
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morning sex with ethan
you’re already all huddled up together in his twin-sized bed, and when you wake up, you sigh in relief as you remember that chad did not get back to the dorm room. you have the room to yourselves. you have ethan to yourself this morning.
sweet ethan is snoring into the crook of your neck, his fluffy curls tickling you as his chest rises and falls against your body. you raise a hand to run it through his hair, and he rewards you with a sleepy, yet content groan.
“g’mornin,” he murmurs into your neck before planting a sleepy kiss on the base of it, his arms wrapping themselves around you to hug you even tighter.
“morning, baby,” you greet back, one hand raising his chin to give him a soft kiss on his lips. he pouts but doesn’t move, letting you peck as many kisses on his lips as you want. and then, ethan opens his mouth, catching your lips in surprise and instantly runs his tongue on yours.
when he breaks away, he settles back to your neck, eyes still closed, “m’hard,” he tells you, “need some pussy, please.”
“this early in the morning?” you raise an eyebrow at him.
“please,” he begs, mouthing at your neck. “i’ll do the work, y’can just lay there and take it.”
you pretend to think about it, even though you both know you’re always ready to go once ethan starts tonguing your mouth. so when you nod and say yes, ethan turns you over, slowly, still sleepy and relaxed. you laugh when you see that he’s dragging his boxers down and your panties down too, yet his eyes are still closed. “you’re not even opening your eyes for me?”
“m’still a bit sleepy,” he mumbles, flushing a shade of pink. he removes your shirt (his shirt) and positions his lips on your breasts, almost panting as he cups your right breast. then, he finally opens his eyes, looking at you with puppy eyes as he sticks his tongue out, almost catching your nipple.
you arch your back, wanting to feel his wet mouth on you, on your tits, almost gushing because how can you not when ethan looks at you like he’s begging you to let him suck your tits?
when he finally wraps his lips on your nipple, you moan, arching into him. his other hand strokes his cock, wet with his precum, and guides himself into your cunt. he grunts as he slides in, popping his mouth off your nipple as he moves his head to face you. “your pussy feels so warm…ha….fuck…”
“shit, ethan,” you feel stretched out, so early in the morning and his cock filling you all the way in until his balls press against your ass.
when he pulls back and thrusts back in, you both shudder at the feel. ethan makes sure he’s balls deep in your pussy and stops, his cheek resting against your as he whispers into your ear, “this is gonna be quick, m’sorry baby.” he whines as he tries not to move, tries to calm himself so that he doesn’t nut inside you after two pumps.
“it’s okay,” you tell him, “it’s okay, ethan, just cum inside…”
“shit…don’t talk like that…”
“i just need your cum in my pussy, please.”
ethan almost sobs into your ear, slowly pulling back and thrusting back in until he establishes a rhythm. not fast, but deep, and you feel like he’s hitting you so deep, almost like the fat head of his cock is bumping against your cervix.
“m’cummin, oh sorry, m’cummin already…aah! fuck…ha…” he pulls back to look you in the eyes, “i’m cummin’ in your pussy.”
“fuck, ethan, cum inside me, please,” you beg, one hand coming up to wrap behind his neck, “but look at me. i want you to look at me when you empty your balls in my pussy.”
“ahh! fuuuuuck, it’s all there,” he whines, trying not to close his eyes in bliss as he looks at you as he cums, “it’s”, thrust, “all,” thrust, “here,” thrust, a particularly strong one that makes you squeal, “deep in your pussy.”
he collapses on top of you, kissing you as he grinds his hips, making sure all his cum doesn’t flow out of your cunt. but it’s the first load of the day, and he almost always cums a lot during the mornings.
“i’m sorry i came so early,” ethan says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “in exchange you can do whatever you want with me tonight.”
“whatever i want?” you raise your eyebrows.
ethan nods, “i promise.”
“good,” you pat his cheeks, opening up your arms in an embrace and ethan rests his head in between your breasts, “maybe i can finally use that fleshlight on you, that you’ve been hiding from me.”
silence, then…
“how did you know about that?”
#batfamtv#ethan landry#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry smut#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry x y/n#ethan landry x you#jack champion scream#scream imagine#scream movie#scream movie imagine#scream x reader
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PLEASE!!! im on my hands n knees begging. poly!mauraders with a hyper partner that give off golden retriever vibes I BEG
Happy to oblige my love!
poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader ♡ 1k words
Sirius is still in the process of waking up when you come inside, bags of groceries in your arms.
“Morning!” You lean over the top of the couch to kiss his cheek as you go by, all but skipping into the kitchen. “Have you been outside? It’s gorgeous.”
Sirius levels you with a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’ve been outside?”
“You should,” you say, undeterred by his attitude. “Spring is in the air! The sun is out, the trees are starting to get their little flowers—I even bought us some tulips to put on the table.”
“That’s nice,” he mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushions. He knows he really should help you unload the groceries, but it feels like his bones have been replaced by barbells. Luckily, he hears a set of footsteps coming down the hall.
“Hey, sunshine.” James comes in fully dressed, pecking you on the lips before starting the coffee machine. “What’d you get?”
“I got tulips,” you tell him excitedly. “Have you been outside? It’s a really lovely day.”
James smiles, sliding one of the bags away from you as you start snipping the stems of your tulips so they’ll fit in a vase. “Yeah, I poked my head out for a sec. It is nice.” His glance slides over to where Sirius languishes on the couch, grin going somewhat cocky. “Morning, Sirius. You could help with the groceries, you know.”
Sirius waves his hand. “Two of you are enough.”
The coffee machine starts to gurgle, summoning Remus like a siren’s call. He trudges out of the bedroom, sleep clinging to his frame. Sirius opens his arms commiseratingly.
“It’s hardly ten,” Remus grunts as he collapses into them. “How have they already been productive?”
“I know, they’re so perky.” Sirius pets down the cowlick at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “It’s freakish.”
“You’re freakish,” you say brightly, bringing them each a cup of coffee. Sirius has no clue how you’ve managed to unload the groceries so fast, or where you found the time to doctor his coffee the way he likes it. You’re like a machine. You laugh giddily when he nips at your fingers as you pull away. “Remus, wait until you see the weather outside, it’s so perfect. I think we should have a picnic. What do you say?”
“I say it’s too early for decisions,” he mumbles, sitting up off Sirius so he can drink his coffee. “But that sounds nice.”
You beam as if you’ve gotten a full-stop go-ahead, breezing back towards the kitchen. “We can make brownies,” you say, bringing your vase of tulips to the table, “and sandwiches, and lemonade. And we can go to that park with the stream—what’s the one?”
You look to James, who in turn looks to Remus.
“Mayfield,” Remus says.
“Right! We can go to Mayfield park, and hike over to that meadow-y area.” Sirius glances your way, and you’ve already started taking down the ingredients for brownies. “It’s so sunny and nice out, you guys won’t believe it. We can bring a frisbee or something.”
“Hiking and frisbee?” Sirius murmurs to Remus. “I don’t like the sound of all this activity.” Remus snorts.
“That sounds great, angel.” James apprehends you before you can start pouring things into the mixing bowl, putting a mug of decaf tea in your hand and steering you towards the living room. “I think these guys are going to take a bit to be ready for all that, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
“Right.” You look a bit abashed, sitting down criss-cross-applesauce in the big armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have to go, like, right now. You guys just woke up.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Sirius says wryly. But when you fidget in your seat and he can feel James’ glare boring into the side of his head, he throws in an eye roll of feigned reluctance. “Get over here.”
You happily transfer into his lap, letting him brush your hair aside and squealing when he plants a wet, squelching kiss on your neck. Remus, sensing that Sirius’ attention has a new captive, leans back into James, who winds his arms around Remus’ middle gamely.
“Now why would we go outside,” Sirius asks, nosing at the underside of your jaw as you giggle and squirm, “when we can just do this all day?”
“You could just as easily do it outside,” James points out. Sirius whines petulantly against your skin, setting you giggling again.
“He’s right,” you reason, transferring your tea to your other hand so you can wrestle Sirius away from your neck. “We could do this in the sun, with wildflowers and trees around.”
He pouts. “But you know I burn easily,” he says, “and poor Remus’ hip can’t take the hike.”
“You don’t know what I can take,” Remus huffs, and Sirius realizes he’s chosen the wrong avenue for his argument. “If my hip hurts, it’s only because your mum was so rough last night.”
“I don’t particularly enjoy being compared to Sirius’ mum,” says James. Remus’ ears go a bit pink as he mumbles an apology.
“I won’t let you burn,” you tell Sirius. “You can use sunblock, or we’ll find you a nice shady spot. And Remus, if your hip’s bothering you, we can always find another park. One without a hike.”
Any vexation that might usually be summoned in Remus by mention of his aches and pains melts away in the face of your earnestness. “Thanks, dove, but I’m alright,” he says. “It’s fine today.”
James rubs the skin just above Remus’ hip lovingly, and you send him a beaming smile. “It’s probably because it’s so nice out,” you say.
“Yeah, Sirius,” James turns on him. “It’s so nice out. Do you really want to miss out on what could be the single most beautiful day of the year?”
Sirius really could give a shit, but he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s picnic.”
“Yay!” You won’t be contained any longer, hopping up from his lap. “I’m going to go get the frisbee.”
“The frisbee’s in the attic,” Remus muses, then raises his voice so you can hear him. “Don’t go up in the attic by yourself.”
“I can get it,” you call back.
“Don’t,” he warns. “You need someone to hold the ladder, just—” The ladder groans as it comes down and Remus echoes it, starting to stand. But James pats him on the shoulder, encouraging Remus back down as he gets up.
“Slow your roll, angel,” he calls ahead. “I’m coming.”
#poly!marauders#golden retriever!reader#poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders one shot#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader
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aware of his bisexuality steve (steddie, buckingham)
“Is that a hickey?” Comes out of Steve’s mouth without permission. But there it is, bright purple and red against the slope of her neck. She’s been walking kind of funny this morning, too. He’d assumed her period came early, but… “Rob, did you—“
Eddie fumbles the coffee mug he was pulling down. Chrissy freezes, face turning white with fear. Robin whips around, face bright red, and slaps a hand over her neck.
“Bathroom!” She yelps. “Bathroom now!”
“Wait,” Eddie says, setting the mug down with trembling hands. “It was me. Sorry, man.”
Steve stares at him, unimpressed. Why the fuck would he lie about—
He looks at Chrissy again, who takes a nervous step back, and it clicks.
“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “You. You gave Robin a hickey. Had totally awesome sex that she didn’t even tell me about.” He directs that last bit at Robin pointedly. He told her almost immediately when he lost his guy-ginity. Traitor. “Yep. Sure. Got it.”
Eddie blinks, confused. Robin buries her face in her hands.
“Oh my god, calm down,” she groans. “That’s not going to work. Steve’s cool.”
“Cool?” Chrissy asks, still looking ready to bolt.
“Super cool,” he assures her. “The coolest. So incredibly cool, even if my best friend didn’t even tell me when she lost her virginity.”
“Steve!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “But I am going to need details, Buckley. We can go over what worked, and what needs more oomph.”
“Oh my god, can we talk about this anywhere else,” Robin groans, at the same time Eddie asks, “What, so you can get off on it later?”
“What,” Steve says.
“You think two girls are hot, is that it?” He’s got a sneer on his face now, but Steve’s more observant than Dustin gives him credit for. Even if he wasn’t, it’d be hard to miss how hard his hands are shaking, the nervous tilt to his mouth.
“Ew.” Steve’s face screws up. “Dude, no. It’s Robin.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Robin breaks in, from where she’s started comforting Chrissy. “You thought I was hot for at least a summer.”
His mouth drops open in betrayal. “We agreed to never talk about that again!”
“Can’t help being sexy,” she coons. Chrissy giggles wetly. “You wanna get married, Harrington? Have my babies? Stay home and raise six little nuggets while I bring home the bread?”
“I hate you,” he informs her. “Hate you so much. We’ll have a nice, heterosexual wedding and share a sad, heterosexual kiss, and you’ll carry me over the threshold of our nice, heterosexual house, and we’ll have boring, heterosexual sex that gives us nice, heterosexual babies, because we are so heterosexual and happy in our suburburban house in our nice little heterosexual town.”
He’s honestly kind of proud of himself for saying heterosexual so many times. Usually he fumbles words with that many syllables, especially after that many times in a row.
Chrissy is outright laughing, now, endearing little snorts making their way between giggles. Eddie is looking between them like they’re a puzzle he can’t piece together. Robin grins.
“I’ll cuck you with the secretary.”
“Not if I cuck you first. You’ll be away all day in that office of yours, and I need someone big and strong to carry all the new furniture I ordered.”
“I knew it! I knew Timmy wasn’t mine!”
“Oh, but I couldn’t help myself,” he swoons. “Mark was just so sweet, with his bulging biceps and hand flexes, all hot and sweaty from helping poor little me while you were away! You know I’m weak to curly hair and brown eyes, Rob, how’s a man supposed to resist?”
“Fag,” she says, not without affection.
“Dyke,” he shoots back.
“Cocksucker.”
“Carpet—“
“Okay,” Eddie breaks in, clapping his hands. He and Robin both startle, and so does Chrissy from where she’s been watching them like a particularly interesting tennis match. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Robin lost her virginity and didn’t even tell me,” Steve says immediately, like he’s tattling to the principal.
“Steve doesn’t seem to understand the concept of waiting,” Robin retorts.
“I told you when I had gay sex,” he whines, and Eddie chokes. “I hate you. See if I ever give you tips again.”
“Oh, is that what you meant?” Chrissy asks. “Please don’t stop. They were good tips.”
Robin flushes all the way down to her toes.
“You like boys?” Eddie wheezes.
“Oh,” Steve blinks. “Yeah? I thought you knew.”
“You thought I—how would I know?”
The fuck is that supposed to mean? Steve’s been flirting with him for months!
“Robin always says we can sense each other! You sensed her.”
“You told him?” Eddie’s mouth drops open, and Robin looks sheepish.
“She didn’t have to,” Steve snarks. “You’re flagging in Hawkins, man. Was I supposed to miss it?”
“You know what flagging is?”
“Again, in case you missed it, I fuck men.”
“Fuck,” Eddie mutters. “Fuck! Christ, I can’t believe this. You’re, like, the epitome of heterosexual. I spent half of high school having to hear about how much pussy you were getting. Why are you not straight?”
“Wow, Eddie,” he deadpans. “Are you saying just because I like men and woman, I’m not queer enough? That’s kind of homophobic of you, man.”
“Yeah, Eddie, wow,” Robin says. “I thought you were better than this.”
“Fuck off,” Eddie says. “I feel like I need to lie down. My entire worldview just shattered.”
“I have a couch?” Chrissy offers shyly. “Or a bedroom, if you need a minute away.” Fuck, Steve kind of adores her. Especially since she’s apparently vicious n bed, if the five other hickies he counts just from Robin bending down a little to whisper in her ear are any indication. Good for her.
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Robin says, with a glint in her eye that means he’s either going to love or hate what comes next. “If it helps, Steve’s never fucked a man in his life.”
Eddie’s brow furrows, looking between the two of them. “So…you’re just making fun of me?”
He looks a little angry now, and Steve can’t make heads or tails of this conversation because, “What the hell, Rob, yes I have—“
“Oh, so suddenly you’re the one doing the fucking?”
“Stop making fun of me for taking it!”
Eddie lets out an honest to god moan that he immediately slaps his hand over his mouth to cover up. “Right,” he says fervently. “Okay. I need to lie down, like, for real.”
They watch him stride down the hall, so fast he’s almost running, and slam the door closed behind him.
“I could totally top,” he mutters to Robin as something that sounds vaguely like muffled screaming echoes down the hall. “I top girls all the time. It’s not my fault prostates are a gift from God.”
“Uh, you top because all the girls you fuck are from small town Indiana. If one of them brought out the strap you’d drop to your knees so fast—“
“That’s—I like topping!”
“Your favorite position is cowgirl. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“I will show Chrissy your baby pictures,” he hisses. Robin makes a face at him. Chrissy nods excitedly from where she’s still tucked under Robin’s arm.
“Oh what’s that?” Robin practically shouts. “You like being pressed against walls and ravished? You want someone to tie you up and have their filthy way with you? Is that what you said, Steve?”
Another noise from the bedroom. He narrows his eyes at her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” she says sweetly. “You’re both hopeless.”
“I told you he’s shy!”
“Eddie?” Chrissy asks. “Shy?”
“Yeah, okay, I was confused too, but I figured it was the romance! He told me he hasn’t actually been in a relationship before, I assumed he was nervous to take that step.”
“Yeah, but dingus,” Robin says sweetly. “You’re missing a puzzle piece here. He thought you were straight. He thought he was flirting with his straight best friend he didn’t have a chance in hell with, and then he finds out that said best friend likes taking it up the ass and men with brown eyes.”
“Oh,” Steve says, realization dawning. “Oh, fuck. What if he doesn’t like me like that?”
Robin smacks the back of his head. “Why are you stupid?”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Chrissy says. “Like, really don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not coming over tonight,” Robin says. “I’m gonna stay with Chrissy again. Er…if that’s okay?”
“That sounds amazing.” Chrissy beams, and Robin turns red again.
“Yeah, I’m going to stay with Chrissy again tonight. You are going to invite Eddie to stay the night when he gets done with his little crisis, and then we’re getting lunch at the diner tomorrow and you can tell me about it before our shift.”
“Right,” Steve says. “Right, I can do this. I’ve invited guys over before, how hard can it be? It’s just Eddie. But that was hotel rooms, not my house and my bedroom with my shitty wallpaper. And it’s Eddie. Fuck, what if I’m shit at it? Robin, what if I’m actually bad at sex and everyone who’s ever said I was good was lying because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings? Oh my god, I’m totally bad at sex.”
“Woah, dingus, slow down. I think we took the mind meld too far, you’re turning into me.”
“If it helps, I don’t think you’re bad at sex,” Chrissy says. Steve and Robin look at her, and she flushes. “Because of the tips! Not because—I’ve never slept with you, but some of my friends did, and I got three orgasms out of last night, so…”
“Oh thank God,” he breathes. “I was worried for a minute.” Then he raises an eyebrow at Robin, and holds out his hand for a high five. She slaps it, begrudgingly proud of herself, and then takes the hand to pull him into a headlock that’s honestly more of a hug than anything.
“You’re fine,” she whispers in his ear. “You’re great at sex, as you keep telling me. What’s more, you’re funny, charming, handsome, brave, caring—“
“Aww, Robin, are you getting sappy on me?”
“Plus Eddie literally moaned in front of you when he found out you bottomed. I really don’t think there’s a way to fuck that up.”
Steve grins. “He did do that. I’m going to make so much fun of him later.”
“So,” Eddie says with a smirk, “men with brown eyes?”
“Hey man, don’t look at me. Blame Jonathan.”
Now Eddie looks stunned, mouth dropping open. “Byers?” He says, sounding betrayed. “You have a crush on Byers of all people?”
Steve feels offended on Jonathan’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jonathan’s a good guy!”
“I guess.”
“What do you mean you guess? He’s sweet, passionate, good with kids, nice eyes. Can pack a punch. I mean, what’s not to like?”
“Uh, didn’t he steal your girlfriend?”
He waves that off. “That was, like, years ago, man. We’re cool now.”
“Right, okay,” Eddie mutters. “Well have fun with Byers, I guess.”
It clicks. “Oh,” he says. “Oooh. You’re jealous.”
Eddie splutters. “Jealous? I’m not—I don’t—you’re jealous!”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes,” Eddie says resolutely, not looking at him.
“Right,” Steve agrees. “Well, if I am jealous, maybe I should know that I got over Jonathan years ago, and have since moved on to brighter, hopefully more attainable pastures than my ex’s ex.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“A different man with brown eyes?” He suggests. “Who is also good with kids, and passionate, and…” he trails off, suddenly realizing all those times Robin made fun of him might not be based on nothing. “Oh my god, I have a type. Shit, I have to tell Robin she was right.”
“I figured that was a common occurrence.”
“Shut up. Where was I going with this? I had a point.”
“You were telling me how awesome I am?”
“Oh, suddenly it’s you we’re talking about?”
“I mean,” suddenly Eddie looks shy, and Steve can’t help but think even with the change in context he might have been right when he told Robin Eddie was nervous about being in a real, romantic relationship, “isn’t it?”
He feels himself smile, slow and wide and probably more revealing than he means it to be. “Yeah,” he says, in a tone he knows Robin would call soppy, “it is.”
#technically all my bi steve fics have him aware he'd bi but for the purpose of naming we'll call it that#aware of his bisexuality steve au#i am ALWAYS jonathan was steve's awakening truthing#steddie#buckingham#i think that's their ship name?#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#chrissy cunningham#accidental outing#i'm not really a bottom steve truther but i thought it would be funny for this#stranger things fanfic
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baby, oh baby ; satoru gojo
pairing satoru gojo x f!reader
word count 1.2k
synopsis gojo is surprisingly good at caring. (or: he comforts you while you get morning sickness and start spiraling).
content contains thr*wing up (morning sickness), pregnancy, pregnant!reader, domestic fluff, soft!gojo, reassurance
Satoru Gojo knows he’s a dead man from the minute he swings open the bathroom door and finds you curled up by the toilet.
Even in his shirt and a pair of sweatpants that have clearly seen better days, with your hair all messed up and your lips chapped, Gojo thinks you are absolutely adorable. Beautiful, even.
He tells you this, thinking it’ll cheer you up, but all you do is narrow your pretty little eyes at him.
“You,” you practically snarl at him. “You did this to me!”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Now, honey, I know it’s been a while since you took a biology class, but it takes two of us to, you know—” He gestures to your stomach, which still isn’t showing much of a bump since it’s only the first trimester, but you get the message. He decides he should have just shut up whenever you send him an absolutely scathing glare.
“It’s all my fault.” He immediately changes his tune. “You’re right, honey, I am an awful person for getting you pregnant. You should kill me for my transgressions.”
“You want to make me a single mother now?” You snap at him.
“Okay, I see that that was the wrong thing to say.” Gojo tries to give you a soothing smile to calm you down, but it comes off as more of a nervous grimace. “I would never die early and let you raise our wonderful child alone. As a matter of fact, I refuse to die only until you tell me it’s okay to do so!”
“Satoru.” You close your eyes, opening the toilet lid, anticipating another bout of morning sickness to come spilling out your mouth. “Get out.”
“Nah. That’s the one thing I can’t do.” He dares to take another step into the bathroom, frowning at how cold the marble tiles are. It can’t possibly be comfortable for you to be kneeling on the floor like this, especially since you’re throwing up last night’s dinner.
“Satoru, I’m not being funny right now. I’m seriously about to vomit, and you won’t want to be here.”
He kneels down by your side, gathering your hair in his hand and pulling it all behind your shoulders. “I’m not being funny, either. I’ll stay by your side no matter what.”
You don’t reply to his sweet comment, even though you really want to. Instead, you actually do make good on your word, and only after you flush the toilet does he bother saying anything else.
“Do you feel a bit better now?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!” You shut your eyes, leaning against him, your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. Being pregnant sounded hot during the heat of the moment when the baby was being made, but now reality is hitting, and you’re already crying about how ugly maternity clothes are. You look like a wreck right now, and you’re barely nine weeks in with the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Satoru looks fan-fucking-tastic, as he always does.
His hand finds yours easily, and he intertwines your fingers together. He starts to absentmindedly fiddle with your wedding ring as he talks.
“What’s bothering you?”
You know that while Satoru was pursuing you, there was a long line of women all excited and ready to be the one by his side. You know that Satoru sometimes is a certified flight risk, running away from intimacy when the feeling gets too overwhelming for him. You know that Satoru is the only man capable of breaking your heart, and he’s subsequently the only man who would be able to piece it back together. Even with a ring and a legal certificate binding you two together, there are still annoying little doubts running in the back of your mind that has only worsened through your anxiety of life literally being grown inside of you and unbalanced hormones.
“Everything.” You tell him, and it’s not even a joke or an exaggeration.
“Well, tell me something that’s bothering you now. Something I can solve.” He adds on this last sentence, already knowing that you would most likely ask him for the impossible just to be funny. As conceited as he acts to the outside world, Satoru is surprisingly caring and observant towards others.
“What if our baby is ugly?” You look up at him, gauging his reaction.
At first, his eyes widen, and then he laughs. You can tell it’s genuine because you can feel the way it comes from his chest.
“It has us as its parents. With both our genes combined, it won’t have much to worry about.”
“No! I’m serious! Haven’t you heard the saying that two pretty people make an ugly baby?”
“Well, we’ll be the exception.”
“I’m being serious, Satoru! Your eyes are kinda scary to look at sometimes. Our baby will need brown contacts if it inherits your eyes.”
Oh, so because you’re emotionally fragile, you’re allowed to make comments about his eyes? Satoru snorts. You better be lucky he loves you so much.
“Why does it matter if our baby is ugly? Why is our baby being ugly even a thought in your mind?”
“This world sucks. Looking good is key to having an enjoyable experience on earth. You should start worrying about our child’s future, too, you know!”
“I would fight the entire world if it mistreated our baby.” Satoru presses a reassuring kiss to the top of your head. “And I know you would, too. So who cares if our baby is ugly?”
“That’s not the point, Satoru!” You frown, knowing that you’re being ridiculous right now, but who else could handle you in this state if not him? There’s a reason why he’s the one you call your husband, and he’s the one who put the aforementioned potentially-ugly baby inside of you.
“Fine. If our baby is ugly, let’s leave it on Kento’s doorsteps and let it be his problem for the next eighteen years. Then, we can get started on the next and hope the second time’s the charm. Sounds like a solid plan?” He doesn’t mean it, but he knows it’s best to just try and nip these hypotheticals in the bud.
You’re silent for a moment. Then, “You’re awful! I would love our baby, even if it had your eyes and crazy ass hair.”
“I would love our baby, too. Ugly or not. You know why?”
“You’re going to say something corny.”
“I was going to say that I would love our baby because it came from you. Nothing ugly is coming out of your body, babe. And anyway, I love you so much, how could I hate anything that’s literally half you?”
Even if you’re in the mood to be annoying and insecure, and your brain is telling you to argue some more with your husband, you can’t help but relax after hearing this.
(Nine months later, all your worries seem to be all for naught; your son is the cutest thing to be born.)
#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#dad!gojo#domestic fluff#fluff#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk one shot#drabble#gojo fluff#gojo x reader
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You owe me
Warnings: Lucifer being a perv, swearing, dirty talk, lots of sex
Summary: You want to make a pact with Lucifer but he wants something in return: your body.
He thinks you haven’t noticed his strange behaviours towards you, but you have. Staring at you when he thinks you’re not looking. His protective glare over you whenever you talk to one of his brothers. Or even when he’d put his hands on your waist to pass by you and his touch would linger a bit too long. Eventually he started holding your waist every time he’d pass by you even when it wasn’t necessary, and you swear you feel his cock rub against your ass every time.
He’s been wanting to feel you up for the longest time. Spending so many nights with his cock in his fist, moaning your name in ecstasy. Though imagining you under him screaming his name satisfied him enough to reach his climax, it just wasn’t enough. He needed you. The real you. And he wanted to make his fantasies of you a reality.
Lucifer was the last demon brother you needed to make a pact with but he’s been so hard to convince. One day you decide you’re done waiting for the right moment. You barge into his room to just come out and say it. “I want you to make a pact with me”, you say determinedly. Lucifer gets up from his chair and struts towards you with curiosity. “Why are you so adamant on making pacts with my brothers and I?” Of course you can’t tell him the real reason you want to make the pact, he’d be livid if he found out you’re trying to help Belphie escape the attic. “I’m in an entirely new world, I want to be as strong as possible.” You aren’t entirely lying, but you’re not telling the full truth either. Lucifer eyes you suspiciously as he walks closer.
“What’s in it for me?” The smirk on his face grows as a devious plan develops in his head. “What do you mean?” “Well if I’m gonna give you something without knowing your full intentions I might as well get something out of it.” He takes another step closer, making the small gap between you two even smaller.
“Fine, what do you want?” you say anxiously. “…I want to taste you”, he said with nothing but lust in his voice as he pinned you against the wall behind you. You’re now stuck between the wall and a very horny Lucifer towering over you. “I’ll make a pact with you if… I get to fuck you whenever I want for a month.” Your eyes widen in shock. Being a sex slave to a demon for a month?! You’re not sure you could even handle whatever sadistic, sexual tasks Lucifer had in store for you. As you eye him up you look a bit further down his body, noticing his already hard cock making a tent in his pants. Lucifer notices your staring and decides to rub his cock against your pussy. You let out a loud whine. “So what do you say? Wanna be my little play thing for a month?” What other choice do you have? You need to make this pact otherwise the work you put into making the other pacts would’ve all been for nothing. If this is the only way he’ll agree to a pact then so be it. You look up at him nervously and say “deal.” Lucifer has the most devilish grin on his face as he looks at his watch. “Well would you look at that. It’s midnight”, he says closing the gap between you two by kissing you roughly. He shoves his tongue passed your lips, dominating your mouth as he gropes your breast with one hand and your ass with the other.
“Our one month starts now.”
——
Lucifer takes full advantage of this opportunity by bending you over every chance he gets. You just woke up? Early morning, sloppy sex. You’re at school? He’s pulling you into the nearest storage closet. You’re chilling in your room? He’s pulling you into his room where you spend the night being his personal cum dump.
He puts you in every position he can think of. Missionary, downward dog, in front of a mirror, against the wall, and even in his office a couple times. In his right mind he’d be terrified if someone, especially Diavolo, walked in on you two in such an inappropriate position in his office, but he’s so pussy drunk he can’t think straight. All he wants is to feel you around his cock.
——
“L-Lucifer.” That’s the only coherent word you’re able to utter as Lucifer bullies your sensitive cunt. Besides your tired moans, the lewd sound of flesh smacking against flesh is all that can be heard within Lucifer’s bedroom. Earlier, he called your phone, all he said was “My room. Now” and hung up. And because of the deal you made, you couldn’t say no. Not like you’d want to anyway. You love the feeling of the hunky demon assorting his dominance over you and fucking your brains out every night. And now here you are, Lucifer slamming his hips into yours like his life depends on it. Hitting your sweet spot with every thrust as your eyes roll back in pleasure.
If only you could focus your eyes enough to see Lucifer right now, he’s a mess. Face sweaty, hair disheveled, and a string of drool rolling down his chin. “Fuck. You feel so damn good.” He grunts, leaning down to lay a rough kiss on your lips. His thrusts become sloppier as he gets closer to his climax. “Oh Lucifer- p-please make me cum.” Your desperate cries was all it took to push him off the edge, shooting hot streaks of cum straight into your womb. You follow suit as you come around his still hardened cock for what you think is the fifth time tonight.
“Oh baby, we’re only halfway done, remember? You’re still mine for the next 2 weeks. Actually I’m not sure I’ll be willing to let go by then. How about another few weeks? ’Nother few months? I just need to feel your sweet pussy for a bit longer. Damn, your fucked out face is getting me riled up again. You’re tired? Nah, you can handle one more round. Remember, you owe me”, he affirms as his thrusts start to speed up again.
This is gonna be a long night.
—————————————————————————
#obey me#obey me shall we date#lucifer avatar of pride#lucifer x mc#lucifer x reader#lucifer x female reader#obey me nightbringer#lucifer smut#mammonobeyme#beezlebub#perv lucifer#obey me smut#lord diavolo
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BETWEEN
PAIRING: minho + chan x fem!reader
GENRE: smut. fluff. f2l. roommates au. threesome/poly.
CONTENT: 18+ minors dni.
WORD COUNT: 5k
SUMMARY: Your two roommates are your best friends in the world. You’d also love nothing more than to be sandwiched between them. Queue tension and smut with feelings.
do not repost to other sites, including translations.
It’s laundry day, a day you’ve put off a little long. You end up grabbing a shirt from Minho’s clean clothing he’d left in the dryer to throw over your head as you wait for your own load to finish. Neither of them were around. You’re leaning over the counter to grab a paper towel when the front door opens. You peak around the corner just as Chris is throwing his shoes aside. Okay, this is fine. The shirt is just long enough to hang over the tops of your thighs, covering the pale blue underwear you’d slept in.
There’s no escape. You’re going to have to face your friend in your underwear. Be casual about it, you tell yourself. It’s not a big deal. You really needed to stop putting off doing laundry.
You continue with your task, wiping down the kitchen bench as your eggs fry. “Are you hungry?!” you call out. “I’m making breakfast if you want anything.”
He was always up before you and Minho, spending his early mornings at the gym.
“I’m starv…ing….” he trails off from behind you. Alright, so he’d noticed the no pants thing. Act casual.
“Good, I’m making extra. I thought—”
Then he’s behind you, not quite touching, but hovering so close you're forced to pause your cleaning. He leans over you. “You can wear mine, if you like,” he says, tugging a little at the hem of Minho’s t-shirt.
Then he’s gone. The shower starts just as the dryer announces your clothes are ready.
—
You’d hoped your regular nightmares would be left in childhood. But as you’d grown out of your favourite shoes and your allergy to soy, your nightmares had stuck. The first time you’d crept into Minho’s room after a particularly bad one, you’d nudged him awake hesitantly. He’d welcomed you under his covers, unquestioning. They stayed away with him, with Chris too the few times he’d fallen asleep in your bed. It was only when you were alone that your sleep was disturbed.
Minho is curled up on his side when you crawl under his sheets, shuffling as close to him as possible without touching. He still stirs when you roll over to face the edge of the bed. He would always wake up when you joined him. He connects his front to your back, as always. But then, with a small contented noise from his throat, his hand slips up under the hem of your shirt—his warm palm resting against your stomach.
This is new.
“Min?” you whisper.
When he doesn’t respond, you roll over. His hand slips to rest on your back. You reach up to brush his hair behind his ear, tucking the soft strands away from his eyes. His hair was longer than you’d ever seen it. He hadn’t bothered getting it cut. He hums, almost a purr. He’s awake. “Does it bother you when I sleep here?” you whisper.
His brows pull together slightly and then he tugs you a little closer, pressing you right up against his chest. You have a feeling that’s all the answer you’ll be receiving.
You watch as he drifts off. It only takes him a few minutes. His features go slack, lips parting slightly as his breathing evens out. You follow him shortly after.
It’s only a few hours later that you find yourself staring at the ceiling—Minho’s legs tangled with your own. The nightmare that had led you into this room had been particularly bad, startling you awake with a racing heart. You’re usually fine after joining Minho. But not tonight. It’s enough that you find yourself creeping from his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, completely giving up on more sleep. It’s unsurprising when you find Chris awake, lounging on the couch with a book in his hands. He often had a worse time with sleep than you did.
“Nightmare?” he says as you settle into his side, resting your head against his shoulder.
“Mm. Nothing new, it was just… more intense.”
He lifts the woollen blanket off his legs and drapes it over you. “Intense?” he questions.
“He-It… stood right over me. It usually just gets to my door before I wake up but… it walked right up to my bed and just… stood there. It felt like he was going to lunge at me any second… it was—” you cut yourself off as you bury your face in his shoulder, a shiver running up your spine.
“You’re alright,” he soothes. “Promise.”
“I know. I just… I hate sleeping alone.”
Minho chooses that moment to stumble into the room, fluffy socks sliding along the floorboards as he runs his fingers through his hair. He collapses onto the couch beside you seconds later, dropping his head into your lap as he stretches out as much as he can along the cushions.
Chris huffs out a breathy laugh beside you, draping his arm over your shoulder—book forgotten. “Problem solved,” he says.
“Where’d you go?” Minho mumbles from your lap, eyes closed.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you answer as you brush his hair from his face, the soft brown strands a pleasant occupation for your hands.
A bolt of lightning lights up the room, drowning out the soft glow from the lamp Chris had been using to read. “The storm?” Minho questions as you play with his hair, stroking some of the strands around his temples.
“My dreams,” you correct.
“You don’t have them with me.”
“I know… but the one I had earlier just lingered, I guess.”
All three of you are quiet as rain starts falling, the type of rain that falls heavy with no build up—creating a curtain between you and the world.
“Stop sleeping alone, then,” Minho says. “Just stay with me.”
You take a moment to process his meaning. Then, “Everynight?”
“Mm.”
The corner of your mouth lifts a little. They were so good to you, both of them. “Love you,” you whisper as your fingers brush the shell of his ear.
He says nothing, his upper lip twitching a little.
You told them both as often as you could. You loved them more than anyone on earth. They had to know. It had morphed though, the type of love. That was always how you knew you’d end up loving someone. You had to know them so completely that you were safe, comfortable. Love them as friends, then as lovers.
It was the way Minho would keep one eye on you in public, when he knew you’d get overwhelmed. He always managed to catch onto when you wanted to leave before you’d even had a chance to voice it. He was quiet with his love, softly spoken words of comfort that you’d absorb without moving a muscle. If you moved, he might startle—shrink back into his comfort zone.
Chris’ attention was a little different. Rambling words, tripping over himself as he told you about his day. A hand on your back as you made your way through the busy weekend market. While Minho kept his eye on you from a distance, Chris was up close—physical contact and direct questioning.
A clap of thunder rumbles through the sky as Chris detangles himself from you. “Hot chocolate?” he asks.
“Mm, thank you.”
“Minho?” he prompts.
The man in question grunts out something that Chris interprets as a yes. “Three hot chocolates,” he says as he disappears into the kitchen, leaving you with a half asleep man in your lap. You continue playing with his hair as the storm intensifies. You’d always liked storms. They formed a protective barrier from the rest of the world. The air was washed clean, the suffocating heat of summer days was quashed, and no one expected anything from you.
You begin tracing over the tiny scars and imperfections that mark Minho’s face, little traces of evidence from his life before you’d met. It was hard to imagine that you’d ever been without him. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it.
“Do you really not mind if I sleep with you?” you ask, hoping he won’t retract his offer. “You won’t get sick of me?”
His eyes flutter open, long dark lashes visible even in the dim light. “I like it,” he says simply. I love you, you hear.
—
It’s an easy routine to fall into. Your room becomes a glorified closet as you spend each night in Minho’s instead. He even puts up with your pillow talk, and on nights where he’s particularly energetic, he offers a few thoughtful comments in addition to his hums of acknowledgement.
The feeling of the mattress dipping as someone sinks into the bed behind you wakes you. It’s the smell of his shampoo that tells you it’s Chris that wraps around you. “You awake?” he whispers.
“Mm, couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” he confirms.
Minho makes a small noise before draping his leg over you, smacking his lips before stilling again. You’re completely enveloped now, two warm bodies sheltering you from the darkness. Chris didn’t join you often. You’d spent a few nights with your back to the dark room wishing he would. Minho’s bed was centred in the room. You preferred having yours pushed against the wall. It felt safer.
Chris makes a small contended noise as he presses up behind you.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispers after a moment, breath ghosting over your neck. “You bent over the counter… your thighs…” It takes you off guard. You know what he’s talking about, despite it being weeks ago that he caught you in Minho’s shirt. You find yourself unable to breathe, heart thumping so loud you're sure he must hear it. “It’s wrong—dirty to think about you that way,” he continues. “I know. I know I shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
A pause. “What?”
“Why is it wrong?”
He’s quiet. Then, “Because you don’t want it.”
“How do you know?”
His hand rests at your hip, a comforting hold. He’s quiet as you reach down to take his hand in yours and guide it up to your lips. You press a kiss to the side of his hand, just below his thumb. A slow kiss, one you hope conveys all the meaning you intend it to.
When you release him, he doesn’t move. Not apart from brushing his thumb over your lips. He can’t see at all what he’s doing, still behind you in the dark room. He goes by feel, playing with your lower lip until—with a tiny amount of pressure—he pushes inside. Your lips wrap around him, taking his thumb as he presses it to your tongue.
Then he starts whispering, “I wanted to hold you down, press you into the counter and lift the shirt a little higher.”
You hum around his thumb, wrapping your own fingers around his wrist to hold him there. You’re not dreaming, you’re sure of it. You’re awake and sandwiched between the two people you love most. It’s surreal. This was always the way it would have gone. Chris was always going to be the one to bring you all together, finally.
He continues, “How would you sound?” His breathing is heavier now. “If I fucked you against it? Would you make pretty little noises? Would you say my name?” His thumb moves in and out a little as you suck at it. “I can’t stop thinking about it. How warm are you… how would you suck me in…”
Minho makes a small noise and you both still, waiting to see if he’ll wake.
“Have you ever heard him whine your name?” Chris starts again. His low whispers are a little more hushed now. “He tries not to. He tries so hard. He usually does it in the shower, when he knows you aren’t home.”
Your grip tightens on his wrist.
Chris continues, “You know how he is: he’s shy.” Warm lips to your neck, a firm press. “He wants you though.” His nose brushes the skin behind your ear as he nuzzles a little further into you. Then he laughs, quiet and breathy. “He was so casual when he said you should sleep here, like he doesn’t wrap his hand around his cock and imagine he was brave enough to fuck you into the mattress.”
You pull your lips from his thumb, leaving it wet. “Are you—Are you sure?” you whisper, attempting to turn your head to face him. His hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place and preventing you from turning.
“I’d never lie to you, baby.” His fingers are gentle at your neck, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “I love you.” It’s surreal hearing those words in such a new context. Whispered into your neck as his wet thumb traces patterns against your throat. “Should we wake him up? We’ll have to be gentle,” he murmurs into your hair. “Don’t want him to startle.”
“Chris?” It’s almost a whine.
“Mm?” he hums, hips pressed right up against you now.
“Love you too.”
His fingers press slightly into your neck as he adjusts himself behind you. “Mm, I know.” Then his hand drops from your neck, across your hips, to your lower back. He pushes you a little, moving you across the mattress towards Minho. He still has one leg draped over yours. “Make sure he does. I’m not sure if he knows the same way I do.” He nudges you a little more. “Go on.”
Minho’s lips are parted. You reach to brush his plush upper lip with the tips of your fingers. Then, with far too much gentleness for someone trying to wake a person, you snake your hand around the back of his neck and into his hair. “Min,” you call gently as your fingers caress his scalp. “Minho.”
You watch his brows furrow as he stirs. Then his eyes flutter open. His lashes were visible even in the dim light. As you watch them flutter you’re reminded of a morning you’d awoken to find him half draped over you, his face buried in your neck. As his eyes had blinked open only minutes later, you’d felt them—his lashes tickling your neck like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
“Mm?” he hums now, still blinking himself awake.
“I love you.”
He frowns, then grumbles something under his breath before rolling over away from you. You suspect he doesn’t understand how you mean it, that you don’t mean it exactly the way you always do. Another tactic then.
“Do you think about me in the shower?”
You feel the bed dip a little, Chris moving behind you. A tiny muffled noise follows. He was laughing into your pillow.
Minho is still.
You attempt to repeat yourself, “I said do you—”
“I heard,” Minho says, still facing away from you. His voice is rough from sleep. “What is he doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” the man in question answers from behind you. “Was kept awake by thoughts of bending our girl over the kitchen counter.”
Our girl. Our girl. Our—
Minho sits up. So quickly it startles you.
“Are you gonna answer her question?” Chris prods.
Minho rubs at his eyes as he turns to face you. You sit up, partly just so you can reach up and smooth down a tuft of stubborn hair that sticks out from his temple. He licks his lips. “What’s happening?” he mumbles.
“I love you,” you repeat. He looks at you now, in that way that clearly betrays the cogs are turning. You press your lips together in poorly suppressed fondness as he processes.
“You… love me?” he says finally.
You press a kiss to his cheek in answer, an innocent peck.
“Answer the question,” Chris says from his reclined position on your pillows, clearly enjoying the show. You don’t turn to him, but you can picture the grin on his face clear as day.
Minho blinks. You decide to help him a little, “In the shower?”
His eyes drop, breaking eye contact.
“I have too,” you offer. “I’ve thought about you.” His eyes are back on yours. You’re half tempted to call a pause so you can flick a light on. The darkness is stealing the depth of his brown eyes from you. “I only ever think about either of you—both of you sometimes. I felt a little guilty… I-I didn’t want you to—”
“Both… of us?” he interrupts.
You can only nod. What do you say to that?
Then he’s looking over your shoulder, engaging in a silent exchange with Chris. They did this often. You wonder if they’re able to communicate without words because they were merely remembering conversations they had when you weren’t around. Had they had a conversation about you? About this?
An arm snakes around your waist. Chris drops a soft kiss to your neck, pressing himself so close behind you you’re practically enveloped by him. Safe. Minho reaches towards you, it’s hesitant and you hold your breath as his fingers brush your cheek. Don’t startle him.
“Me more though, mm?” he asks with a small tilt of his head and a lopsided smirk.
Chris rocks you to the side a little as he laughs, detaching Minho’s palm from your cheek. That’s the way he was: Minho. Layers of wit and charm blanketing a soft interior. You don’t give me a chance to retreat any further, falling forward out of Chris’ arms and forcing Minho to catch you in his own. He helps you settle in his lap, lifting you a little as you rearrange your limbs.
“This doesn’t mean I wanna share with anyone else,” you start as you brush the hair from his face. “Just us, yeah?”
He nods. His eyes flick over your shoulder and then drop to your lips. “Just us,” he agrees. Then his lips are brushing yours, teasing just like his words so often are. You pull him to you properly by the back of his neck, his grown out hair offering you plenty of leverage to hold him where you need. He lets you take from him, lets you guide him. Teasing… and then giving. That’s the way he was.
Chris settles himself behind you. He litters your neck with kisses as you squirm a little in Minho’s lap, attempting to have more, more, more. Your arms are practically wrapped around his head as you lift a little on your knees, grasping at his hair until Chris is pulling you off him. You take in the way you’ve left Minho as you’re tugged back against the other man. His hair is a mess, lips wet and slightly parted as he catches his breath. You’re tempted to reach out and grab at him like a baby reaching for candy.
But then you’re distracted, tipped onto your side and pulled tight against a solid torso. “There’s no rush,” Chris says with a breathy laugh. “He’s not leaving.” You meet Minho’s eyes as Chris returns his thumb to your mouth. “There you go,” he encourages. “Good girl.”
Your breathing settles back into a normal rhythm. He was right. You’d been frantic, desperate. If you rush it’d be over—the last thing you want. You can’t help rolling your hips a little though, not when Minho is looking at you the way he is, watching as you suckle on Chris’ thumb. They were yours. Take your time.
You reach for Chris’ wrist, wrapping your fingers around it as Minho lays his head on his pillow. Chris rolls his hips into you as you pull his finger from your mouth, slowly, right to the tip. He presses his finger back in before you have a chance to do it yourself. You tug him free of your lips. “I thought there was no rush?” you whisper.
His lips ghost over your earlobe as he speaks, “Am I being greedy?”
“You stole her,” Minho answers before you can.
“I saved you,” Chris argues before pressing his lips behind your ear. “She was devouring you.”
“Maybe I wanted to be devoured.”
You reach for Minho’s hand and bring his finger to your lips, pressing a kiss to his fingertip. Chris resumes his grinding as you slip Minho’s finger into your mouth. Devour. It feels like an appropriate description as you lay there sucking on his finger with Chris leaving messy kisses at your neck. “What would you like?” he mutters between kisses. “Tell me what you want.”
It’s a loaded question. You decide to answer as simply as you can, distracted by the way Minho watches you suck on his finger. He licks his lips as you pull him from your mouth. “Fuck me like this. Just like this. Surrounding me.”
“Surrounding you?” Chan questions, his hand at your stomach holding you firm against him.
“Mm. Feels safe.. I-I like being between you.”
He presses his face into the hair behind your ear. “You’re safe, baby.” His hand slips into the waistband of your shorts. “Always.”
Minho shuffles a little closer to you, close enough that he can replace his finger with his lips. You go practically limp as they each prepare you—Chris with his fingers playing with your cunt, and Minho with his tongue in your mouth and his hand up your shirt. Surrounded. It’s so easy to lose yourself like this, to roll your hips and grasp at Minho’s hair, to forget about any shame as you let small whimpers escape into his mouth. Chris is playing, it’s the perfect word to describe the way his fingers prod and swipe at your cunt. He must feel how you drip for him, how his fingers slip easily through your folds, but you’re alone with the desperate pulse—the emptiness that begs to be filled with a dull throb.
Minho makes a small noise as you tug a little too hard at his hair. He squeezes your breast in his hand as punishment, his palm warm and perfectly sized to hold you. “Are you getting desperate again?” Chris mumbles into your neck. “Be gentle with him, baby.”
You whimper a little, nipping at Minho’s lip in defiance. He pulls back a little and a flood of anxiety floods into your chest at the thought he might be leaving, that you’d pushed it too far. But then he’s shuffling down the bed and lifting your shirt up, tugging the fabric up above your tits. He stays there, his breath warm against your nipples as his fingers trace patterns across your skin.
“Listen,” Chris whispers. His fingers speed up without warning, strumming at your entrance—too low to brush your clit. His goal is clear when the wet sounds of your slick fill the room, his fingers stopping their rapid strumming to prod at your hole every few seconds. You should be embarrassed, you would be in any other situation. But not here. Not with them.
You feel Minho’s whispered, “Fuck.” His breath is hot before he latches onto your breast. It’s a wonderful distraction as your shorts and underwear are tugged down your legs and discarded, as Chris aligns himself behind you and slips his cock between your legs. The tip brushes your click as he grinds into you like this. Minho’s head is perfectly placed to entangle your fingers in his hair and hold him to your chest as he continues sucking at you.
It should be overwhelming. It’s all new and so much, so, so much. But it isn’t. You’re home. You’re surrounded. You’re with them. You practically float as you’re pressed between them, as they consume you.
You’re grateful Minho insists on sleeping with the air conditioning going, now more than ever. Heat surrounds you. Minho’s hot mouth at your breast. Chris’ cock hot between your legs and his warm chest pressed to your back. Heat.
“Do you want me now?” Chan says, voice a little strained. His cock nudges your entrance, tip prodding and retreating over and over. “You want me to fuck you into Minho, hm?”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”
His teeth graze your skin as he pushes in, the ghost of a bite—followed by a low moan. You cling to Minho as you’re filled, holding him to your chest as his tongue laves at you—devouring.
You squeak as Chris pulls out and fucks back in suddenly, shoving you slightly up the bed. Minho makes a small sound before reattaching himself, determined not to be disturbed. Chris is a little gentler after that, deep and slow rolls of his hips that have you pressing into Minho each time. Eventually he detaches from you and moves up the bed. You expect him to kiss you. Instead he keeps just fair enough away that you can’t lean forward and capture his lips. He watches your face, traces his eyes across your features as Chris fucks you from behind.
You should feel exposed. But you don’t. You always liked when his eyes were on you. He reaches to lift some hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as Chris fucks into you. Then he leans in, so close his lips brush yours. Each thrust of Chris’ hips bring you tantalisingly close to joining. Teasing and giving, that was Minho. You wait for him to give. It only takes a minute or so longer. Then he’s pressing right up against you, practically crushing you between their two bodies as he bites into your shoulder.
You cum with Chris’ fingers on your clit and Minho’s teeth on your neck.
“Do you want my cum?” Chris groans. “I’ll make you all messy for him. Do you want that? He can fuck it back inside you for me.”
All you can do is nod, a weak noise accompanying it. Minho’s lips are on yours a second later, wet and messy as you let him take what he needs. He swallows the whimper you release as Chris shoves into you one last time and releases inside you. You’re surrounded by heat, pressed between them tightly.
Chris grinds into you again for a moment, panting into your neck as you lay full of him. “Love you,” he murmurs finally.
Minho leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. “Okay?” he asks. Your fingers massage his scalp a little as you hum in response.
“Need you though.”
“Now?”
“Mm. Now… in the morning… tomorrow night too.”
He smiles, lopsided and satisfied. “Why?”
“Love you.”
He drapes a leg over you as Chris slips from behind you and disappears into the bathroom. “Sorry?” Minho questions with a smirk. “Couldn’t hear you.”
You tug at his hair. “Don’t be a brat.”
He rolls you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress. “I do think about you,” he says, voice taking on a softer tone. He switched like that often, letting his walls down without warning. “Not just… not just in the shower. I think about you when I’m at work… when something happens and I’m stressed or—” he pauses, lowering himself onto his elbows. “I think about you a lot.”
“About fucking me?”
His nose scrunches as he drops his eyes. “Not just that. Just… in lots of ways.”
“I love you too.”
He drops his face to your neck as Chris reenters the room. You roll Minho back onto his side, allowing Chris to resume his position behind you—how you liked it.
It’s a little slower when Minho presses his body to yours and fills you. Less frenzied than Chris had been. He grinds his cock deep, pressing you into Chris’ chest. You silently curse the years you’d spent in your own bed, all the nights you could have been pressed between them like this. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it. If you’d known how it felt to be sandwiched between them, to be full of one’s cum as the other fucks it deep inside—
“How does she feel?” Chris asks as his fingers wrap around your throat, a gentle cradle.
Minho groans in response, reaching to your hip to give him leverage as he sheathes himself right to the hilt. You forget to breathe as he speaks, “Hot… Hot and dripping, fucking sloppy.” Your breath is forced back into your lungs as he suddenly pulls out and fucks back in. “Listen.” He jostles you into Chris as he speeds up, filling the room with the wet sound of his cock fucking the cum into your already wet cunt. He was shy. He was your shy best friend and he was demonstrating how wet you were to the man pressed to your back.
You latch onto his neck, forcing him to slow as you press your teeth into his skin. His hips stutter a little before he resumes, a scattered pattern much less controlled than the one he’d started with. You lick at the bite mark when you’re done. “You’re so good,” you whisper. “You’re mine.”
When he cums it’s with a gasp of your name. You imagine it’s how he sounded in the shower, how he’d sounded all the times he’d thought of you. Had he ever thought of you like that a few hours before you’d crept into his bed to seek comfort.
Chris reaches over you as Minho catches his breath. “Let me feel,” he whispers before his fingers are on you, playing with your dripping entrance and strumming at your clit until you cum with his hand around your throat.
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