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piichuu · 8 months

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♡ WAKING HIM UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

FEATURES: baji keisuke, chifuyu matsuno, takashi mitsuya, ken ryuguji, manjiro sano, shinichiro sano

WARNINGS: mentions of potential murder, a knife, messy writing fluff, gn!reader

BAJI KEISUKE

his eyes flutter open and he sits up in bed as soon as he hears the sound of someone moving downstairs. baji looks to his side just to see you aren’t there and even if anyone else’s first thought would be that you’ve just went downstairs to eat something, his first thought is that someone has come to murder you.

he rushes out of bed and grabs a pocket knife that he has by his night stand, just in case someone who he has troubles with would come to try and do something to you. the stairs creak as he walks, but he doesn’t care as his heart is currently beating out of his chest and he has already began to sweat. “i’m gonna have a fucking heart attack,” he mumbles to himself as he enters the kitchen with the knife in hand just to let out a sigh of relief when he sees you making yourself a sandwich by the kitchen counter.

you look up towards him, your eyes widening when noticing the knife he’s holding in his hands, but you soon come to the realization why. “baji, you worry too much. did you really think i was a murderer or something?” you go back to making the sandwich you were dying to eat as you woke up just ten minutes ago, not being able to fall back asleep.

he sighs and puts the knife on the kitchen counter so he can walk towards you, wrapping both of his arms around your waist from behind while hiding his face in your shoulder blade. “how could i not? it’s not often you’re up wandering around at this hour. could you not fall back asleep? you should’ve woken me up then,” he frowns and you smile after hearing him so evidently care about you. “but you were sleeping so peacefully and i didn’t want to wake you.”

you turn around in his arms and place a kiss to his cheek. “i promise, if a murderer would come inside, they wouldn’t be so loud in the kitchen.” “that doesn’t make it better, i want them to be loud so i can hear them,” he speaks and you roll your eyes but wrap your arms around his neck, flashing him a sweet smile. “but there’s no one else but us here, so there’s nothing to worry about.” “i guess, but if i would’ve had a heart attack, you would have had to pay for my medical bills.”

CHIFUYU MATSUNO

some nightmares are worse than others and the worst ones are those when chifuyu is hurt or breaks up with you. it isn’t often you have them, but they seem to suddenly occur after you’ve had a bad day. all the insecurities are getting the best of you, causing those nightmares to ruin your entire night.

your eyes open and you immediately reach for chifuyu who’s laying on his side with his hand on your waist. he is more alive than ever, especially more alive than he was in the dream you just had. “chifuyu?” you whisper his name, needing to hear him respond, just to make sure everything is okay.

he stays asleep, causing the panic to once again take over. you reach for him to touch his face, it’s warm. having you move your fingers across his face slowly but surely makes his eyes flutter open as well. the weak grip he had on your waist now completely loosens as he reaches his hands up to cup your face. “what are you doing, baby? what’s the time?” he asks, looking deep into your eyes through the dark.

“you died,” you mumble, now wrapping your arms around him to stay as close as possible. “you died in my nightmare and i wanted to know you were still alive,” you sniffle, almost in relief as the panic truly got to you. how can a nightmare affect a person in such a way? chifuyu doesn’t know, but he’s aware of how much you worry about him and how he does the same for you.

“i’m alive, baby. i promise, i’m right here,” he smiles softly, pulling you close to his chest before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “don’t cry, it’s okay. it was just a nightmare, i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere,” chifuyu whispers with his lips lingering over your skin and you nod, looking at him with watery eyes before closing them and allowing yourself to relax in the security of his arms. “i’m always gonna be here, i won’t ever leave.”

TAKASHI MITSUYA

it is late into the night and you’re still wide awake. it’s been hours since you first tried to fall asleep. since then you’ve been twisting and turning, causing your boyfriend’s grip around you to loosen. he’s been peacefully asleep since he first closed his eyes and at first, you thought you’d fall into deep slumber just by being in his arms, just like you always do, but tonight is different.

the entire day has been stressful due to the amounts of work and stress you’ve had to go through. it still seems like you haven’t fully calmed down which is the reason as to why you still can’t sleep and relax. usually, you wouldn’t be so selfish, but your last resort is waking mitsuya up, hoping he can help you in some way.

you only have to give him a shake by the shoulder for his eyes to open. he looks at you with half lidded eyes and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you close to his chest. “why are you awake? is it morning already?” he mumbles while pressing a kiss to your cheek. you let out a quiet sigh and shake your head, resting it against his naked chest. “can’t fall asleep.”

he furrows his eyebrows and begins to stroke your hair. “darling, you should’ve woken me up earlier. how long has it been since i fell asleep?” mitsuya brushes his fingers through your hair, his expression growing soft as he keeps looking at you in your tired state. “four hours…” “alright, do you want me to read you a book? maybe that’ll help.”

you nod slightly, not knowing if it will actually help, but at least it’s worth a try. mitsuya reaches for a book that lies on the nightstand and opens it up, starting from the beginning. one hand is holding the book as the other one keeps playing with your hair, making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. his voice is soft and gentle just as his touch.

the book itself isn’t interesting, but simply hearing the sound of your boyfriend’s comforting voice causes your eyes to slowly close and you to doze off. it doesn’t take too long for the sound of snores to fill the room as mitsuya finishes reading the first chapter, smiling at you before leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “sleep well, my love.”

KEN RYUGUJI

after a few hours of sleep, you wake up to your body shivering from the lack of warmth. the blanket that was previously covering both you and the man beside you has now been taken over completely by your boyfriend who’s curled up on his side, facing you so you can see how his face is finally relaxed and not as tense as it so commonly is. you’ll have to break that peacefulness though, as he holds the cover tightly in his arms, not making it easy for you to get it back.

you sigh, sitting up in bed as you begin to poke his cheek with your pointer finger. he groans and turns a little before opening his eyes to look up at you who wants to fall back asleep as soon as possible before it’s too late. “ken, i’m cold. you stole the cover,” you mumble as he begins to slowly wake up. it takes him a few seconds to register your words, but he soon looks down at the cover he’s holding and let’s go of it, allowing you to climb under them so you can become warm again.

“thank you,” you whisper as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck. “stop waking me up at night,” his voice is muffled by your skin, but you roll your eyes when hearing his words. “well, last time you were literally crushing me and now you’re making me freeze to death. i have good reasons to wake you up.”

he hugs you tighter as his eyes once again grow heavy, just like yours as the warmth envelops you once again. “whatever, but you’re making breakfast tomorrow if i can’t fall back asleep,” ken mutters and you giggle, nodding your head before leaning down to kiss his temple. “alright, but if you do fall asleep again, we’ll make breakfast together.” “i guess that’s fine.”

MANJIRO SANO

“mikey” you shake his shoulders lightly as you’re sitting up in bed, having been awake for the last couple of hours as the scenes from the horror movie you two watched has been imprinted on your brain. every time you’ve closed your eyes, the only thing you have been able to see are those terrifying faces.

manjiro sano is a deep sleeper so it takes a good while for you to finally wake him up, and when he eventually does, he looks around in confusion. “hm? don’t wanna wake up yet,” he mumbles while pulling you close to him. “let’s sleep in for longer, i don’t wanna get up.”

you sigh and break free from his grip. “i can’t sleep, mikey,” you admit while looking down at him. for a minute, he looks up at you with a raised brow as he doesn’t seem to understand what the problem might be, but then he chuckles lightly. “did the movie scare you that much, baby? i thought you said you weren’t scared,” he fake pouts and reaches for your hands to intertwine his fingers with yours. “do you need me to protect you? your savior is here!”

he squeezes your hands and you roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you back down so you now lay on top of him. he lets go of one of your hands and puts it in your hair instead, gently brushing through the soft strands. “it’s just those scary people that keep popping up every time i close my eyes,” you mutter and mikey smiles softly.

“well, i’m a good fighter so i’ll protect you if they come here. so even if you see them now when you close your eyes, i can talk to you to make you forget them,” he mumbles and you nod, seeming to enjoy that idea, so you close your eyes and listen to the sound of his calming voice, forcing you to forget those ugly faces that’s been on your mind for hours.

mikey keeps stroking your hair and leans in to kiss your forehead when he notices how you’re barely awake anymore. “no more horror movies from now on, i guess.”

SHINICHIRO SANO

you’re straddling his lap as you poke his cheeks to wake him up from the deep slumber he’s succumbed to. his mouth is slightly open and his hair messy from twisting and turning in his sleep, but he still succeeds to wake up from all your poking. “hm? what’s wrong? are you okay?” he grabs your waist as soon as he wakes up, staring right into your eyes as worry begin to fill them.

“i’m fine shin! i just wanted to ask you something…” you mumble, looking away as your face begins to heat up now that he’s finally awake and you can ask him what you wanted. he is still looking up at you with a hint of worry in his eyes as he rubs your waist with his thumbs. “can i have kisses?” you finally ask and as soon as the question is asked, the corners of your boyfriend’s lip curl up into a grin.

he nods and puts a hand on your back to indicate for you to lay down on him. you quickly do as he asks before he cups your face and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. he doesn’t even question the fact that you woke him up for something you can get in the morning instead, he just allows your lips to mold together as he continues to kiss you for what feels like an eternity, a good eternity.

shinichiro moves from your lips to place kisses to every single part of your face. he smiles to himself when hearing the sounds of your giggles filling the dark room and his lips continue to adventure over the different areas of your face. he spends some extra time by your cheeks to then go back to your nose so he can leave a few kisses on the bridge of it. “i love you,” he mumbles before once again kissing your lips.

you hum and fully relax in his arms as the kisses never seems to stop, but they unfortunately have to so you can catch some air again. your boyfriend wraps his arms around your waist and sighs contently as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. “go back to sleep now or you’ll be tired in the morning,” he whispers while holding you tight. “i’ll give you as many kisses as you want tomorrow.”

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animeshotsh · 2 months

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Control | Various x Overlord!Makima!Reader

Notes: Reader has the same powers as Makima from Chainsaw Man. Im leaving a link here in case you want to read about them in deep detail.

Warnings: HH violence - Cursing - Blood -

When a soul falls down to hell no one takes notice of it. You were lowkey thankful for it, your clothes the same ones as the one you had died were dity with mud and blood. Your white shirt was ruined, your black coat had holes on it.

Thats a magnificent disaster

You never expected you would be stabed in the back by one coworker, and that would be the cause of your death. But your greed was big and so was theirs so you were sure you were going to meet them down here soon.

As impressive as this was you were not under panic, maybe having to watch your back 24/7 when you were alive had helped to it.

In that dark alley you stood considering your choices when a small creature with horns appear, it showed a knife at you and jumped.

You moved your head to the side "is this a demon?" You wondered swiftly avoiding its attack. Then like instinct you raised your arm, your fingers like a gun, pointing at the demon.

"Bam" you whispered and soon the chest of the demon exploted. You looked at your fingers then at the corpse a few meters away a sadistic smile forming.

"I wonder what more I can do"

~☆~☆~☆~☆

In no time you got a name for yourself, The Control Demon. A Demon who could force others to make contracts with them, a demon who could use the power of the demons who they had a contract with.

Manipulation was your middle name. Overlords respected you and some feared you.

~☆~~☆~☆~☆

Carmilla was always wary around you, knowing your power. Her angel weapons were in reach whenever you attended a meeting. She could see behind that fake smile and eyes.

~☆~☆~☆

Zestial was amazed by your power. He knew he was strong and heavens you were stronger. He would start conversations with you only to try and get on your good side.

~☆~☆~☆

Rosie loved you, she knew you could put all the cannibal town against her but that was just amazing in her eyes, not to say, you using other overlord powers was something to enjoy.

Something she got to know was that you could force a sinner to say a name and by moving your hand that one named would explote.

~☆~☆~☆

Alastor was...well he was interested. He wanted to know if you could get him out of his own contact but then again for that he would have to confess that he had a leash on. Something he did not want to do at all.

~☆~☆~☆~

When Charlie first meet you she was...scared. Listening to your name being told and the stories....but she was sure something good was in everybody so of course she opened her hotel doors for you. Even if you were only there to see the place.

~☆~☆~☆

Vaggie straight up hated you. If Alastor was a pest then you were worse. She did not want nothing to do with you. But she also knew she was no competition against you. Specially after seeing your spiral eyes as you moved away her weapon.

"Please, at least learn how to proper use it, angel"

~☆~☆~☆~

Lucifer was charmed!!

Yes the king of hell fell for your sweet words and compliments like a young fella.

"Your majesty its a pleassure to meet the one who rules in here" You said bowing towards the short king who was suprised by your polite self.

You ended showing him the place after Alastor killed the other sinners and told him sweet nothings about hell and him. How you always have wanted to meet him (no). And he ate all up.

That night Lucifer ended on his bed blushing hard thinking about you.

~☆~☆~☆

Vox had tried to follow you only to end with a panic attack as he saw your spiral eyes staring back at him from one monitor.

"Its not polite to spy you know"

And now Vox has nightmares of you.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #vox x reader #carmilla x reader #zestial x reader

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discotitsposts · 9 days

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meant to be

Spencer trying and failing to flirt with you because you are oblivious to his attempts.

spencer reid x reader

i picture this as later seasons spencer maybe sometime around 12-14?

some mature themes mentions of sex at the end so 18+

writing this because i saw something about people who are bad at flirting and that’s literally me. (i hope ppl get the reference w the nickname)

Spencer had tried every day to get your attention romantically. It didn’t work. Nothing did. You were so oblivious to all of his flirting attempts. He figured maybe you had trouble understanding so he worked harder to make you think of him as more than a friend. He tried everything his genius brain could come up with.

He even made up a nickname for you, Bean, because you always had a coffee in your hand, and because he was taller than you.

Today you were getting coffee with him as usual. At your favorite coffee shop and library. You didn’t work at the BAU so you would eventually have to go to your own job so Spencer decided to try again.

Since you lived in the same building, neighbors in the same hall, he picked you up every morning. Drove you to get coffee and you each picked a book for each other and then he drove you to work.

He knocks on your door awaiting anxiously. You come out in your outfit, just a t shirt and jeans. you didn’t have a dress code at your job, you were an author and usually went into a nice office that the publishing company provided to write since you had a hard time focusing in your apartment. Too many distractions.

In Spencer’s car you make small talk as he tries to think of a way to flirt with you. Normally he’d call Morgan but his son was a toddler now so he was busy. He gets so lost in his head he doesn’t realize he just ran a stop sign on accident and almost hit someone.

He hears you yell “Spencer what the fuck!” and slams the brakes. The other car honks and his heart is pounding in his brain. He pulls to the side of the road and stops.

“Spencer. Breathe. It’s ok.” You worry tracing your face at the sight of his extremely fast breathing and you rub his back reassuringly.

“Holy shit.” He barely chokes out. His face is beet red and he looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Switch.” You tell him. He looks at you and feels comforted immediately by your face. “Let’s go, switch.” You get out of the car and switch sides.

‘So much for flirting’ he thinks. Then it hits him. When he picks your book for the day, he’ll give you a romantic story. Something that says ‘I really like you but I’m an idiot so I don’t know how to tell you but i’m not actually an idiot because im technically a genius but my fucked up life has ruined romance for me but i’d love to try it with you if you are okay with that.’

When you take over driving you don’t talk. You just focus on the road. You had even turned the music off. He hopes you’re not upset with him. That thought quickly dissipates when you pull into the parking lot and your face is beaming. You both race to the entrance and he gets there first and opens the door for you. You stick your tongue out at him and he smirks.

You order your usual drinks and he gets himself a breakfast bagel and you get a croissant. He puts the food at a table and you both get up to grab each other a book. You had yours picked since last night, The Godfather. It’s only a little over 400 pages so he’ll probably finish it by lunch time but at least it will be fun for him since it will make him think of you. At least you hope it does.

You have a habit of making funny commentary during movie nights. When you watched ‘The Godfather’ trilogy with Spencer he had laughed so hard he cried.

Meanwhile Spencer is searching rows of books looking for the right one. He moves to poetry but nothing feels right. He feels slightly frustrated so he moves back to classics and picks ‘A Little Princess’ instead. A favorite of yours you had read in elementary school. Not romantic but shows he knows you well.

When he makes his way back to the register to check the book out, you’re already seated munching your croissant. He makes his way to you and hides the book behind his back. You discreetly pull yours out of your bag and hide it the same way.

“1,2,3!” You both count at the same time and then reveal your books. Spencer cracks up when he sees the book you had picked. He had read this before but he enjoyed it because it reminded him of you. You both eat and finish your coffees. You look at each other.

“More?” Spencer asks.

“Obviously.” You answer. You both stand up and order more coffee.

Back in Spencer’s car you open the book and start reading. He’s about to put the key in the ignition when sudden confidence hits him. He doesn’t know if it’s the caffeine but he doesn’t care. He should kiss you right now. He stares at you until you look up.

“You’re going to be late for work if you don’t start that engine up soon Mr. Chauffeur.” You tease him.

He leans closer and puckers his lips slightly. He’s so filled with lust he just can’t wait anymore.

You look at him strangely. Was he trying to kiss you right now? Probably not. Truth was you were always so filled with doubt whenever you liked someone. Especially Spencer. He was just too handsome and sweet and perfect.

He leans in even closer to you and tilts his head. You, however, had gone back to your book and weren’t even looking at him.

“Does this make you uncomfortable” Spencer leans in closer. He closes his eyes and you lean down to reach for something from your bag. He doesn’t feel your soft lips on his and thinks he may have missed your face. He opens his eyes.

“Everything does. I have anxiety Spencer. All the time anywhere day and night. ” You reply while eating a yogurt you had found in your tote.

Spencer pulls away and smacks his forehead. He starts the car and drops you at your work and drives to the BAU feeling defeated. What would it take for you to realize how bad he wants you.

That night he decides to drop by your apartment. You had gotten a ride home from work by a friend tonight. He opens his door and walks the short distance to yours.

When his hand knocks on your door he feels nervous. You open the door and greet him.

“Hi!” You cheer.

“Hey, I was gonna order a pizza. You want?” He lies. He actually wasn’t the biggest fan of pizza. He didn’t eat it too often but it was your favorite food so why not.

“That would be great. I’m starving.” You clutch your belly dramatically. Which makes Spencer laugh.

He picks up the phone, “What would you like on the pizza m’lady.”

You tap your chin and think. “Sausage.” You reply. Spencer thinks of a way to flirt. Kind of.

“How much sausage would you like?” He asks smirking.

“Uhh, 5? I don’t know dude. The normal amount that goes on a pizza?” You answer sarcastically, going to your dvd rack to pick a movie. Spencer sighs. He calls and places the order and helps you pick a movie.

“How about ‘How To Be A Serial Killer?’ That’s a good one. I love Matthew Gray Gubler in this one so much.” You fan girl a little.

“Who the fuck is Matthew Gray Gubler? Also, no, not with my line of work. I need a break from that.” Spencer asks with a hint of jealousy in his voice. You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically.

“Ok, fine. how about a Disney Classic? Sleeping Beauty is my favorite.” You ask. Spencer nods. You put the movie on and grab two root beers from your fridge. Spencer thanks you when you hand him one and you lay a big fluffy blanket over you both. Not far into the movie the pizza arrives and you cheers Spencer with your pizza slice.

After you both eat and are full the movie is still on. You’re starting to feel sleepier by the second. Spencer offers you to lay with him and you take him up on it. He’s basically a giant teddy bear. He’s so warm and comfortable.

“I’ve got a real life sleeping beauty right here.” He whispers to you. You smile with your eyes closed. Too sleepy to open. He gets out from under you, to your dismay. He cleans up the trash from eating. He even washes some dishes you had left sitting. When he comes back, you’re still half awake. He sees you sneak an eye open to look at him and your smile after.

“It seems there’s a fair maiden who has fallen asleep. However can we wake her? What if she sleeps for a hundred years?!” He exclaims. You start giggling softly. He leans closer to observe you.

“I don’t believe it! She’s laughing in her sleep! Must be quite a funny dream. Wonder what it is. Only one way to find out.” He gently leans down and kisses your lips softly. This action puts you in shock and you’re blushing. He starts to pull away because doubts fill his mind. You grab his hair and pull him back in.

You both pull back and he starts to ask you,

“Were you ok with that?”

You cut him off, “Yes.” Then you rip your shirt off. Spencer’s in shock. He follows your lead and starts undressing. He picks you up and carries you to your bedroom. The kiss you’re sharing is deepening by the second.

“Fuck why is it so hot in here.” You complain.

“I can think of a few reasons.” Spencer had been kissing you on your neck sucking the skin softly. He lays you back on the bed. He makes you comfortable. He goes down on you and then fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before.

The next morning you woke up naked next to him flashes of last night replaying. You couldn’t believe it. Spencer was so passionate! You didn’t even imagine he liked you like that.

He groans next to you and turns over. You get up and put on some coffee. When you come back into the bedroom he’s awake and looking for you.

“Hey, coffee’s ready.” You lean over and kiss him. He groans too tired to give an answer. He pulls you into the bed and holds you longer.

With him, this felt so easy and realistic.

Then you realize something.

This was meant to be.

the end ♡

to anyone who read this far: hope u enjoyed reading!! please let me know if u enjoyed! xoxo

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #matthewgraygubler #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid

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cherriesformatt · 2 months

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finding out || matt sturniolo part 1

matt x fem!reader

summary: you have a pregnancy scare and you take few tests while your boyfriend is working completely clueless

warnings: angst, fluff, pregnancy, nearly panic attack, lots of emotions

word count: 966

a/n: thanks for reading! I was thinking if you like it maybe I could make another part :) also I only proofread it once so I hope there isn’t many mistakes!

🍒

Matt, Chris and Nick were upstairs filming a new podcast episode. I was over at their house since Friday. That would make four days. I was feeling under the weather those past days and Matt told me to stay with them in case I would get sick and needed some help. The thing was I did not have a fever or sore throat. I was just feeling like crap and I was constantly annoyed.

Yesterday I snapped at Chris for basically nothing. He was just leaning on the counter opening his drink while I was making dinner for all of us. I yelled at him to start drinking water or else he would have kidney stones and told him to get out of my way.

"Bro are you on your period or what?" He asked putting his hands up for defense.

The thing was - I wasn't. That's what I relised after his comment.

Whole night I was stressing out and that was all I was thinking about. No period, feeling like crap, feeling sick and tired. I didn’t get any sleep that night.

The moment they told me they are going to film I knew I had like two hours to myself. I ordered door dash from CVS to the house and I impatiently waited for it to be delivered. I ruined my new gel nails by constantly picking on them from the stress and overthinking.

I got a notification from my phone that my order is here. I run downstairs to the front door to get it. I got my bag and closed the doors back. I went downstairs to Chris's bathroom to be as far from them as I could.

"Fuck" I said to myself putting four different pregnancy tests on the counter.

"Okay I can do this, right?" I looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked like a scare crow honestly. I didn't have any make up on, my hair wasn't fresh and I wore oversized set of fresh love that I found in Matt’s closet because I did not feel comfortable in my own clothes.

I released I forgot a cup so I ran back upstairs for a plastic cup and went back down.

I did what I had to do and put all of the tests into the cup and then I closed them and put them in one line back on the counter.

I cleaned up the cup and I realized I am shaking and tears are streaming down my face.

Because what are we going to do? Matt is not even 21 yet, making his dreams come true with his brothers and in peak of their career. I am constantly working and don't even always have great decisions for myself let alone to rise a decent human. I am great with kids, he is great with kids, but we do not even talked about this like ever. What the fuck, he is living here with his brothers, there is no place for a baby here.

"I can’t, I can’t do this" I stormed out of the bathroom and run upstairs.

Next thing I know is that everyone is staring at me while I froze on the top of the stairs in the middle of the podcast studio. I must have looked like a disaster because Nick stood up to hold my arm as I almost collapsed back down.

"wow wow... easy. Y/n what happend? What's wrong?" Nick holds me while I look into Matt's cancerned eyes as he stands up to take me from Nick’s arms.

"Matt..Matt I need you to come with me downstairs" I said.

My voice was shaky and my breath unsteady.

"Honey..." Matt stroked my back gently.

His brothers did not know what to say or do so they just gave us some space. I was glad this whole thing wasn't live out here because I knew I did put quite a show for the cameras.

He helped me walk down the stairs and while we were in the kitchen I pulled his arm to walk to the lower floor.

"What's wrong baby?" He asked me while we stopped by the bathroom doors.

I knew the tests were ready to look at and check. But I was too scared to look at them alone.

"Matt... just promised you won't be mad at me?" I looked at him and I do not even know why I asked him. I already knew he would not be mad at me. He was the best person I know.

"Whatever it is honey I would never be mad at you... I think I might know what is this about" He pushed my hair out of my face and kissed my temple. Of course he knew, he always does. He could read me like an open book.

"O-okay..." I took a deep breath, opened the door and pointed at the counter.

Matt bit his lip and took a deep breath as well.

"I just couldn't do it Matt... I need you to check them" I said and took a seat on the closed toilet.

Matt took all of them and just looked once but I already knew judging by his eyes. He put them back down and kneeled beside me.

"I want you to know that whatever you decide...I will be there y/n." He hugged me tight to his body.

"I love you so much... I am fucking scared shitless right now but as long as it is with you I know we can do this" He whispered in my neck.

I closed my eyes and just cried. I just wasn't ready of all of this. But in the same time I thought that this might be my missing piece.

In the world of boys he's a gentleman.

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt x reader #sturniolo fanfic

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thecreelhouse · 2 months

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⌞ it felt like love & drugs ⌝

Paring: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 7.2k

Summary: After Steve helps you relax when your vibrator died, you want to return the favor, but it escalates, fast. // This is part 2 of it’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend ! part 3 - crystal clear 🥰

CW/Tags: language, roommates/FWB, Steve and reader getting stoned together, panic attacks, taunting/teasing banter, smut (duh), switch!steve/switch!reader, oral sex (m & f receiving), PiV rough/unprotected sex, light voyeurism/exhibitionism, ruined orgasm/denial, overstim, fluff

A/N: this was supposed to be sub!steve, I swear, but whoops. my hand slipped. hope y’all enjoy ♡ title is from love & drugs - the maine

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When Steve offered to help you … “relax”, after your vibrator died at the end of a horrid day, you thought you were dreaming. That was two weeks ago, and you’ve been a wreck ever since.

Yes, you were counting the days.

It was all you could think about, and you were silently hoping another opportunity would appear to return the favor to him, but no time felt right enough to bring it back up.

Despite Steve saying it wouldn’t make things weird, it did make things weird, for you. It was relatively easy to shrug it off on the outside, but you were losing it internally. On the other hand, he seemed fine, like nothing ever happened. Like he never went down on his best friend in the middle of the kitchen.

The sweet pet names he used casually weren’t helping much, either.

“Hey, babe, how was your day?”

“What movie do you wanna watch next, sweetheart?”

“I grabbed the big pack of batteries, just to be safe. They’re all yours, honey.”

That last one had to be intentional.

It was beginning to drive you insane, and the tension was building enough to slowly bubble over. You’d only be able to keep this to yourself for so much longer before blurting to Steve some filthy comment about going down on him.

Self doubt settled in; maybe he didn’t want what you offered last time. Maybe Steve was just being polite. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. He was just being a good friend, helping you in the heat of the moment.

Let it go. Just forget it. Don’t bother him with the idea.

So, you do. At least, as best as you can. Steve’s still on your mind when you play with yourself, quietly in your room. It’s obviously not as good as what he did with you, but you can’t just ask for him to eat you out again, just because. Choking on him is the first thought while you push your fingers into your own mouth.

Even when you’re not getting yourself off, you’ve had some moments of weakness where the thought crosses your mind while you have a lollipop in your mouth, or a popsicle. Licking ice cream off the spoon. None of it compares to what the real thing would be, but the concept of pleasuring your friend, your roommate, with your mouth, is becoming an unhealthy obsession.

On a rare night the two of you have off the next day, it’s spent getting stoned out of your mind with Steve.

It’s happened before, enough to be familiar with one another as you zone out, laugh at stupid shit, and raid the kitchen together. Tonight, though, you notice Steve’s not his usual relaxed, goofy self when high. He’s jittery. He’s quiet. He’s anxious, and you’re watching his weed-fueled spiraling unfold in real time.

You’ve only seen this happen once before, but it happened in a group of your friends; Robin was able to distract him, roping Steve into a nonsensical discussion of which female character from all of the movies released that year was the hottest. That worked, of course.

Except now, you’re alone with him, and scrambling to find the right words to keep him calm.

While you lay on the couch, he leans back onto it from the floor. You tried to get him to sit on the couch, but he insisted the floor was comfier.

Then, the spiraling starts, but it’s subtle. He kicks it off with the strange question of, “If both of us are single by our thirties, you wanna get married?” He seems okay, at first. Odd thing to ask, but he’s asked much weirder questions while high.

You choke on the hit you’re taking, coughing roughly as the smoke hangs in your lungs far too long. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah… like, you’re not afraid you’ll die alone?” He reaches for the pipe and lighter in your hands, but you pull it back.

Brows knitting together in confusion and a bit of concern, you ask, “Steve, where the hell is this coming from?”

“What if I’m dying?” He sputters, shoulders slumping before he continues. “What if we’re both dying? And what if we both die alone? That’s so… sad.”

You purse your lips before responding, “I mean… don’t we all come into this world alone? And then we leave alone? Everyone does, right?”

Steve groans, hands reaching up to snake his fingers through his hair, except he tugs on his locks halfway through as his eyes squeeze shut. “Don’t say that.”

“M’sorry, you wanna talk about something else?” He shakes his head as his hands fall back to his sides, head falling back against the couch cushion.

“Wanna not be high anymore,” He murmurs, looking over at you with a desperate, needy stare. “Make it stop.”

“Stevie, you’re okay, I promise. We both are.” This would almost be comical if he wasn’t slipping closer and closer to tears. You slide off the couch onto the floor next to him, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. “Maybe you should drink some water. When’s the last time you had any?”

Steve sticks his tongue out to pinch it, and feel if it’s dry or not. It takes everything in you not to start giggling. He lets go for a moment to answer, trying to joke, “Eight years, at least.” He turns to you with a frown, eyes red and hooded. “Do we have some?”

That, unfortunately, lets a laugh slip from your lips. “Steve, we live here, and last I checked, we paid the water bill. We have running water.”

“Stop laughing,” He pouts, pulling his knees to his chest before resting his head on them, face still turned towards you.

“M’sorry, honey,” The pet name slips easily, more than your laughter moments ago, catching Steve off guard as he blushes. “I’ll get you some, okay? Hang tight.” You set the pipe on the coffee table, out of his reach, but he doesn’t seem interested in the slightest anyway.

As you push yourself to stand, Steve reaches out and grabs your ankle, still pouting. It’d be cuter if he wasn’t panicking, but he’s got something weighing heavy on his mind, and you can tell through how sad his eyes look. “Are you leaving?”

“Gimme like… one minute, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

Steve sits up, readying himself to stand, but he moves an inch before falling back against the couch. He looks up in your direction, “I wanna come with you.”

“Stevie, just stay put, I don’t need you breaking your neck or something.”

“Breaking my ‎what?” Panic floods his face and you realize you said the wrong thing. You crouch back down to him, gently taking his face in your hands, trying your best to ignore how warm he feels.

“One minute. You’re fine. You’re safe. Give me one minute.” You run into the kitchen before he can grab for you again, sobering up a bit with a mission in mind.

When you fill two glasses of water, one for each of you, but you’re sure he’ll need both, you stop at the freezer before calling out. “Hey, I’m grabbing a popsicle, want one?”

Steve’s head pokes up from the other side of the couch, only past his eyes, though. You giggle at the sight. “Uh-huh,” is all he can manage to respond with.

You return with each hand holding a popsicle and glass of water, sitting back in the spot you previously had. Steve wastes no time downing not only his glass, but yours, too, as expected.

“That was yours, wasn’t it?” Steve bashfully asks, only feeling guilty for a moment before unwrapping his popsicle. “We should get, like…. Twenty more of these.”

You’re glad to see he’s already distracted, thoughts wandering away from anxiety about death, and into something mundane. Hopefully it continues.

“Twenty more popsicles?”

“No, no, boxes of popsicles. So like…. A lot.”

Laughing, you ask, “Where do we have the freezer space for twenty boxes?!”

Steve glances over to the fridge, then to you, eyes narrowing, “I’ll make it work.” You’re sucking on the tip of your popsicle when Steve looks back at you, still glancing at the freezer while your lips make a subtle smooch noise as you pull off to laugh.

Steve’s frozen in place, gaze glued to your mouth as your tongue slips out to lick along the side of the popsicle, then puckering around the tip again, before taking more of it into your mouth.

You’re not even trying to rile him up, but Steve’s definitely distracted from his panic attack now, watching you satisfy your oral fixation with the red ice. As you turn back to him, melted cherry juice drips from your lips, onto your hand holding the popsicle, and some on your chest. Your eyes land on the bright red droplets first, missing his reaction to all of this.

“Shit, I hate getting sticky.” Truly, you’re innocent right now. Not a dirty thought in your mind that’s pushing you to act this way, or to say what you just said. “I should get a napk— ” Your words dissolve on your lips as Steve’s motions play out; he grabs your wrist, his tongue lapping along your fingers, slowly trailing to the source in your grip.

Even for Steve, this is bold, high or not.

“O- or that works too, I guess,” You breathe, eyes locked with his as he pulls back, grip still on your wrist. Trying to break the tension, you joke, “You’re somethin’ else when you’re high, y’know that?”

“You’re the one always trying to keep your mouth busy.” Your eyes widen, dropping the popsicle remnants onto the wrapper on the table. He smirks, “What, you think I didn’t notice?”

Pausing before you retort, you notice the pipe was moved from where you set it on the coffee table. “Where’s the— Jesus, Steve, please tell me you didn’t smoke again.”

Steve giggles with a shrug. “I dunno nothin’.” As he puts his hands up, you see it in his palm.

“Oh my g— Steve, you were just panicking! You’re done, okay?” Grabbing the pipe from his hands, you glare at him. “I’m finishing this bowl off and then we’re both done. Got it?”

While you inhale, he moves over to you, grabbing you by the chin as his lips hover over yours. The close proximity makes you nervous, dizzy, almost exhaling too early as he gravelly demands, “Shotgun.” You shake your head as best as possible with his grip still on your face, lungs burning while you still hold your breath.

So he waits, like the conniving asshole he is, watching your eyes water with a wicked smirk. “C’mon, give it t’me.” His other hand slides up your thigh, fingers inching closer to where you want him most. It doesn’t take much, just a feathered touch of one finger, slowly dragging up your clothed core, and you’re a goner.

You exhale with a whine, trying your hardest not to cough in Steve’s face as his lips part to take the smoke in. When he releases you, you’re turning your face away to cough wildly, eyes watering even more. Catching your breath, you glare at him with glossy, red eyes, while wiping away the excess spit on your lips with the back of your hand.

“What the fuck is your problem, Harrington?” You rasp, chest still burning, from the smoke or annoyance, you’re not sure.

Exhaling secondhand smoke, he smirks again, “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Steve is infuriating like this, getting under your skin, slamming all the right buttons, and beneath it all, you love it.

Yet, you warn him, “Steve, you’re pushing it.” He’s not. He knows that, and you know that, but you’re both too high for this right now. Whatever… this is. “And you’re gonna be really high any minute now, a- and…”

He’s got his hand back on your thigh, leaning in towards you, close enough to kiss you. “We shouldn’t… we’re both… we…” Your warnings fade out as your arms wrap around his neck, contrasting with your words. “Steve, this isn’t a good idea.”

Steve grabs you quickly, helping you straddle his lap. It takes a couple seconds for your mind to catch up with the rest of your body. His hands grip your waist as he flexes his hips up into you, ever so slightly. You gasp as you feel him, already hard beneath you.

He rolls himself up into your core, brushing against your clit ever so softly. “No? Why not?” You bite back a moan, shoving your hands onto his thighs to try holding him down.

“I- I mean, it is, but we shouldn’t do this now, right?” You’re trying to be the voice of reason, but you’re losing, fast. How are you supposed to resist this when you’ve been thinking about even just touching Steve for weeks. “You- were you this hard the whole time?”

He loses his filter easily when he’s stoned, so he blurts, “Uh-huh, pretty much every time I looked at you the last two weeks.” Pushing his hips up, your efforts of holding him down were useless while he grinds against you again. This time, his head falls back onto the couch, eyelids weighed down with desire as he watches you give in, grinding down onto him.

“Oh m- my god, so that’s why you kept hiding in your room, huh?” You smirk at the thought of flustering him so much, he has to resort to jerking off at the most inconvenient times. “What were you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

Steve’s tugging at your shirt, sinking deeper into his high, “Off. Now.”

“No, I asked you a question, honey.” You purr, kissing along his jawline. His breath hitches at the touch. “What do you think about when you’re worked up over me?”

Steve whines, hands exploring under your shirt, and you’re too far gone to order him to keep his hands to himself. “You.” Is all he can bring himself to say as he feels you nip along his neck, soothing the love bites with wet, open mouthed kisses. “Baby, please…”

“That answers nothing, Stevie. Lemme rephrase my question,” You pull back, hands on his face, stomach flipping over the way he stares back at you, desperate and needy with shallow breaths already. “What do you imagine us doing when you fuck your fist? What do you want me to do?”

He tries to throw his head back while squirming underneath you, but you keep him in place, and he whines, louder this time. “Dunno where to start,” He breathes, pouting at you in a cute yet pathetic way.

“I might know… What’s off limits?” You ask just as he asked you two weeks ago. He swallows sharply, shaking his head.

“N- nothing.”

“You’ll tell me if something changes though, right? Or if you don’t like something?”

Steve’s nodding enthusiastically, “Yeah, uh-huh. Nothing’s off limits with you.”

You do your best to ignore the way heat blooms throughout your body from that.

“Can you get up? Y’need help?” You slide off of him, watching as he tries his hardest to hide another pout at the loss of your body on his. You nod towards the couch behind him, “Want you up here, s’that okay?”

Without a verbal answer, Steve scrambles clumsily onto the couch, eyes growing wide as you stay on the floor and push his legs apart. You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from to take the lead, but you kind of like watching Steve become submissive.

“M’dizzy,” He murmurs, hands at his sides, gripping the couch’s fluff while looking pained.

“You okay? We can stop, honey, it’s okay. What do you need?”

Like you anticipated, he whimpers, “Too high,” with a frown. You sigh, head falling forward and resting on his thigh, not really thinking much about the placement; he tenses up when he realizes how close you are to where he needs you the most.

“Stevie, I told you this was gonna happen,” You say this softly, not wanting to freak him out more.

“I know, I- I got nervous,” He admits, panting from panic building. “You’re killin’ me the last two weeks, wanna touch you and hear those cute noises you make again…” Running his hands through his hair, he twists his eyes shut as he continues to ramble, “and I just- I thought maybe getting really high would help not think ‘bout it. I fucked up, baby.”

Despite this being the consequence of his own actions, you feel for Steve, knowing firsthand how awful it can be if you get too high, how fast your thoughts can snowball, or feel like they’re completely melting out of your ears. Your hands splay out as you rub your palms softly, slowly, up and down his thighs.

“I can give you a distraction, you want that?” Steve frantically nods. “You trust me?” Again, he wordlessly replies with a nod. “Tell me if you wanna stop, or need something else, ‘kay?”

Steve watches you as he holds his breath; you reach for the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down slowly. You’re shocked when you’re immediately met with his throbbing length instead of a pair of boxers, freezing before you can pull his pants down fully.

“What’s wrong?” You don’t realize you’re staring until Steve asks this, worried. “Is it— is this okay?”

You feel your mouth water over the sight of him, naked from the waist below and up close. Tongue darting out to lick your lips, you force yourself to move and pull his pants off completely.

“More than okay,” You breathe, watching his cock kick as precum pearls at the tip. “You…” You’re struggling with your thoughts, trying to find the balance between being carefree and fun, and accidentally blurting out your feelings now that you’re really fucking high.

Kissing up his thighs, alternating sides every so often, you take your time, reveling in his needy whimpers. The sweet, soft kisses continue up his body, taking your dear, sweet time in hopes it’s beginning to distract him.

Steve can’t focus on being too high if he’s more worried about you moving too slowly, right?

“Angel, need you now,” His pleas of lust are music to your ears as you reach his shoulder, sucking softly along the sensitive crook of his neck. Your hand winds around to the nape of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair as you hold the back of his head, keeping him upright. “Needa’ kiss you.”

When you pull away, a glistening thread of spit follows you, attached to your lips for a moment. Steve bucks upward at the sight, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

“This is what good friends do for each other, right?” You whisper, breath hot against his own lips as you move closer. Maybe if you say it out loud enough, you’ll believe it. “Just fuckin’ around… helping each other out.”

Steve frowns, but doesn’t protest, just whimpers as your grip tugs on his hair.

“Can you be good for me?” He breathes out quick ‘uh-huh”s, about to reach for your hips, but you pin his arms to his sides. “I’ll take care of you, but you gotta do one thing for me.”

You begin to sink back to the floor, with a detour of your lips hovering just above his tip, gaze locked with his as you spit slowly onto him. Not even spit, more like drool. Steve gasps sharply, chest heaving, “Anything, name it, I’ll do it.”

“Hands to yourself. Everything stops if you touch me.”

Steve looks offended, “You’re kidding me.”

You giggle, “Dead serious.”

“But I- I wanna— ” You know what he’s about to say, it’s the reason you’re making this rule to begin with.

“Fuck my face?” As you cut him off, his face drops. “Not ‘til I say so.”

“What the fuck, how’d you know?” Steve’s voice drops to a whisper. You smirk, shrugging as you feign innocence.

“Might’ve heard you a few nights ago, walking by your door.” While you wish you heard him moan your name, the sounds you stumbled upon were still too sweet to let go. “You’re also an idiot for watching porn out here, thinking I wouldn’t see,” Your teasing makes his face flush red with embarrassment.

Mortified, Steve stammers, “I- I thought you were sleeping!”

To be fair, you were about to go to bed, but curiosity got the best of you that night.

You slipped down the hall, peeking around the corner and past the kitchen, where the living room’s only source of light was the TV’s glow of filth.

Steve was on the floor, sweats shoved down to his ankles, leaning back with his legs spread; he was fixated on the scene of some dude snapping his hips into a woman’s face, fucking down her throat. He thrust his hips up in time with the jerking motions he made, fist shining in the TV’s light from precum spilling over.

You were burning up as you watched, knowing it was wrong, you should give him space, stop being nosy… but it was also wrong for him to fuck his fist out in the shared space.

With a mind of their own, your hands rushed to where you needed them most, one between your thighs, the other under your shirt, grabbing at your chest; you tried your hardest to imitate Steve’s pace and pressure he had the day he offered to help you, but your own touch never came close to his.

You bit your lip to hold back your own noises as he groaned lowly, murmuring things like “That’s it… my good girl can take it all, huh?” The moans from tacky porn he watched were drowned out by his own. Silently, you joined him in the filthy fantasy, hand slapped over your mouth as your fingers toyed with your clit, cunt soaking through your underwear already.

Steve had no clue the two of you came together.

“I tried, ‘til I heard you moaning,” You admit without shame. “I’m not mad, Stevie. You could’ve invited me, though.”

“You… you watched me?”

Fuck. Should’ve kept that to yourself.

Should’ve really not done it at all.

Slightly grimacing, your hands slide off of him, “I— yeah. I know I should’ve gone back to bed, but… but you sounded so hot, I- I couldn’t sleep without knowing what you were doing.”

He grabs your hands and pulls them back to his body with a dopey grin, holding a hint of smugness as he breaks your rule already.

Through his hazy high, he manages to admit clearly, “Only did it ‘cause I wanted you to watch me.” Your jaw drops, unsure if you’re mad he played you at your own game, or if you’re impressed.

Nodding silently with a petty smile, you ask, “Hey, Steve? How’s your high going? Guess you’re done panicking, so you don’t need this—” in one fluid motion, you lean in, sliding your tongue up his shaft, lips wrapping around the tip, and take him in without hesitation.

The noises that leave Steve as his hips jerk are sinful and raw; his hands twitch as he keeps his hands near his sides, dying to grab you and fuck your face. He stays… well, not still, but he’s not touching you, like you asked.

As quick as it started, it ends all the same; you barely have him at the back of your throat before pulling back, drool following your lips as his dick is left throbbing and sticky. He’s panting, arm thrown over his eyes with his head thrown back onto the cushion.

“Right? You’re good enough to finish on your own?” You stand, spitting over Steve’s cock one more time before walking away, “If you still need some help, you can borrow my vibrator.” Your taunting is helping him race to the edge, almost over it, almost losing control and cumming without your mouth still on him. He wants to start stroking himself, almost does, but grabs you as you round the back of the couch before walking out.

You whip around, glaring at Steve, then his hand gripping a fist full of fabric from the back of your shirt, keeping you here. At the same time, he kicks his pants off completely.

“Oh, that vibrator? The one I got batteries for?” His high must be wearing off, just enough where he’s able to stand up and swing his leg over the couch. He’s behind you, half naked, with one hand snaking around your hips to pull you against him; you can feel how hard he is as he holds you tightly, slowly rutting into your backside. “The one that died on you? The one that doesn’t make you moan as loud as I did?”

You’ve got your thighs pressed together over his words, while his other arm slides around to your chest, over your neck, holding you in the position of a chokehold without actually doing it. Watching his arm flex as it winds around you, your stomach flutters while your pussy throbs.

“C’mon, honey, you can tell me.” The hand on your hip slides past the waistband of your sleep shorts, sliding over your cunt before dipping his middle finger between your folds. Steve groans as he feels how wet you are, enjoying how easily he can tease your clit in small, slow circles. Your head throws back onto his shoulder, and he kisses your temple, lingering to hear your breathy moans in his ear.

“Barely touched you, and you’re already going dumb on me,” He can feel the way your clit throbs as he taunts you. “What happened to you being in control? You had it for a second there, babe.”

There’s only two thoughts taking space in your mind right now:

You hate Steve right now.

You need Steve, right fucking now.

Shoving his hands away— he never had a tight, promising grip to begin with— you spin around to take his face in your hands, kissing him roughly. Steve stumbles back towards the wall, lips still attached to yours as he sighs through his nose; a muffled grunt vibrates into your mouth as his back hits the wall. You’re not even trying to take back control, you just couldn’t stand another second without kissing him.

As he pulls back, Steve catches your bottom lip in between his teeth, tugging a bit before letting go, breathless. His hand grips your chin roughly, “You wanna finish what you started?”

Steve releases your face, and you nod with a pout and lust-blown pupils; you start sinking back to the floor, but he holds you up by your hips, tugging at your shirt again. “Off.”

“Only fair if you do the same, Stevie,” Your shirt rolls over your body and crumples on the floor. You’re about to remove your shorts, but Steve’s faster, leaning down to your chest, biting along the swell of your breast. “F- fuck,” You’re gasping as he continues and flips you around, with your back against the wall now.

Immediately he’s sucking and swirling his tongue around your nipple; low, muffled groans add to the dizzying work his mouth does. His large hand reaches for the other nipple, pinching a bit before his palm is blanketing over your breast, groping roughly. You’re whining and bucking your hips towards nothing, so he takes pity on you, shoving a leg between your thighs.

“St- Stevie, I was— oh, god,” You can’t focus with his hands and mouth on you, all while pressing his thigh against your core. You really are going dumb for him, and you wish you could have this all the time. “I was t-trying to take care of you, asshole.”

“Didn’t say you can’t, just wanna play with you for a bit.” He’s kissing back up your chest, up your neck, skipping your jaw and cheek to jump right back into a rough, messy kiss. It’s a lot of tongue and spit and teeth and nothing close to the softness of the first time you two kissed, but you need this right now. You need him like this right now.

Pulling back, you snap “I’m ‘bout to lose my mind if you don’t fuck my face or cunt in the next ten seconds.” Steve freezes, pulling his leg away, hands finding their new spots pressed against the wall, arms caging you in.

“Don’t tease me like that,” Steve warns, licking his lips as he looks down at you. “Because you have no idea how badly I want— need that,” He exhales roughly, forehead falling onto yours, ignoring how his cock twitches, desperate for attention. “And if anything makes our friendship weird, s’gonna be that.”

With wide, sweet eyes, you gaze back at him, pushing him back a bit, “So make it weird.” His eyes fall shut while he sighs loudly. “Steve, this has been weird since the damn vibrator died, it’s going to be weird forever, just accept it and fuck one of my holes already. I need— ”

Steve’s ripping your shorts down and off of your legs, pushing your legs apart when he pauses to look up at you from the floor. Hands grip your hips so roughly, you know he’ll leave handprints behind.

It happens so fast— his mouth is on you, hot and unforgiving, pace nowhere near the soft and sweet demeanor he had the first time he went down on you. Your hands fall to his head, fingers weaving through his locks to pull, hard. The shameless groan he lets out into your cunt makes your knees buckle, vibrations only adding to the intensity he sucks and laps at your clit with.

“Oh, fu- fuck,” You’re going to climax before he’s even inside you if he keeps it up, wishing you weren’t so easy to please. His pretty doe eyes, still red from his high, never leave yours while he continues burying his face between your thighs. “S- St— ohmygod— M’gonna cum t’soon, y’gotta stop.”

“That fast?” His fingers seamlessly switch with his tongue for a moment, murmuring, “Y’can just cum again.”

“But I— ” Your body jolts as his tongue flicks at your clit while two fingers slide into you with ease. “I w- this was supposed to be ‘bout you…” Your words become lost as you notice the steady, repetitive motion of his arm, stroking himself as he eats you out.

Steve doesn’t reply, he’s just working relentlessly to push you over the edge. You’re too far gone to make him stop, whining while grinding onto his face, so close, so very close—

He pulls back, hands still holding you up, watching as your body reacts to a ruined orgasm; twitching, legs shaking, walls fluttering, moaning, all while feeling so empty. The spark of your high had been snuffed out, leaving you with an ache still between your thighs despite being a breathless mess.

You’re walking a thin line between retaliation and desperation, eyes stuck on Steve as he stands, smirking as he leans in close.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?” He taunts you with that gravelly voice that sends blood rushing straight to your core. You’re speechless over his ill-intent, how close he brought you to an earth-shattering high, just to leave you in the dust.

You want to switch, take over, make him beg, but you’re so hung up on the lost bliss, you can only bring yourself to nod as you pout, ready to cry.

Steve notices the tears building before you even do. He’s holding your face softly, concerned, “Too much?”

Shaking your head, your bottom lip trembles; you’re overwhelmed from the way he just ruined you, and all you can respond with is, “Need you.”

“Honey, you need a break, it’s okay,” You’re shaking your head again, but his hands tighten just enough to hold you in place. “M’sorry, I— ”

You surge forward, kissing him roughly as your hands slide up his arms, holding him as he holds you. Your arousal is still sticky on his lips, tongue slipping between them to tease against his. Moving his hands slowly, you guide him down to your hips, moaning into his mouth. Your hands move to his face, forcing him to look at you as you pull back. A string of slick follows your lips while slipping slowly from his own.

Eyes locked with his, you’re certain in your demand, “I. Need. You.”

Steve’s frozen as he takes in your words, still registering the messy kiss, your emotions, everything that just happened. Thankfully, it’s only for a moment.

Breaking out of his daze, he’s helping you stay steady as he hitches your leg up and around his hip; Steve’s arm slides under your leg to keep you in place, quick to use his free hand to grab his cock, sliding the tip along your folds. You gasp and shudder as he teases your over-sensitive clit.

“Need what?” He gets it now, you like this, the humiliation, the overstimulation… What he thought was payback for the way you left him high and dry, only made you more of a submissive, pliable mess. “Need me to stuff that pretty little cunt with my cock?”

Your eyes roll back between the dirty talk and the feeling of his length sliding between your folds, cruelly brushing against your clit. It’s not enough.

“Ye- yeah, Stevie, need that.” You’re whimpering as he teases your entrance, barely pushing through. You whisper shakily as he pulls back, “F-fuck.”

“Okay,” Steve simply replies. Then he stops right at your entrance, eyes flickering to yours with a wicked glint, “Beg. Go ‘head, like you do when you’re touching yourself.”

The desire to be dominated by him takes a backseat. Instead, you break from the haze you began slipping into,close to sub-space, glaring as you spit, “I hate you.” You don’t, but you sure hate the way

“Hm… doesn’t sound much like begging at all.” He starts to pull back, but you tighten your leg around him, pushing him against you.

The switch is rapid. “You wanna go back to fucking your fist?” You spit— literally, you spit down between the two of you, coating his length with extra slick and making him shiver. “Because you can go do that if you’re gonna play games.”

Neither of you ever know when to quit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this-” He thrusts into you, hard and fast, throwing your head back against the wall as you cry out. The stretch is instant, and he stays still, deep inside as you adjust, thankfully. It still doesn’t make the sting subside… but you kind of love it. It hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt, nothing you’ve felt before with anyone you’ve ever fucked. “— Was what you wanted. I don’t think your useless toy can make you feel like this.”

For how weak Steve feels at the knees over how you flutter around him, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. You, on the other hand, your leg still on the floor is shaking as you try to stay up. Steve notices, cradling your face by its side in one of his strong hands while his eyes search yours for any signs of distress.

Instead, you just look completely fucked out from just one thrust already.

The hand still on your face slides behind your head, keeping you from slamming your head back. Arm still under your leg, he firms his grip. “I got you, won’t let y’fall, don’t worry,” His tone is soft and caring, a noticeable change from moments ago.

“Such a gentleman, even w- when you’re balls deep in your roommate, huh?” Your joke comes out shaky, still adjusting a bit, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What you care about right now is for him to actually fuck you. “Steve, need you t’move, please.”

Steve smirks, slowly rolling his hips back before slamming into you again. “There she is, that’s m’girl,” He rasps, repeating his motions, slowly reeling back to impale you on his cock again. Your heart flutters when he calls you that.

His girl. It means nothing to him, but for now, you can keep it to yourself and play pretend.

All you can do is whimper and moan, shaky and incoherent. Steve’s voice is sweet, soft, with a taunting edge, “It’s okay, only asked you to beg once. Y’want me to take care of you, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” You pant, fingers digging into his back, scratching, marking him up. “Don’t trust you, though.”

The power dynamic drops from Steve while buried deep in you, admiring how angelic you look like this, lost in the consequence of your desires.

Angelic probably isn’t the word that fits your attitude in this moment, but the way you tilt your head back further into his palm, trusting him, how your hips roll into his while your eyes flutter shut, softly whining while resisting your eyes wanting to close, wanting more than anything to admire him in return— yeah, you’re as close to an angel as he’ll get.

“Promise you’ll get to finish, I mean it,” He breathes. “No more teasing, I mean it. I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as his thrusts pick up ever so slightly, trying to nod to acknowledge his promise, but you’re already fucked-out, dumb and cock-drunk.

Steve twitches inside of you, “Bet no one’s ever made you feel this good n’ full before, huh?”

“N- no,” You rasp as your arms wind around his neck, “Can’t have anyone else after this.”

That shoves Steve closer to his own high, making him groan, “No? Why’s that, honey?” Every time he calls you that, you tighten around him, earning a hiss through his gritted teeth.

“Don’t think anyone— h’my god— can fuck me like you can,” You can’t hold back your thoughts or feelings. “Don’t w- want anyone else.”

Steve’s trying his best not to let his mind wander, not to let his thoughts and feelings consume him. You’re not saying what he thinks you are, what he wants you to confess. He continues railing you, grasp leaving your head to touch you, bring you to that blissed out high you deserved from the start.

Fingers on your clit, your head falls back, bumping against the wall, and he can’t help the snort that comes out while you giggle and groan over the ache.

“Jesus christ, don’t fuckin’ do that,” He warns after feeling you tighten around him while laughing. He shoots a winded, lazy smile. “Next time we’re fucking in bed, promise.”

“N- next time?” You’re asking, and Steve just murmurs a quick “Uh-huh” as he snaps his hips roughly up into yours, rewarding him with the most sinful moan he’s heard from you yet. He’s fucking you fast and hard, only focused on getting you off, for real this time.

“Steve, you— you’re— ” You’re fighting yourself, kicking your feelings aside; you can’t ruin a good thing, even if neither of you never figured out what this ‘thing’ is.

“I got you, c’mon, lemme feel you soak my cock,” He’s mumbling, eyes darting from your expression to where the two of your bodies meet, mesmerized as your hips stutter while he feels you reach what you wanted all along. “That’s it, just like that.”

His praise sends you over the edge, choking back a scream and failing miserably, “M’close, so cl— oh, fuck!” You begin to tremble and pulse around him, eyes twisting shut as you almost throw your head back, but Steve grabs you in time— that’s a habit you really need to break— tugging you towards him and kissing you roughly.

Moans are muffled to whimpers as he melds his lips with yours, feeling his own high just in reach. You pull back as he continues stuttering his hips, thrusts growing sloppy as his cock pulses deep inside you.

You’re still riding out your climax, yet somehow manage to ask him, “You close, baby?” Steve nods as a breathy, sweet sound shudders out of him. Barely finishing on him, you push him back, just enough to pull off and sink to the floor.

“Wh— ” Steve watches through hooded eyes the way you slide your mouth back onto him, tasting yourself as he pulsates again against your tongue; he takes back over, thrusting fully into your mouth while holding your head in place. “H- oh— honey, m’gonna—“

Steve’s moans are the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard, breathy and vocal as he shudders out a string of expletives while he comes undone buried in your throat. Greedily, you swallow what you can, but it becomes too much; you pull back and hold his shaft, letting him finish on your face.

For a moment, Steve is stunned. He wasn’t expecting you to let him finish like this; you might look angelic to him, but that’s no match to your sinful demeanor and unholy desires.

“Fuck… that’s my girl.” His praise tugs at your heartstrings when you know it’s not that deep.

You can’t help giggling as he comes down, aware of the mess on your features, licking your lips while gazing up at him. You’re going to kill him, no ‘ifs, ands, or buts’ about it.

Though you never asked, he’s certain he won’t find anyone who compares to you.

Dropping to the floor, Steve leans in to kiss you, catching you off guard he tastes himself on your lips, moaning lazily into you. Pulling you into his lap, his hands wind around your waist, knowing how gross the two of you are right now, but he needs you. Ignoring how he’s still half hard, he just needs to be close to you, to be vulnerable with you.

He never said it, but he’s absolutely positive he won’t find another friend who trusts him this much, another roommate who puts up with his nonsense, high or not, another lover who can laugh at the real and awkward moments during sex and still stay intimate.

Your soft, drained voice breaks his thoughts, “Did that help, Stevie? Or d’you need more distractions?” You’re joking, but secretly wishing he’d say yes.

Steve wants to say he needs more distractions, needs to fuck you on every single surface in this apartment, needs you to put him in his place while he promises to be good for you, be so good for you that you’ll throw out that goddamn vibrator and use him whenever you need.

Instead, he only asks, “I thought you said you don’t have much experience?”

Again, you laugh, and all he can think of is the way he could feel you laugh while balls deep inside of you. “I don’t, I just read a lotta corny romance novels.” As you stand, you hold a hand out for him and ask, “Wanna share a shower? Heard it saves on water, or whatever. Y’know, the thing you thought we didn’t have in the apartment.”

Grabbing your hand, Steve just laughs softly with an eye roll. “Yeah, you’re right, you definitely read a lot of corny romance novels with lines like that.”

It’s so comfortable, so natural, to go from such intimate, filthy moments, to joking so casually with you.

So while you lead him into the bathroom, while the two of you kiss lazily under the hot, running water, while he’s riling you up again with your back pressed against the shower wall, Steve’s so sure of one more, tiny detail with his feelings towards you: he’s fucked.

So, so fucked.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #my fics #it felt like love & drugs

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damagdsnow · 4 months

Text

Fix my reputation

Pairing: young Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look reliable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play. eventual: smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praising public sex

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, eventual: mention of blood

Word count: 6.7k

Note: English is not my first language so if you see mistakes please feel free to correct me in the comments! It is also my very first time posting here on tumblr, I’ve always wanted to post my writing and finally I am now brave enough to do so, enjoy!

You hated that man.

If there was something you were sure about, it was that you didn’t want to be here with him, at the same table having lunch. You could feel his perking blue eyes staring into your soul even though he was not looking at you, he was meticulously cutting an apple with his long fingers and a shiny knife.

How did you get here? The man you so wholeheartedly hated, was now part of your life, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You felt like that apple he was cutting so carefully, peeling your skin, your essence, the way he was holding it seemed he was scared it could run away. You could run away.

The problem was, you would never run away. Run away to whom? To your mother who disclaimed you? To those friends who didn’t help you out? You had no choice. Now the only thing you had was your reputation ruined for a fatal mistake that could have been avoided. That was not enough, the only way to clean your image was to be with Snow. The charismatic, intelligent and kind Coriolanus Snow. Or this was what people said about him. What The Capitol said about him.

You didn’t think the same. You knew who he really was, you saw what they couldn't see. He was evil, he was the one who got the games so popular with his ideas, the one who didn’t mind sending children to death.

You and Coriolanus had only one thing in common. Maybe two or three. One of them was that you both needed each other’s influence in society for different interests. His strategy to win the elections included a woman by his side to make him look reliable and sensitive, but he mostly planned on taking advantage of your popularity to make his own name. You, on the other hand, just needed someone who could clean your reputation after a little incident.

Who better than the master manipulator Coriolanus Snow? You weren’t thrilled with the idea of spending time with him. But it was going to be just for once. The gala before the official beginning of presidential elections, the most awaited event in the Capitol.

The agreement was playing the part of two lovers who not by chance people already knew, his name was well known. Yours? Still on the news. It was just a ball, you could do a night of pretending.

“Tigris said you haven't tried your dress on yet,” his voice interrupted your thoughts, and you looked in his direction to see his expression.

He still had the apple in his hands and he was cutting it in half-moon shapes, he took one bite in his mouth and he directly stared at you while chewing. You tried to hide your disgust as Snow's eyes met yours, his smile sending chills down your spine. It was as you had imagined, or even worse, you felt his blue eyes dissecting you in pieces, like he was examining you, looking for your deepest secrets. You knew that staying calm and composed in his presence was crucial.

“I don’t want to, it fits me.” You didn’t even look at that dress, it was even sent to your house but you refused to open the box knowing that he chose it.

“I hope it will,” Coriolanus didn’t take his eyes off of yours. “At least try to read how you should answer the questions, many people will be there,” he then said while standing up from his chair. His tall frame loomed over you, and you couldn't help but shiver under his intense gaze.

“Are you giving me homework to do now?” you said, looking up at him.

“I’m simply providing you with some advice,” his voice tinged with subtle amusement. “Oh, you think it’s going to be simple after all you did? “The Capitol won’t forgive you easily,” then he walked away, leaving you alone in the dining room.

This day felt longer than ever. The morning before you had received a letter from Snow’s manor telling you that someone was going to pick you up to prepare you for the event. It was signed by his publicist, Iris. You met her a couple of times before: a well dressed woman who knew too much about anyone's business in the Capitol. It was her idea to have lunch with him, “just to get to know each other more,” she said, but for you it was just a reminder of his real personality. They even gave you a room for the day, two chambers away from his, quoting Iris’s letter “this way you can feel comfortable,” you thought she was too attentive and kind to work for someone like Snow.

Iris was the one convincing you to take part in this gala, she explained to you that someone cherished like Coriolanus would draw the attention away from the scandal. You two just had to pretend to be together, “the Capitol loves unexpected new couples,” the publisher said to you the first time you saw her, “the young aspiring president and the woman everybody talks about.” Iris was convinced that this way Coriolanus was seen as the devoted partner who wasn’t afraid of your bad reputation, and you as the woman ready to rise from the ashes.

You ran into your room and slammed the door so loud you hoped he could hear you. You found a big envelope on your bedsheets, and you hoped it was some sort of -hey remember the incident? It’s not your fault, everything it’s okay!-thing, but unfortunately, it was not a free pass to the world. It was a sheet listing all possible answers to some questions you might be asked today at the gala. It was like a script to follow to save your face, to look good in front of the cameras, in front of the-very-judging-elitè. In that sheet, you could find any imaginable question they could ask, where your dress was from or who your family were.

“Did you do that on purpose?” It was one of the questions, and you thought this was something Snow would ask you. He didn’t say a thing about what you did, in the few times you talked he never asked you directly about the scandal. He could have wanted explanations, the real version of the story from you, but he never said a word. You read the answers on the sheet, and they were all perfectly written, so meticulously explained using the Capitol-vocabulary, elegant words and a candid tone.

“How did you meet Mr. Snow?” Your heart skipped a beat, you didn’t consider being asked about your fake relationship with him, it was all new to you.

“…it was love at first sight, who couldn’t love an extraordinary man like him, I immediately fell in love.” You had to read the full answer twice to be certain you weren’t hallucinating.

You would never have said those words, never in a billion years, not even under torture, of course you were ready to lie, but lying to this level? It was too much. You knew it was him who wrote this answer, you imagined the grin on his face while typing those words about him. You were mad. The answers about your dating life with Coriolanus were filled with romantic moments and exaggerated gestures that made you feel uncomfortable reading their unrealistic nature. You tried imagining those things happening in real life, but it felt completely alien and artificial. It was difficult to believe that anyone could genuinely experience those events. With Coriolanus mostly. You read the pages, over and over, a book would have been better because there was too much to read, but instead, you were stuck with a bunch of printed documents detailing your supposed love story.

He also put dates on when things happened: your first date in the lake house in July, the time you had dinner in a fancy restaurant in August and the day you moved in his place. Lies. Lies. Lies. Apparently you officially started dating three months ago. Three? You scrolled over the pages, hoping not to read what you were thinking.

“…after the incident, Coryo was very supportive, always there to comfort and reassure me even though all I did. I felt like I betrayed him too, but he always said we could get through it together, and I found myself falling for him all over again.” You knew none of this ever happened, and yet here it was, staring back at you in black and white. It was as if the words were playing tricks, as if the words were there to pretend instead of simply put on paper.

You sighed and closed the file, feeling a mix of frustration, confusion, and irritation. He was never there for you. Nobody was. You were all alone. After that day, you cried every night, and you were the one reassuring yourself, lying in front of the mirror saying ‘it’s going to be okay’ while your sense of guilt was slowly eating your guts. He wanted to appear like the perfect partner, but you knew the truth. It was all a façade. Deep down, you knew the real him, and it took all your strength to acknowledge the reality. You threw the stack of files on the floor, it was all too much.

You got up from the bed, and you went directly to his room, determined to confront him about the distorted reality that had been painted in those files. You didn’t even knock on his door, and you felt surprised when you noticed it wasn’t locked. You open the door, and you close it from behind, entering the room. He was standing close to his bed, completely oblivious to your presence. It was like he expected you to burst into his room out of nowhere.

“You finally read the file,” he said, looking at his wrist without making eye contact.

He was focusing on buttoning his cuff links, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, his white shirt still open and his blonde hair wet from the shower. His normally confident demeanor was replaced with vulnerability as he waited for your response, the tension thick in the air. It was the very first time you saw him not perfectly dressed up, without styled hair and shiny shoes. The sight of him standing there, so different from his usual self, caught you off guard.

“Yes, I’ve read your fabricated tale,” you said, trying not to look at him, at the droplets of water sliding down his temple, his fingers still struggling with the shirt. “You should have become a fiction book writer, you got talent.”

"I just wanted to impress you," he admitted, finally looking up to meet your gaze. “I can see I got a reaction from you,” he definitely succeeded in catching your attention, with those iper-articulated lies, not even close to what really happened.

“The agreement was that I won't say anything bad about you, just be by your side as a trophy-fake-girlfriend in this stupid gala, inventing absurd stories won't win my reputation back," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

He reached his desk where there was a glass of some alcohol sloshing around, poured himself a drink and took a long, deep swig. “They won't believe you if you only stand by me like a mannequin, you have to be an active member of their social life, so they can get to know you, sympathize you and maybe forgive you,” he said in a calm tone, you could see his profile while he was again drinking from his glass, his shirt still open that showed his toned body.

You immediately looked away taking a deep breath. “I won't be a part of any false narrative you wrote,” was the only thing that came to your mind.

He scoffed his head, “Just for the period of the presidential campaign, nothing more.”

“Are you suggesting that this ridiculous act is going to take longer than just a day?”

“I know you don’t like me, you just need to pretend you do. I’ll do the same,” he took another sip of that liquor while looking at you, “the publicist said just one appearance at the gala isn’t going to be beneficial to either of us.”

“Why are you telling me this now? The plan was slightly different,” you said

“Oh I knew you were going to be reluctant about the idea of pretending to live here, just for show,” he was serious, his fierce eyes looking at you waiting for a reply.

“I almost tolerated your presence at work, and now you want me to live in the same house as yours?” You asked

“After the gala, they are going to focus on the ‘new couple’, our performance has to be something they really believe in,” he leaned his head at the same height as yours, “we already don’t have that chemistry, at least they are going to think we live together,” Coriolanus said to your ear, his curls brushing your cheek.

“I simply decline your proposal, find someone else.” You said with a fake smile.

“Didn’t journalists harass you every time you left your little apartment? How exhausting, isn’t it?” He whispered in a sarcastic tone, making you remember all those times you ran away from photographers. “I got peacekeepers here, no one is going to bother you anymore, as long as you don’t bother me,” he turned to the desk, placing the empty glass in a tray, “strangers in real life, lovers on the outside.”

“The problem is that I despise you, I cannot do this for one more day,” you couldn’t see his expression, just his white see-through shirt displaying his back muscles.

“No, the problem is that you don’t understand how fucked up your situation is,” he was now facing you, “I know people who were condemned for way less, you are lucky,” his words were sharp as blades.

“Lucky to have you? It’s a punishment,” you said and he laughed.

“Then don’t come at me crying at why people still hate you,” he took a few steps closer to you

“So you can comfort me like you did a month ago?” You asked him pointing out the most absurd lie in that file.

“Oh, so you read every single page, you really did your homework.”

You stood your ground, refusing to be manipulated any longer. He was doing that purposely, just to provoke you, saying those things just to see how far you could take. Coriolanus was looking at you with his piercing gaze, attempting to intimidate you, he expected you to buckle down and crumble in front of him, but you would never give him such satisfaction, you were already in hell, so why not play with fire?

“Why me?” you asked him, and you saw a sense of surprise in his eyes. “Why, of all the girls in Panem, you decide the only one who can give you trouble?” You took a step closer to his figure, “there are so many good girls from rich families and intact reputations, why me? I’ll just ruin you.” You said, trying to catch his eyes looking back at you. But you could only see his frowning eyebrows, his wet messy hair and a droplet of water trailing down his neck, you were so close to him, you could hear him breathing.

“Everybody knows your name, bad press is still press,” his eyes finally met yours. “You are the center of attention,” he took a step back, as if momentarily distancing himself from the tension. “The presidential elections are extremely competitive, it’s not a race for who’s superior to whom,” he licked his lips, “but who is going to perform better for these people looking for distractions. “We are going to be their little show”

“So tell me Coriolanus,” you stepped closer as you were before. The height difference was such that it made you look up at him, you took one side of his shirt in your hand and you buttoned up with the other, feeling his warm torso on your fingers. "How exactly do you propose to fix my reputation while bolstering your own?” you finished, a sly smile dancing on your lips and your eyes looking for him.

Coriolanus was looking down at your fingers still brushing his skin, he had his lips parted and he softly whispered, “just play the game,” his eyes still fixed on you. He was talking about making everything right again, but it felt like there was something more behind those words.

You stepped back, trying to compose yourself. “I’m just giving them another reason to hate me with this bunch of lies,” you were looking down at the floor when you heard him stepping closer to you. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on your face.

He lifted your chin with two fingers and made you look up at him, “I’ll make them fall for our lie,” he said, his voice was so deep and calm.

“You are a master manipulator,” you whispered back, looking down again as if the floor was more interesting than the man standing in front of you.

You heard him chuckle, and he leaned closer to your ear, “and I’m going to teach you how to be one too.”

Your first public appearance after the scandal was going to be at this gala. Everything was calculated in detail, the dress you wore had to be long and white, as pure as snow. Your hair had to be loose so it could cover your exposed back, and apparently you had to memorize pages and pages of answers you could give. After your intense conversation in his room you decided to play the game seeing how far you could take, how far you would do to take everything back. He wanted you under his spell, he was trying to shape you how he desired, for his own interests.

“Dear, why aren’t you dressed yet?” The publicist said to you while you were sitting on the smooth sheets of your bed. You had your bathrobe still on, it’s been thirty minutes since you had a shower but you had your head in the clouds.

You couldn’t stop thinking about your conversation with Coriolanus, his wet hair, the words he said to you, his naked torso, his manipulating eyes. You repeat to yourself that he was Coriolanus Snow, and not any man, he probably told you half the strategy he really had in mind. Being with him was like playing chess blindfolded, you had to trust him but he could mess up your moves, change your plans.

“Come here I’ll help you,” Iris said, she seemed like a good person, she had a comforting smile and an elegant manner with everything she did. She was wearing a short coppery-brown color dress, it was shiny as her nails, decorated with tiny gold stones. You took her hand and you stood up, making the bathrobe fall on the carpet. The silk of the dress soothed your skin like a petal, you looked at the mirror and the weak light coming from your window gently reflected on your bright dress, almost making it shine.

“It is really pretty,” you said astonished while turning to see your exposed back. Then your smile disappeared because you remembered it was him who picked the dress.

“You are making it pretty, my darling,” Iris stated as she fastened the zip on your side. It was a simple dress yet delicate and impressive, it embraced the shape of your body effortlessly.

“It is just a little loose here on your waist,” the woman said, touching the excess fabric on your side. You remembered the conversation early this morning when you proudly said the dress fitted you.

“I’m going to tell Tigris to fix it,” Iris said and you immediately looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“No please,” she changed her expression, “it is bad luck to mend a dress the same day it is worn,” your mother always said that to you, maybe it was not a popular saying considering the publicist's face.

She tilted her head with a confused smile as she touched the yellow-butterflies-clip in her voluminous red wig. Now that you were thinking about it, you sewed your skirt the day it happened, ‘it’s just a coincidence, I don’t believe in these things’ you said to yourself, you were not superstitious but at the same time you avoided superstitions, just in case.

“Whatever you want,” Iris said with a soft smile.

You touched your neck and you thought how a shiny pendant would look good. “Iris, do we have some necklace to match this dress?” She stepped closer to you looking at your chest.

“I think you shouldn’t wear any jewelry tonight,” you tilted your head in confusion, “see, today is your first appearance after the,” she paused, “incident.”

“And what is it supposed to do with jewe—“ she didn’t let you finish your sentence.

“You could wear pearls or diamonds but what would the elite think? That you want to appear, that you want to show off,” she walked behind you so you could see her reflection in the mirror. “How you present yourself is the way they perceive you,” Iris brushed your long hair on the side, exposing your neck, “you are wearing a white dress, ‘how pure!’ No diamonds, ‘how modest!’ “try to think like the socialites, once you enter their minds, your act will get a standing ovation”. Her words put everything in a different perspective, she really knew what she was doing.

You heard a knock on the door, “the party starts in an hour!” A muffled voice said from the corridor.

“Thank you Ariandes, we’re almost done!” Iris said in a loud tone.

In less than sixty minutes you had to put on your best mask and try to change the mind of a thousand people about yourself, with Coriolanus by your side, pretending he is your supportive lover. You felt a rush of anxiety on your chest, like a weight pressing against your heart.

“I don’t think I can go,” you whispered with a trembling voice. Iris made a worried look.

“Oh sweety, I can only imagine what you have been through,” she took a lilac glass flask from the desk beside the mirror, “you are a strong woman,” she sprayed a lavender fragrance on your neck and she smiled.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and with all your strength you tried to keep the tears that threatened to spill over. “Iris, how do I fake being so interested in someone?” You asked, thinking about what was written in that file.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asked with a soft gaze.

You didn’t know the answer to that question, you had a couple of boyfriends in your university years, but were you in love?

“It’s when every atom of your body's only desire is to burn at the mere thought of being with that someone,” Iris looked up, like she was thinking of somebody, you felt even more disoriented with her answer.

You couldn’t identify that feeling with anyone, you’ve never met someone that made ‘your cells burn’. What would that even mean, you thought.

The door opened and you turned your head to see Ariandes, the political advisor, “We gotta go,” he said looking at Iris. The man had his hair pulled back in a long braid, dark as his skin. You walked in his direction and you followed him.

The moment you stepped into the car you felt a sudden tension, it was dark outside, only one side of Coriolanus’ face was lit up by cars passing by. He was wearing a red coat that covered the rest of the outfit, his blonde locks were lightly falling on his temples and you noticed he was wearing a ring on his left index finger.

“Act as natural as possible,” Coriolanus said and he looked at you, it felt like he was inspecting your body and you wished to be in his mind at that very moment.

Was everything going according to plan?

No, you didn’t want to know what it was like to be in his head, it was torturing enough being on the outside.

“I’m not very good at lying,”

‘not as good as you’, you wanted to say.

He looked at you like he read your mind, luckily you couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t be impulsive, smile and never leave my side,” you felt he was giving you orders, “what 's going to happen at the political campaign depends partially on today’s gala.”

“You know, Mr. Snow,” you started “I tried reading your fiction-book but it was so,” you tried examining his face, “unrealistic,” he scoffed and looked the other way, “you want me to paint you as the man you aren’t and never will —caring, affectionate and respectful “I can’t do miracles, people won’t believe my lies forever.”

Coriolanus clenched his jaw, “at least the whole Panem doesn’t hate me,” he said close to your face.

“Yet,” you added, hoping to maintain eye contact one more second.

“And just a reminder,” he said, “without me you would have been at home, crying and begging for forgiveness,” he whispered in a bitter tone in your ear.

“And without me you wouldn’t have the attention you crave so much,” you replied, feeling the tension in the air.

Coriolanus was too close to you, like an animal before hunting his prey, you could see his facial features reflecting the weak light outside. The engine stopped, and the driver opened the car door.

“Mr. Snow” he said and Coriolanus stepped out of the car, he didn’t even look at you.

‘He would slam the door in my face if he could’, you thought.

You took the driver’s hand, helping you get out with your long dress. Coriolanus took his maroon coat off and he gave it to an avox at the entrance. You could see him from his back, he was wearing an ivory jacket and trousers, his suit matched your gown. He calculated every single detail. Unexpectedly, Coriolanus waited for you as you stood by him in the hall, he extended his arm and you looked at him.

“Do I have to?” You asked and you noticed a white rose on his breast pocket.

“It’s just an act,” he replied and you took him by the arm.

Let the play begin.

The ballroom was lit by magnificent chandeliers and the air was filled with whispers and laughter. The atmosphere was comforting and energetic: people with colorful wigs, glitter dresses and sugary drinks. There was not a face you could recognise, it was not what you were used to, even though you have been living in the Capitol for all your life, you’ve never experienced a party like this. You walked through the crowd with Coriolanus by your side, arm by arm, while everybody was looking curiously at your direction. You’ve heard someone saying his name, and something about the girl he was walking with.

Why her? Since when does Snow have a girlfriend? I’ve heard really bad things about that woman.

And there it was, the gossip, the uncertain glances and how they looked down on you. On the other hand, people were praising him.

He’s so charming! White suits him well! Future president of Panem.

You looked at Coriolanus, the warm light was making his eyes brighter, or was it the crowd? He looked at them so proudly, with a confident smile, he was living for that moment, being the center of attention. He met your gaze, then his blue eyes looked at your dress, but not the same way people did.

It felt different.

Was he judging?

Admiring maybe? It was a mystery, nothing was black or white with him.

Coriolanus greeted a couple of his acquaintances, introducing you as his partner, then calling you his date and it once slipped from his lips calling you his girlfriend. And you actually were, in that moment, you had to act as his beloved girlfriend who had a well known bad reputation. He never let your arm go away, he was acting so well, playing the caring boyfriend who couldn’t leave you alone.

“Here they are, the couple of the night!” A loud voice came from behind, it was Flavius Windbuzz, one of the most famous tv hosts in the Capitol. His voice was recognisable from miles away, it didn’t matter if you watched television or not, he was everywhere and it was impossible in Capitol City not knowing his name.

He stepped closer to you with a glowing smile and a glitter microphone, he had his hair gray, more like silver. “Everybody is talking about you, the new Capitol lovebirds,” a camera was pointing at you and your heartbeat was getting faster, everyone stopped talking and stared at you both. “So tell me Mr. Snow, who is this young lady you are showing off?”

“You said it right Flavius, she is my girlfriend,” he did it again, Coriolanus said girlfriend, this time broadcast on tv.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” the host said to you, he took your hand and kissed it. These exaggerated gestures were the usual in this type of parties, especially where a silver-haired-man was interviewing the guests. He asked about your family, if you liked the food —you didn’t touch any but you lied, and who was the designer of your dress, everything as the script said.

“Honey, you are a really interesting woman but I have to ask you something,” Mr. Windbuzz said, “people are talking and it is my job to satisfy their desires. “So tell me, are the rumors true?”

You expected a much worse question, you stopped breathing for a moment and Coriolanus noticed that because you tightened the grip on his arm. “You tell me Flavius, what do the rumors say?” You answered with a soft smile hiding your discomfort.

“I know that during the last edition of The Hunger Games, something really unfortunate happened,” you noticed he had purple contacts on, and that was something that made you even more nervous. “Is it true that you took part in the incident we all saw live on TV?” He asked and you felt like your heart was beating outside your chest.

“It is true,” the crowd gasped, and your pulse increased.

“So tell me, how did it feel when you killed those poor and innocent tributes?” The question was worded differently than what you read on that file.

Killed.

Poor and innocent.

You couldn’t get out of your head their lifeless faces, the foam coming out of their mouths and the sound of the cannon echoing in that room. The hall started spinning, you saw the interviewer’s face, a mix of compassion and concern, as the crowd started whispering more and more you felt your head cold and heavy. The microphone was pointing in your direction but you could not even stutter a syllable, blank pages wandered in your mind and you felt a sense of emptiness. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned your dizzy head to see Coriolanus who started talking for you.

“She was more than devastated, I remember—, ” you saw his lips moving like the time had slowed down and you were not listening to his words, his voice echoed in your ears as you never took your eyes off of him.

His grip on your shoulder tightened and his eyes looked at you as he tilted his head suggesting you both could go away. You followed him even though your ears were still ringing and your sight blurring, Coriolanus was walking too fast so you took his hand in yours or you could really faint on the ground. At that action, he looked at you with a confused stare, his hand grip was firm and steady as he dragged you in the bathroom. After checking no one was in there, he leaned against the door so no one could step in. You stood in front of him, his curls falling on his forehead that was a little sweaty, then he began talking, but the sound of his words were just an intense ring in your ears. He placed both his hands on your cheeks trying to have your attention, and you woke up from your hypnotic state.

“They are just hypocrites, they are the ones who watch The Hunger Games on tv, they send money to help their favorite to kill.” Coriolanus said looking in your eyes, and you started sobbing. “They are not better than you, “stop crying and play their game.”

You felt the warmth of his hands on your skin, he never touched you this way, it was intimate, nothing you could expect from him. For a moment, you brushed your hand with his but he instantly removed it, walking away from your sight.

“He was too indiscreet,” you heard him whisper, “I should’ve expected that from him.”

“No Coriolanus, I should’ve expected this question,” your voice was still trembling, “you said it wasn’t going to be easy, I deserve this, “do you still think this act is a good idea?” You asked him.

His tall figure leaned against the green tiles of the bathroom, he had his hands on his pockets and he was looking down, thinking about who knows what. Now that you were seeing from a distance, he resembled an angel. His white suit, his blonde curls and the perking blue eyes. No, there was nothing pure and heavenly in him. You thought he was probably thinking about how you ruined his plan, how he had to intervene to save your umpteenth failure and he was now calculating another strategy.

‘Not an angel, a fallen angel, the next Lucifer of Panem.’

“The night is still young,” he said while stepping to the door. He didn’t answer your question, was he regretting meeting you?

Everything was as you left it. The party was still going and no one seemed to have noticed your panic attack. That was a relief. You tried distracting yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened before. The interview, the crying, his hands on your face. Everything was worse than you had expected. You and Coriolanus were in the hallway next to the massive columns that supported the ceilings, on the other side people were dancing to a classical melody. You wanted to stay there, outside their sight, because to you the dance floor was more like an arena where people were going to attack you.

“Shall we?” Coriolanus extended his hand suggesting to go dancing with him.

“I’m not good at dancing, I could step on your feet,” you hoped it would’ve been enough for him to give up.

“I’ll take the risk.” That was his plan, acting like nothing happened and putting his best smile on to be the charming man everyone adored.

You took his hand, the same hand that wiped your tears off your face was now intertwined in yours. Every time you looked for an excuse to not like him. As if you had to remind yourself that you hated him. Did you? He was dancing with you so naturally, holding you like you had known each other for a very long time, his hand on your waist as if he was used to it. There was nothing evil in him on the outside, and that was the problem.

“I’ve just saved your face, thank me later.”

You rolled your eyes at Coriolanus’ words. “I’m used to humiliations so next time don’t bother yourself.” you replied.

“Oh but I’m not used to it and don’t worry, there will be no next time.” Without a notice, he made you twirl around.

“When will this thing end?” You asked annoyed.

“I hate it as much as you,” he pushed your waist closer to him, this way you were face to face, noses touching.

“What the fuck Coriol—,”

He interrupted you, “for the cameras.”

You turned your head and you saw a bunch of flashes, blinding your sight. Coriolanus leaned over you and your lips were brushing, you couldn’t push him away because of the photographers. You had no time to tell him something, that he kissed you. It was for a second, just one second where your lips touched. It was cold, dry and unexpected. Just like him. Snow by name, snow by nature. If only eyes could talk. You’d probably say to him how you wished you weren’t there, with him, and you wondered what his blue eyes would say to you, probably the same. After that moment, Coriolanus didn’t say a word to you. You were there, smiling at photographers hoping to drop your mask as soon as they’d left.

The rest of the night went according to plan. Flavius interviewed all the future candidates and Coriolanus had the opportunity to make his well prepared speech, he also got invitations from influential members close to the president Ravinstill, not to mention the many sponsor offers he had. At least something was going well, for him though. The ride back home was painful. You and Coriolanus were looking outside the window, his crimson coat was the only barrier separating your bodies.

“Did they ever tell you how bad you are at kissing,” you hated silence so much you could say the stupidest things that came to mind just not to hear your thoughts. You turned your head to see him and his eyes were already on you.

“Mhm, girls usually compliment me for other qualities,” he chuckled, “and then that wasn’t me kissing, remember it’s just for show,” he whispered looking at the driver hoping he wasn’t paying attention.

“Well, no one believed your poor attempt to look in love,” you said and he untied the knot of his white tie.

“I was caught off guard,” he said looking at you, cars speeding in the window behind him, “and I can’t just kiss how I would normally do.”

You tried not to laugh at his words, ‘what would that even mean?’ you thought. “Just try to convince them, because you didn’t even convince me.”

“How should I kiss you then?”

He put his hand on the back of your head, with his thumb brushed your temple and he pulled you closer, his lips touching yours softly. You knew what was going to happen, but you let him do it.

The way he kissed you, like he was starving for your lips, hungry for your taste. Was he the same man that kissed you before? You melted in his touch, his hand slided down your neck, his fingers pressing on your throat, making you shiver even more. He tasted like mint and posca, his hair smelled of roses and his skin was warm under your touch.

Coriolanus pulled away from your lips but you came closer to cut the gap separating you. It felt like an instinct, like you were not satisfied enough and you could feel a sense of heat down your core. He pulled away the coat that was between you and his other hand was now on your exposed back, keeping you closer, his tongue still dancing dangerously with yours as you intertwined your fingers in his locks.

“Coryo” you said between kisses.

He wasn’t intending to stop and neither did you, but you remembered who was the man who was holding you that way, whose hands were making you shiver, whose lips were making you want for more and what nickname you just whined.

“I think we should,” you managed to say, trying to stop yourself from doing something you were going to regret. You broke the kiss, his lips were swollen still too close to yours.

He whispered, "I told you, I can be convincing when needed.”

🦋 A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, let me know what you think in the comments! I’ll probably explain the details of the scandal and how they met next time, it’s way more than you can imagine from here. Also I KNOW there is no smut here, but bear with me, it's a slow burn and trust me in the next chapter I’ll add some ✨ spice ✨. In this first chapter I wanted to set up the atmosphere.

A special thanks to Freddie Mercury and the song “Play the game” that helped me when I was stuck, to the poet Taylor Swift who reminded me of the many ways you can say the color red. PLEASE let me know if you want to be tagged next time 💌

ask me questions here !

@gracieghost36955 @annavatar @ghostlyloversworld @badbussylol @gracieroxzy @coolcatyarb @coriosgf @xxrougefangxx @devils-blackrose @wearemadeofstardust0

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #slow burn #enemies to lovers #young coriolanus snow #coryo x reader #coryo smut #coryo snow #coryo x you #tom blyth #the hunger games

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beefboyandbabygirl · 11 months

Text

Goodbye, Fourth of July (18+)

pairing: lee chan x fem!reader

genre: college au, best friends to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), hints of crack?

description: it's the fourth of july when you realize you're in love with your best friend. unfortunately though, it seems that he doesnt love you back, and this knowledge sends you spiraling. you push him away, but chan just wants to know why you're so upset

warnings: v v sad, pining, brief mention of s/a, chan is kinda dumb in this fr, reader is dramatic af tho, unprotected sex, desperation, praise kink, finger sucking, titty sucking, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl, sweet heart, good girl, cumslut once), mentions of alcohol and weed, irene is chans gf in this but shes not a villain shes mother fr

quotes from my proofreader: "my soul left my body", "no this is too personal", "i feel like im having a panic attack"

wordcount: 8.2k

Fireworks exploded across the sky the night your life was ruined.

Down the gray, dim corridors of your campus where room after room was ablaze with idle lights, daring to imitate the stars above them. Every crevice of the left wing was filled with the noise and decorum of a college frat party, where people lived out their own lives simultaneously to yours - yours, that was shattering into millions of pieces onto Yoon Jeonghan’s kitchen floor. Every moment of teasing, of lingering touches, of adoring smiles, of secret memories and exchanged glances came hurdling onto you on the 4th of July, red solo cup long forgotten in your hand. You were in love with your best friend.

“I’m in love with Chan,” you whispered, looking blankly across the room to see him leaned back against the couch, flashing a bright smile at Mingyu beside him. His blonde mullet - the one, that he had been so terrified to get, and only did so, when you told him he would look great - was tousled and spiky across his neck. He was wearing a red bomber jacket over a white tee, and he looked so good you thought you might cry.

Soonyoung wouldn’t have heard your confession - was it a confession? Admittance? Defeat? - had he not been standing right beside you. He thanked God that your words were not lost to the music and to the ambiance, to lay and die in the sticky, hardwood floor. “What?!”

He was yelling over the music. You turned over to him, mouth cracked into a frown. “What?! You’re in love with Chan?! Seriously?!” He started bouncing and giggling, ignoring your hands coming to grab onto his forearms. He had predicted this exactly five months ago.

“Shut up, Soonyoung, seriously!” You were yelling too, barely overcoming the booming voice of Kesha on the speakers. Bathed in pink light, letting your nails trail over the kitchen counter, you felt your heart becoming soft and trembling.

Your life was ruined.

“What the fuck am I gonna do?” you cried, feeling Soonyoung spin you at your shoulders until he was right in front of you, alcohol dampening the air between you.

“What do you mean? You’re gonna confess to him. You guys are literally in love with each other” He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been best friends since freshman year; as if you didn’t know his favorite animal cracker shape and the exact model of his everyday sneakers.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can?”

“COMINGGG THROUGHHHHHHHH!” Frat-house dork Seokmin pushed between you and Soonyoung with a sky-high Vernon on his trail. Vernon shimmied apologetically, eyes sunken and red. “Getting cross-faded,” he supplied helpfully.

“As you should,” Soonyoung mumbled, slightly peeved in his tone, but Seokmin and Vernon seemed too intensely high to notice his disdain. You were too floaty to be offended by their sudden intrusion. The party, the floor, the music, the stench of sweat had become distant and you felt very alone with your heart. And Kwon Soonyoung, of course.

“You can! Right now! I’ve been telling you for months!” He shook you by your shoulders, apparently sensing your distance. You looked up at him with furrowed brows, tugging at the strapless end of your short, glittery dress. “But he’s-” you inhaled sharply. “He’s not gonna love me back, Soon.” Soonyoung cut you off with a scoff. “He’s so in love with you! He looks at you like you’re the only girl in the…”

Soonyoung trailed off, eyes peering past you into the crowd. “Oh shit,” His eyes widened, settled on you, then flicked back up. What the fuck was he looking at? “Uh, as I was-” you moved to look, struggling against his suddenly deadly grip on your shoulders “- no, don’t look!” He moved to stop you, but it was too late. You scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes, finding yourself confused as to what he’d been crying about. That is until you saw him. Red bomber now discarded, Chan had removed himself from the couch and was currently grinding on your biochem-classmate, Irene.

Oh. Okay.

You felt like cold hands grabbed onto your throat from within, as it contracted and tears stung your eyes. There it went, your heart and all its pieces on the floor, and weighing you down like an anchor, was the knowledge that you’d spend the rest of your life picking them up.

”God fucking damnit. This is awful, I’m awful,” your head was spinning, and you could barely make out how your fishnetted legs started moving, let alone how the tips of Soonyoung’s fingers brushed against your bare back to pull you back to him. You needed to get out. Out, out, out.

You squeezed through the tight crowd, avoiding the gaze of your classmate Seungcheol, who tried to smile at you from where he stood. This had to be some sort of mistake. Some sort of illusion brought upon you by the rhythmic movements and the loose slip of alcohol. Maybe you were hormonal? You didn’t know, but you couldn’t think while some bass-boosted playlist built dams of pressure on the sides of your head.

You finally squeezed through the door, closing it behind you and locking away that cursed, wretched memory. The further you got, the fainter the image of him. By the time you were slipping out of the hallway and into the yard, you could almost convince yourself that it was a mistake. A foolish moment, that you would tuck away and keep in a locked chest.

God, you were cold, shivering in your scrappy fabrics, as you slid down the brick wall by a flower bed, staring into the sky. It was the fourth of July, and your chest had exploded in fireworks while looking at your best friend. Every line had simultaneously been crossed and uncrossed.

You had realized it just a few minutes ago, just standing in the kitchen, when Wonwoo from history had asked you for a lighter. It had just been a graze, but you’d still felt it, in the faraway reaches of your purse. Amongst crumbs, concealer, a couple unraveled cigarettes and wired earphones with only one working side. What was that? You’d handed Wonwoo the lighter and then dug around for it again. A little slip of paper, edges soft and worn. You pulled it up.

It was just a drawing. A little scribbled dinosaur. God, you couldn’t even remember when he’d given it to you. But there you were smiling at it. And then looking at him. And then you knew.

You started crying. Hot, fat tears dripped down your cheeks, and your lips were trembling, and suddenly your body was stuttering and convulsing against the wall, and you were in love with your best friend and he was obviously not in love with you.

“Y/n?”

You snapped your head towards the door and the person you wanted to see the least in that moment (that thought made you cry even more, because when had you ever wanted anyone but him by your side when you were upset?) was peeking his blonde haired head through the door. Chan had such a heavy frown, looking down at you from the wide opened doorway.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He was immediately crouching down, hand burning hot on your back, stroking the muscles. Another hand on your knee and it was all too much, so you pushed him away. He backed off immediately, and you wished you missed the flash of hurt on his face. He looked at you with so much worry. “What happened?”

He was sitting across from you on the pavement and you couldn’t bear to see him, lit geometrically by the moonlight and the explosions in the sky, brows creased. Averting your eyes, you fiddled with the edge of your dress and sniffled. What were you supposed to say? It was hard to say anything. You fought down the tears pressing at your eyes again, swallowing your emotions before you looked at him again, almost robotically.

“I’m fine,” you said, nodding, and only adding more when his face twisted in confusion. You were always honest with each other, he thought, why were you lying? “It’s stupid, I’m.. I’m on my period and my hormones are just.. Bleugh.” You found it in yourself to giggle.

Silence, only decorated with the constant stream of fireworks and distant laughter of drunk college kids. Chan studied you for a moment, legs crossed and arms slung over his knees. “Cheol said you looked upset.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was thinking of that sad dog movie.”

Another pause. “Old Yeller.”

The distance between you had never felt wider and you were certain Chan could feel it too.

“You know you can tell me anything right?” You wished your laughter hadn’t been so heart-achingly bitter. He looked so confused. All he wanted to do was make you feel alright, why wouldn’t you let him?

A nod. “Yeah,” you breathed in deeply, tear-streaked makeup drying from the gentle wind. “I know.”

The air had become so thick, you had to gulp down breaths. Chan cocked his head to the side and looked at you soulfully. You were staring at your knees, nervously playing with your fingers, and a flush had crept up your neck to the very tops of your shiny cheeks. He sighed. “I can get, uh,” he hesitated for a moment, “I can get Soonyoung down here. If you want.” You nodded before he was even done talking. Anything was better than sitting across from him - not now. This time you knew better than to look at his face, because you knew your entire facade would break down the moment you’d catch the frown on his face at those words.

The moment Chan left, you sighed so deeply, relief and despair coming in a pair to crash over you like a wave. Soonyoung came not two minutes later and, ever the great comforter, immediately tried to make you laugh, sitting in the grass right in front of you.

“Oh my god,” he put on his best Jennifer Coolidge voice, “you look like the fourth of July!” _____________________________

Your first instinct was to hide - to turn over a stone and lay under it without breathing. Maybe then, if you separated yourself from him the feelings would simply dissipate, like perfume throughout the day. But you and Chan had a ridiculous amount of classes together, - something you used to enjoy and cherish - and every interaction had become half-awkward.

What also didn’t help is that him and Irene did not seem to just be a party fling. You were walking the halls with him, backpack slung across your shoulder, and listening to him drone on and on about a date.

“I think it’s the blonde,” he explained, “I think she likes the blond.” He peeked his eyes over to you, as you walked and you nodded. “It looks good,” you smiled, heart crushing when his face lit up, that sharky smile playing on his lips. “Right? But I don’t know what to wear. I don’t think she liked my jacket. You know, at the party.” At the mention of the party, his giddy expression faded a little, eyes flicking back to look at you again.

You’d been different since then. A little quiet and every word a little strained, every breath a huff, every smile somewhat unable to reach your eyes. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. For the life of him, Chan couldn’t. You’d told him when you got a tampon stuck a couple months ago, you’d told him about your awful dates, about your most embarrassing moments in your life. Something had to be serious, he thought, watching the way your eyes had become darker and sunken, for you to shut him out completely.

“Y/n,” he said and his voice was abruptly so, so soft. His hand came to cradle your own, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyebrows cinched together when you looked at the way his thumb caressed your knuckles. “You are okay, right?” and all of a sudden he was so close to you, head bopping downwards to catch your eyes, a little breath becoming humid on your cheek. For just a split second, he saw how scared you were, an emotion that took up all the space in your head, widened eyes darting up to his. Then it was gone. You smiled a tight line, ripping your hand from his. “I’m good. I’d be better if we actually made it to class on time.”

You were bouncing away and for a few moments he stood still, watching you.

“Alright,” he whispered to himself.

_____________________________

You and Chan met through Seungcheol. It was your first year and you were fresh-faced, young and a totally different person. It was your first biochem project and the teacher had paired you with Seungcheol - Seungcheol, who you just so happened to know was amongst the most popular guys at school. He was sweet though, if not a little slow, but he was excited to get into the project and had invited you to his place to study. You had graciously accepted, seeing as your roommate-situation at the time was less than ideal.

You had just hunkered down with stacks of books and laptops open on his desk, when Seungcheol got a call; to this day you’re not sure about the specifics of it, and all the information you’d later been able to pry from Seungcheol was that “Jeonghan was in trouble”. Whatever the case, the man had taken the phone and immediately taken on a crease in his forehead and a small frown on his lips, before apologizing profusely and promising that he’d be back in 20 minutes or so.

And there you were, wearing a dress and hairclips and sitting idly at his desk, while his roommate sat, just a few feet from you, on his bed with a controller and a headset on. That was the first time you saw Lee Chan. He had sharp eyes that you found intimidating at the time - especially with the focused grimace he wore, something you later found endearing. And, of course, you knew he was popular as well. How couldn’t he be, when his muscles were showing through his t-shirt, and he looked beautiful even in the domestic state you found him in. Maybe especially in that situation.

“D’you wanna see me play?” he’d asked, eyes not even leaving the screen. “Um,” your voice was meek, “sure.”

Seungcheol didn’t come home for another three hours. The sky turned from a bright blue into an orange hue outside the campus-curtains, and you sat cross-legged beside Chan on his bed, watching him play Overwatch. Had it been anyone else, you were sure this would’ve been the longest, most awkward three hours of your life. But for whatever reason, you and Chan just clicked. It was all laughter and smiles, and it felt like you had known each other forever. Fate had whisked the two of you together with a gentle push. That was two years ago.

Chan defied all your expectations. Surely, a young man who was attractive and popular would be an asshole, you’d thought, but he was so sweet, something that was most apparent when he smiled and laughed, eyes becoming crescents and toothy grin becoming sharp at the upturned edges.

Maybe you’d always liked him. You’d started reflecting on your relationship after that party, and came to realize that there’d always been a faint mist in your chest. A soft hum that drummed within your ribcage, when you saw him. It was warm, pleasant and constant when you felt his warmth at your side.

And sure, your relationship had had its moments. You distinctly remembered sitting between his legs while watching a movie once, and how you’d been so uncertain if he was okay with the skinship. His face behind your ear, you heard the smile in his voice, as his hands ran along your arms: “It’s okay, N/n. I’m cool with this if you are.”

You found yourself thinking about that often, but now there was a distinct pain to the memory. It was especially painful, when the gap between you and Chan was widening with every day. He tried to reach out, tried to catch you in the halls, but you were always “busy”.

Chan caught on to the fact that you were avoiding him when you started showing up late to classes, just so you wouldn’t have to walk with him; hear him talk about Irene, while that once soft drum had become a marching band in your chest. So you scrambled inside 5 minutes late, much to the dismay of your professors, and found a spot with some random classmate - far away from Chan. You’d have your eyes turned to the board, but you couldn’t focus, not really. Like a constant thorn in your side, you felt Chan’s sharp eyes across the room, boring into with such an intensity you thought you might catch on fire. Scribbling useless notes and focusing your energy - what little energy you had - on the class, you determinedly avoid his eyes. Had you seen them, never once darting astray from your form, you’d see the tenderness they held. “Why are you avoiding me?” His eyes said.

And then: “Why are you avoiding me?” his mouth said, out of breath from chasing after you in your hurried exit. You turned to him, almost bleeding into the blue of the accented-wallpaper. His eyes softened at your wounded expression. You were gently ripping apart at the wish to see him and be around him, with simultaneous urge to ignore him and become free from his scrutinizing gaze. He would never not know that something was wrong.

He scanned the crowded hallway, and gently, almost as if testing the waters (which he hadn’t felt the need to do in years) placed a hand on your upper arm. “Come on.”

You gave in. God, it was so easy to give in. You missed him. You missed him like a fish might miss water, had it been taken away from it. You missed him like a priest misses God, when his presence ebbs away and the sky is suddenly so very empty. So it was so easy to be led on, to sit down in the passenger of his car and just close your eyes and enjoy how it felt to be beside him. Chan scanned you as he drove, laying there with closed eyes, willing yourself to not look at him again, and realize you had to throw this all away.

He said nothing that entire car ride. Maybe he sensed the desperate need you felt to just have this silence. You clung to it as if it were tangible, as if someone would take it away. He would, once you entered his apartment. Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. You placed yourself on bed and played with the fraying edges of his IKEA duvet cover.

“I miss you.” he said. You sighed, pursing your lips and looking at your fingers. “I miss you too.”

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, only a faceless presence in your peripheral.

“I’m not avoiding y-...” you trailed off when he crouched down in front of you, your entire vision cursed (or blessed?) with his frustrated face. “You are,” he said, eyes boring into yours. You trembled. “I’m not, I’m just busy.” He backed away, sulking, and you tried not to make it obvious that you heaved in a shaky breath from the proximity. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know?”

You laid down on the bed, arms crossing over your chest as if you were a corpse. Was there a way out of this, you wondered. Every glance, every touch, and every word that dropped from his mouth poked and prodded at you sadistically.

“I’m not lying.”

You heard fumbling and raised your head to see Chan, having discarded his shirt, putting on a new one and you cringed at how your heart sped up, seeing his toned stomach, before it disappeared under a sweater. “What are you doing?” you asked. He sighed. He glanced at you before studying himself in the full-length mirror Seungcheol had stolen from Mingyu.

“I’m going on a date with Irene in, like, twenty minutes.”

A pause. You sat up.

“Oh.”

He went on, throwing around scattered clothes and grappling for a cologne in his bag. “I’m sorry, I can’t cancel this, I don’t think she’ll really appreciate it,” he laughed a little. Throwing his head over his shoulder, his smile faded when he sensed your sorrow. His heart hurt then, so he moved, freshly spritzed with the cologne you bought him last Christmas, to stand in front of you on the bed. Your breath hitched when his hand found your cheek and he was suddenly dripping with sincerity and an emotion you really hoped wasn’t pity. “I just- I really wanted to talk to you, Y/n. I’m really worried about you.” You leaned into his hand pathetically, almost whimpering against it. You missed how his embrace felt. His thumb brushed over your cheek and he lingered there, eyes trained on you for just a moment - perhaps a moment too long - before he pulled away.

Suddenly he was putting on a jacket and ruffling his hair in the mirror again. “If you want you can stay here until I come back? It’ll only be, like, an hour and a half, two hours. Cheol will be home soon, he can keep you company.”

“Yeah, maybe,” your eyes were huge, when you willed yourself to stare at the floor. Chan must’ve sensed the meekness in your voice, because he looked over at you through the mirror, a frown on his lips. “I promise we’ll talk, I just- I don’t wanna disappoint Irene.”

It ached when you responded: “There’s nothing to talk about, Channie. I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours?” you only nodded half-heartedly.

“Bye, N/n.”

“Bye, Channie.”

He left with a rustle of his keys, and when the door was closed, your body contracted, muscles pulling inwards until you were hugging your knees in his sheets. And you were crying because it smelled like him, and because he had held your cheek with such care, only to leave moments later for another woman. Everything you held dear, every moment you lingered on was just one-sided. Your tears were crystalline confinements for your most treasured memories with him and you were bleeding out on his bed, sliced in the heart.

It was Seungcheol who found you there like that, curling up in his roommate’s bed with painful sobs squeezing your whole body. You told him. Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did. “I love him,” you cried, and Seungcheol stroked your back, as he listened. “And he doesn’t love me back.”

You apologized abashedly when you had calmed down, but Seungcheol only tutted and shook his head. “That’s what friends are for,” he’d said and patted your hair, and you giggled even though you felt all silly with your red face and your puffy eyes. The older man promised not to say anything, and you found yourself trusting him completely. You bid your goodbyes and felt a little lighter.

When Chan came home a heavy duvet of regret settled in his stomach. You were gone, only the faint mist of your perfume left behind in his room. When night fell, he slept on a bed stained with your tears. _____________________________

A week passed and you spent every moment alone in your dorm room, ignoring papers and deadlines in favor of lying completely still under the covers. Soonyoung came over with food every once in a while, and always left devastated at how completely disarranged you were. He felt powerless and if there was one thing Kwon Soonyoung didn’t like, it was feeling powerless.

That was how you found yourself in a very John Mulaney-like situation on a monday afternoon, sitting before Soonyoung and, surprisingly, Seungkwan, Soonyoung’s roommate, in a nearby café.

“What is this?” you asked, arms crossed and leaned back in your seat, unimpressed. Soonyoung smiled sheepishly, sliding a paper across the table. It read “Intervention” in big, bubbly letters, colored with cheap highlighters. “An intervention?” you said incredulously.

“Yes, we’re worried about you!”

“He’s worried about you. I’m skipping physics for this,” Seungkwan butted in.

“The community is worried about you,” Soonyoung gave a harsh glare to the younger boy, who was mirroring your distaste for the current situation. “So we’re hosting an intervention.”

“This is bullshit,” you said. “Agreed,” came Seungkwan.

“Alright, you two! Let Daddy explain,” Hoshi waved his arms in outrage and the two of you groaned at the word choice. “Y/n. I am sick and tired of watching you cry and cry and sit at home over a boy who is fricken’ in love with you!”

“Did you just say ‘fricken’?”

“Unimportant. The point is get your act together and tell him or get over him!” Soonyoung was determined. While you felt his point of view was certainly unfair to you, your demeanor gave way a little. He was right, you knew. This was ruining you more than you’d care to admit. “You are worth so much more than this.”

“As much as I hate to contribute to this, Soonyoung has been telling me all about.. Your situation, and I have to say I agree. I thought you and Chan were dating until Soonyoung told me this,” Seungkwan said, smiling sympathetically at you. You frowned. “It doesn’t matter what you guys think, you know. He doesn’t see me like that.. It just fucking hurts.”

“If he doesn’t see you like that, then fuck him--”

“Don’t say that, Soonyoung--”

“You need to put your energy into a man who will know your worth!” Soonyoung sassed and Seungkwan snapped his fingers once for emphasis, face totally blank.

“I know you’re right, okay?” you reasoned, sighing. “It’s not as simple as that. I know you want to help, Soonyoung, but.. I just need time.”

Soonyoung deflated, but he understood. I guess he was a little powerless in this situation. Even Seungkwan, who definitely was not thrilled about missing physics, smiled sorely. You watched them and hated yourself for bringing worry to everyone around. Like an oil spill in the ocean, your black mass infected everything around you. They’d done nothing and here you were, parading your sadness like My Chemical Romance in 2006.

“Thank you anyway.” _____________________________

Chan was theorizing. There were only so many things that could happen so suddenly, that could make you push him away like this. He hadn’t seen you in a week and he’d begun biting his nails again. Every waking moment had become consumed with this question: why? Why were you acting like this? Irene would pointedly comment on how quiet he was being, and his lies came like flowing water.

Chan was certain that he’d never experienced anything harder than watching you unravel everyday. Every morning more disheveled than the last, every smile more dull. Let me help you, he’d think, watching you slump in your seat on the other side of the room, running an unsteady hand over your face. You’d even found a way to avoid him after class. Day after day he’d run after you when you sped out of class, and when he reached the hallway where students were pouring out, you’d be gone like a faint ghost.

Irene ended things with him over a text. “I just don’t see us working out anymore,” it’d read and lying in his room he’d sighed quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The text diverted his attention for only a minute, before he was staring at the ceiling again, thinking of you. It had to have something to do with him somehow. But no matter how much he scrutinized every interaction you’d had, he came up blank.

“Are you okay?” It was Seungcheol, standing in the doorway and hanging his jacket on their clothing rack while eyeing him. He’d hardly heard him come in. Chan heaved a sigh, long lines of worry oozing out of him.

“Y/n’s been acting really weird with me. I can’t figure out if it’s something I did,” Chan squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want her to be okay.”

Seungcheol frowned sympathetically. “Maybe you should just leave her alone.” Chan’s eyes sprung open and he grimaced, before ruffling the sheets where he sat up on the bed. Seungcheol was settling himself onto his bed, phone in hand and head against the headboard. “Why are you saying that?”

For a moment, Seungcheol flashed his brown eyes with a hint of ‘oh shit’ in them, before they relaxed and he regained composure. “I don’t know, maybe she just needs some time away from you.”

A pause swallowed the room. Chan studied his friend with furrowed brows. “Did she talk to you?”

“Uh-”

“You know why she’s acting like this!” Chan raised his voice, weeks of frustration crackling in the pit of his stomach. He stood up, so he could tower over Seungcheol’s bed. “Relax, man, I don’t know anything-”

“You do! Tell me what’s going on, Seungcheol-” Only a few words had been shared, but they’d tugged at the right strings, and suddenly Chan’s muscles were tightened as they buried into Seungcheol’s collar. The older man scowled and wrapped his hands around his roommate’s wrists in warning. Chan’s hold untightened and unscrewed and he slumped in on himself like a piece of paper, “please, Seungcheol, please. I’m going crazy.”

Seungcheol’s gaze softened. He pushed the boy’s hands away and sat up on the bed, voice a low, solemn grumble. “I can’t tell you.”

“Fucking please, Seungcheol. What if something happened to her? At that party. I keep thinking about it, how I wasn’t with her, and what if some asshole harassed her or something. I googled it and Google said women can feel lost, lonely and embarrassed over stuff like that,” Chan started pacing. “And then I was thinking what if it was a friend of ours? And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to tell me, but, of course, I’d support her in anything she told me.”

Chan stilled in his wandering across the narrow floorspace. “Can you at least tell me she’s okay?”

All sharp eyes and blonde hair and panted breaths Chan stood in the middle of the room and waited for Seungcheol to tell him that you were okay. Chan would’ve even been at peace with Seungcheol telling him that you never wanted to see him again, fuck, as long as you were fine and you still laughed and smiled, even if it was with Soonyoung and not him.

But the answer didn’t come. Seungcheol frowned and fiddled with his watch. “I don’t think so, man.”

Whatever ties had held Chan back before snapped. He stood still for maybe three seconds in the unlit room, before his body burst into action and he was scrambling for his jacket and keys.

“Fuck this.”

Sprinting down monotonous corridors, a hard-headed Chan let wisps of blonde hair flow behind as the air kissed his cheeks. He wore the crease in his brow that had become permanently etched onto his features. Chan had a one track mind; maybe that’s why things didn’t - wouldn’t - work out with Irene. Currently, the record spinning was you and he’d gone damn near insane, so this time he’d made up his mind. He was not leaving until you talked to him. Whisking past door after door in the quiet nighttime, catching Wonwoo exiting some random dorm and smiling sheepishly, he ignored him and braved forward.

It was not until he was standing right in front of your door that he hesitated. The door framed his figure entirely, trapping him within its confines. What if Seungcheol was right? What if he was making things worse?

But for Chan, he wasn’t sure that he could go any lower. Every day had become a new rock bottom, every day that you avoided him, every moment wondering what he could have possibly done. He missed your smile. So then he was knocking at your door.

“Fuck off, Soonyoung, I’m not going to anymore interventions!” you yelled, voice hoarse from beyond the door. Intervention? Had you developed a drug problem? He knocked again and heard you groan, before heavy footsteps thumped towards him.

“What do you want, Soonyo-” you paused, door half-creaked open. Your eyes were two moons, and your nose and cheeks were red. “Chan,” you breathed, voice nasally from a stuffy nose. Chan said nothing, only pushed past you to get inside. You sniffled.

Your heart was a bomb, or maybe a firework. Chan had lit the fuse and standing before him, where he was half lit in the middle of your room, you knew it was only a matter of time before it exploded, chest blazing with a parade of colors for the fourth of July. Because it was him, a greek fucking god in your toy-decorated room, in his sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and it was you, wimpish and thoroughly out of order, in pyjama shorts and a pink sweater.

“Come. Here.” He wasn’t asking. You nodded and took two steps, and the moment you were within arms reach he enveloped you in his chest. His arms were so strong and warm, one wrapping around your waist and the other bunching up your hair to keep you pressed into him. Your cheek bunched up against his heart, you closed your eyes and heard how fast it was beating. He was scared.

“Talk to me,” you could hear it, too, the fear. His voice was trembling and even though you couldn’t see his face you could imagine his brown eyes glazed over and lips in a pout. The thought squeezed at your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut at the raspiness in your voice. “Don’t be, just talk to me. Please,” his voice was a wavering breath. He pulled away, head ducking down to peer into your eyes. Your cheeks burned and you looked away, becoming completely enamored with the white of his shirt, just for the sake of not seeing his eyes. Then both his hands were on your cheeks, a little harsh at first, but then softening. “Look at me.”

He leaned closer, one hand straying from your cheek to hold you by the back of the head. “Look. At. Me.” he gritted his teeth and you felt the warmth of his face hitting yours. You did. You looked at him, saw him again, really, the guy you’d been avoiding and simultaneously praying closer to you standing before you like a kicked puppy. Suddenly you were crying. It felt like he’d turned you inside out.

“No, no, no, don’t cry, pretty, talk to me, talk to Channie, okay?” he frowned before he was pushing your face closer, nosing your cheek and hair, just a big baby in front of you, with hot and humid breaths on your freshly wetted skin when his lips brushed over it. His hand on the back of your head was only urging you closer, and his back was hunched in a long arch just so he could be with you, as close to you as possible.

And while his touch was bliss for a moment, the reality of it came crashing down, and your hands waved him off, taking a step back, which Chan followed with a step forward. He looked so hurt, hands held out for you to take but you shook your head.

“Don’t- Don’t do this to me, Chan. Not when-” you were shaking when you reached up to rub over your eyes. “Not when- Not when you have Irene to go back to.”

“Irene?” He asked incredulously, almost in outrage, almost as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. It spurred you on. “That’s what this is about?”

“No!” you cried, “Or- yes, I don’t know.”

Chan was silent for a few moments when you began pacing, hands over your eyes. “You were jealous?”

“No- That’s not the point!” your lip trembled when you removed your hands and looked at him again, his arms at his sides, now that he didn’t have you to hold.

“We were never going to stop being friends, you know-” his voice was quiet and yours overpowered his easily, when you screamed at him to say: “I didn’t want to be friends!”

Boom goes the dynamite, indeed. Fireworks filled every crevice of your ribcage.

“Because I love you,” you paused only to flick your eyes over to his, and you sucked in the fear. Your voice shook when you continued: “And I think I have for- for, like, a year? And I only realized on the fourth of July and there you were with Irene, and I just… And I thought if I backed off these feelings would go away, because you obviously don’t-”

“Irene broke up with me,” his voice was much quieter than yours. You wanted to scream and cry and yell, because what did that matter? Why did that matter when it changed nothing? But then he spoke again: “She broke up with me because I kept thinking about you.”

Silence. It hit you that Chan was not informing you, he was telling himself this.

“Yeah,” he scratched at the back of his neck and chuckled dryly, “I kept being quiet on our dates, ‘cause I was thinking about you. I guess she sensed it.”

You were looking at each other in the dim lights. He was so beautiful, cheeks shiny and soft lashes curling over his lids. You sniffled. “Does that mean that you-”

Yes.

Yes, it did, because before you could even finish your sentence he was taking a step forward and his hand was on your cheek again and this time his lips were on yours and fireworks, fireworks exploded in your chest and on your lips like bursts of static, but this time it wasn’t pained, it was beautiful, and you’re melting into his hold, just as he was yours. Lips moving in perfect unison, he tilted his head down and you tilted yours up, and grabbed his neck, and his other hand slid onto your waist, resting there, as the two of you rocked under the artificial light of your overhead lamp.

Everything you yearned for was in your hands and you didn't dare to pull away, only whimpering when you ran out of breath, and chasing his lips when he pulled away to breathe. He chuckled, mouth curved upwards in that beautiful smile that you love. You love it, and there’s no point in hiding it. He pressed his forehead against yours and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.

“I love you too,” he said. You grinned, a perfect blush spread across your rounded cheeks, and his heart soared so much that he had to kiss you again, pecking and mumbling it again and again against your lips: “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His tongue slid over your lip and you opened your mouth with a squeak. His tongue was wet and warm in your mouth and his hands were suddenly on your hips, pushing them into his. Then he pulled away, blushing himself when a string of spit connects you. “Is this okay?” he asked, so softly, so gently, and you nodded, flushed and out of breath and pathetically desperate.

“Yes,” you whined, “need you so bad.” He cooed when you pressed your hips into his, long fingers brushing hair out of your face. “Channie’s gonna take care of you. Channie’s gonna make it up to you,” and yet again it's almost like he was saying it to himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he lowered the two of you onto your bed. Hair strands stretched from their roots in your head, when you hit your plush pillow, and you were all shiny and sparkling eyes, laid out before him in a way that he never dared to imagine. “Too pretty,” he whispered, kissing you again.

He was grinding into you, anchoring himself on your waist and whimpering into the corner of your mouth at the feeling of your warm center through your shorts. “Baby, need you so bad. Can I take this off?” he tugged at your shirt and you nodded, unable to get anything out but whines. He pulled off the pink fabric, marveling at your bare chest before him. Of course, he’d seen it before, in tight shirts, on days where you’d decided to forgo a bra, and he’d always cursed himself for imagining the real thing. “You’re so beautiful,” he cried, as he hit your core just right and he stared at your tits’ slight jiggle.

“Such a pretty baby, so ready for me, can I touch them, please, please?” he was babbling, somehow already pussydrunk, but you were no better, eyebrows cinched together in pleasure, nodding without even an ounce of hesitation at his request. He groped at your chest, thumbs brushing over the hardened buds, before he ducked his head down to suck on one. You’re gasping, as his tongue flicked over you, hands tangling themselves in his hair, moaning his name into the air. He hummed loudly, and you felt a thick glob of wetness escape your pussy at just the sight of him, hunched over you like a wild animal, panting into your chest.

“You’re so pretty,” you whispered and he let go of your tit with a small ‘pop’, lifting his head to look at you. He was grinning ear to ear, face still hovering over your chest. “Am I?” and suddenly he was so cocky, hand cupping your heat through your shorts, and watching as you buck into his hand with a strangled moan. “Needy girl, need pretty Channie to touch you, hm?” He teased, fingers gently rubbing over the fabric of your damp shorts.

“Please,” you whined, thrashing in the sheets, desperate enough to cry. He cooed and shushed you, hovering over you by one, strong arm: “Shh, sweetheart, shh, I know. I got you, I’ll make you feel good.” As much as Chan wanted to make you beg, he was desperate too, and he couldn’t help the slight guilt of what you’d been through. The thought almost made him frown, but he pushed it away and peeled off your shorts and underwear in one swoop.

You cried out when his fingers were finally sliding through your folds. Your eyes, half closed, flicked up to see him, gaze trained on your core in amazement. “You’re so wet, baby,” he purred, spreading the warm slick up to your clit to start circling it with two fingers. “Just for you- Mngh!”

He plunged two fingers into you with ease, wetness coating his fingers to let them slide in. You were panting and thrashing and moaning his name, and he just watched with the biggest hardon he’d ever had, how he made you feel good and how pretty you were, and how much he never wanted to pull his fingers out of your sopping wet heat.

“Do you want my fingers in your mouth?” he asked, and you squeezed your eyes shut and nodded vigorously. “Hey, hey,” the fingers that weren’t plunging in and out of you and curling into your pussy’s sweet spot, squeezed your chin. Your eyelashes fluttered open, and you stared at him with blown out eyes. “You gotta look at me while you do it.”

Then his fingers prodded at your lips, and you opened them with a whine, willing yourself to keep them open, to see how he smiled adoringly down at you. They were filling you just right, one hand stuck in your pussy and the in your mouth, teasing over your tongue. Your orgasm was approaching, knotting in your stomach, embarrassingly fast.

He groaned at the sight of you, looking up at him with huge, adoring eyes while sucking his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, good girl, such a good, appreciative girl, taking my fingers wherever she can.” You clenched around him at that, and he chuckled knowingly. “Yeah, you like being my good girl? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum in my fucking pants.”

You released his fingers only to moan - almost scream - his name, as you came around his fingers, curling into you and working you through your orgasm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum on Channie’s fingers. Look so pretty when you cum.”

You were still dazed on your bed in the glimmering aftermath of your post-orgasm, when you heard Chan shuffling beside you, and then he was leaning over you once again, shirt and pants discarded and cock proud and stiff and leaking precum onto your stomach. You groaned at the sight, hand trailing over his exposed stomach, where abs dipped and rose, glistening softly. Then your thumb caressed and pressed against his slit and he hissed, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

He nosed at your neck, pecking a little, before speaking, voice too strained and too pretty: “Can I fuck you, baby? Please, please, I need to feel you around me so bad.” He had shut his eyes tight, fighting the urge to grab hold of your back and press your tits into his chest.

“Please,” you came back equally as whiny, writhing in his hold, where his thumb was rubbing soft circles in your hip bone. “Please, wan’ your cock. Need it.” He smiled into your neck, grabbing your head and kissing your cheek. “So cute.”

You felt the head of his cock slide through your still impossibly wet folds, then pressing against your entrance. You were murmuring his name over and over and he was panting into your neck and licking a stripe of wet glistening saliva onto it, as he began to push in.

You were writhing so much he had to place his hands on your hips to still you, whispering soft reassurances until he was pushed all the way, clit pushed into his abdomen. You’re so full, you can’t stop the wanton moans at the feeling of his pretty, red cock, every bulge and vein pressed against your gummy walls. “You’re so fucking tight,” he spat, fearful that he’d spill his load into you immediately from the way you were clenching him. Then, slowly, he was rocking into you and the both of you were clambering onto one another. Your hands found his neck, his hair, his flexing biceps, and his your hips, waist, boob, and then clambering up to hold your face and look into your eyes.

“Look at me,” you almost didn’t catch the way he repeated those words from before, but you looked into his brown orbs, blonde hair curling over and tickling your forehead. “So fucking pretty, so cute, my little cumslut. Say you want my cum, baby, please, say it.”

“Wan’ your cum!” you cried, as he angled his cock inside you to press into that spongy spot. He was giving in to all his wants at your words, pulling you up by pressing his arms under your back, so your tits pressed against his chest, and he was nosing at your face again, trailing kisses everywhere he could reach. “So good for me, so pretty, all mine. Fuck, sweetheart.”

“All yours,” you babbled mindlessly, when his hand snaked between your bodies to rub circles into your clit. “Cum for me, cum for me, baby.”

His thrusts were growing sloppy, and you felt the knot tightening in you once more, pulled tight and ready to snap. “Cum, cum, come on, my pretty darling. Fuck, Y/n, I love you!”

At those words you came, pussy pulsating around his cock and clenching so tight, he was unsure if he could even pull out in time. He did though, pulling out just in time to see his seed spill all over your soft stomach.

Panting and out of breath, his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of you, body covering yours. “Ugh,” you groaned and looked up at you, laughing softly. “Chan, you’re heavy,” you complained. “I’m a weighted blanket,” he countered, but climbed off of you anyway, lying down next to you. You looked at him, with the side profile of a god, and his blonde hair tousled and chest rising and falling.

“You are pretty,” you said, and you could almost cry when he looked at you and blushed.

“You should’ve just told me,” he whispered, turning his head to gaze at you. You frowned and nodded. “But it doesn't matter now,” he reassured, one hand climbing from the sloping, bunched up duvet and running his hand through your hair. He tilted his gaze towards your cum covered stomach, some of it having smeared onto himself, and he pushed himself off the bed. "I'll get a towel."

Naked and divine, he disappeared into your small bathroom.

“Oh, God..” you groaned suddenly, face morphing into anguish.

“What?” Chan called from the bathroom.

“Soonyoung is going to be the most insufferable person on the planet when he finds out about this."

#lee chan x reader #chan x reader #lee chan smut #chan smut #dino smut #dino x reader #svt chan x reader #svt dino x reader #svt x reader #svt smut #svt angst #dino angst #chan angst #lee chan angst

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im-his-druidess · 23 days

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Can you do a Thomas Hewitt/Leatherface

His reaction to one of his victims getting to the reader and trying to 'save them' from him?

Your writing skills are amazing BTW and the last one I asked for IS AMAZING

Thank you so much! ❤️

Thomas would be infuriated at the turn of events.

He takes his job protecting the family seriously and to have someone slip away from him and try to steal you away makes him see red.

It would also cause him to panic.

The thought of someone stealing you away, because that's exactly what he thinks of it as, and never seeing you again makes him nearly want to weep.

So he has a lot of intense emotions rolling through him during this and even his family would have trouble reining him in.

The victim wouldn't make it far with you. Probably not even leaving the property before Thomas is on him.

Of course you can only stand there in shock as screams and the revving of a chainsaw fills the night. Red mist coating your body and soaking your clothes as Thomas brutalizes the victim.

Even after they are dead, body so badly ruined that they can't even salvage the meat, he is wild. His dark emotions plus the adrenaline making him a force to be reckoned with.

It's up to you to calm him down.

Even if you are still a victim yourself, or have succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome, it's in everyone's best interest for the big man to be calmed as soon as possible least he attack someone else.

After the incident be fully prepared to be locked away in his room nearly 24/7. He won't make the same mistake twice.

#thomas hewitt #Texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt headcanons #thomas hewitt x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #texas chainsaw massacre headcanons #slashers #slasher headcanons #Slasher x reader #the cryptid answers

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 month

Text

The Scars On His Back

Just going to slowly reupload my fics...two at a time...

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and goes out to the forest for a breather when he runs into you.

He’s back there again, with the feeling of a knife tearing into his back, carving up his flesh. Blood runs down his body, creating rivers of crimson on his pale skin and drips onto the floor, pooling between his feet. He can feel the stickiness of the liquid penetrating the gaps between his toes, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. His lifeblood drains with each moment, the pain overwhelms what is left of his soul and tears his body apart, sending screams ripping from his throat until his voice is hoarse but it never stops. The knife digs in again and again, the pain harshly dragging him back into reality each time he drifts off too far into the black void.

And then he wakes up with a start to the mess that is his tent, chest heaving out of habit and a sting in his eyes. His hands tremble as they reach up to wipe his weakness away, nearly causing him to nick himself. He presses his hands against his face, shakily drawing deep breaths.

He’s far far away from there now. He’s safe from him , with the tadpole in his head. He won’t have to bow and scrape to him as long as the tadpole remains. As long as you shelter him.

Hastily throwing on a tunic to cover up the scars, he heads outside his tent for some fresh air, to be away from the stuffiness that his tent brings tonight. The night air is cooling, a gentle breeze whistling through the still camp. Moonlight spills through the tree canopy, shining beams of silvery light upon the various tents pitched around the once burning campfire.

Quiet trills of nighttime creatures fill the silence, the smell of your blood wafting from…hold on. The smell of your blood? Ruby eyes widen and his feet move in the direction his nose is picking the scent up from before his mind can register anything. You are injured , his half-awake mind processes, a small pool of panic bubbling within his chest as he quickens his pace. How bad are your wounds? Have you been attacked? Will he make it in time?

He bursts through the trees, gaze frantically searching for any signs of an attack but all he sees was you. There is no sign or scent of enemies, only your lonesome figure sitting sheepishly on a rock, crimson liquid seeping through your fingers.

“Hi Astarion,” you smile, waving awkwardly.

“Y/N!” He hurries over to your side. “You’re bleeding.”

“So it seems,” you chuckle. “A small accident, really. I merely slipped on some wet grass and cut myself on the sharp edges of the stones.”

“You really are the clumsiest person I know, darling,” he shakes his head with a sigh, taking out some bandages and ointment. “Let’s treat this wound of yours before it gets infected. Wouldn’t want a small accident to turn into a big mess now, would we?”

You nod, biting your tongue before words that will ruin the mood slip past your lips. It’s better to keep to yourself how prepared he was to treat your injuries, and especially the fact that you could tell he was worried about you. Then an idea hits you.

“Since I’m already bleeding, do you want to feed on me?” The question sends his head shooting upwards, a quizzical look on his face.

“Feed…on you?”

“Yeah, like drink my blood since it’s leaking out of my body anyways, would be a shame if so much of it went to waste,” you can’t help but grin, “I can see your fangs peeking out, you know. Go ahead and drink, I don’t mind.”

He opens his mouth, moving it closer to your wound. The sweet scent of your blood hits his nostrils hard and they flare in response, hunger gnawing in his chest. You had offered your blood to him, what did you want in return? His body? His services?

Ruby red eyes search your face, waiting for you to lay down your conditions but you simply press your bleeding arm to his lips with a small smile, dabbing a sliver of blood on his lips.

“I mean it, Astarion. And no, I don’t want anything in return. I promise.”

A small puff of breath leaves his lips at your words and his tongue darts out, gently licking a stripe up your arm. When you don’t pull away, he gets a little bolder, sucking blood from the open wound. You hiss softly when his fangs dig in, drawing more blood from your body but keep your arm steady. He hungrily drinks it all in, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but your other hand moves towards his hair, gently running your fingers through his silver curls, twirling the longer strands around your index finger. You carefully avoid touching his ears, knowing how sensitive they are and instead tangle your fingers in the hair at the top of his head.

He quietly purrs against your arm, pressing his tongue against the wound to staunch what bleeding he can before cleaning the wound thoroughly with a damp cloth, sending vibrations running up your arm. Gently dabbing the ointment on your arm, he wraps a bandage around the wound, pressing one last kiss to it before standing back up, offering a hand.

“Shall we return to camp before the others begin panicking? I doubt they can function without the both of us.” The smile on his face is filled with apprehension, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Astarion –”

“Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ll repay this debt of yours as soon as possible,” he winks, pulling you to your feet. “You won’t regret it in the slightest.”

As he turns to leave, you shout.

“Astarion!”

He stops in his tracks, turning around. Muscles tensed, he tries to cover up the fear that is thrumming through his veins with a feigned smile, hoping it’d mellow out your anger. After all, you could neve resist his smile…right?

You see the way fear flashes in his eyes and immediately regret raising your voice, even if it was out of frustration directed at yourself. Taking a deep breath to clear away your anger, you hold out a hand in peace offering.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” Your voice trails off. How do you even justify what you just did? You know of the horrors Cazador inflicted on him, and yet you still lash out.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N,” he chuckles nervously.

You vigorously shake your head, “I really am sorry about it. There’s no way I can justify raising my voice at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was really frustrated at myself for not being able to convince you I didn’t want anything in return, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Astarion searches for any sign of a lie in your words but finds nothing. You really meant it. Every word you said. Your apology, your insistence on needing nothing from him after he had just fed on you, all of it was sincere and genuine. His undead heart skips a beat and suddenly the night doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

You care about him.

Before he knows it, his feet carry him over to you once more, his hand sliding into your outstretched one. The warmth blooms from your palm and winds around his cold one as your fingers intertwine with his.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

“Will you accept my apology?” You ask softly, eyes downcast.

“Of course, dearest. I always will,” he leans in, lips hovering over your forehead. Can he kiss you? Will he taint you if he does?

You tilt your head upwards, meeting his lips with yours and he immediately melts into the kiss. Unlike his previous kisses, this one is filled with care and love, not the usual lust and passion he’s used to receiving. Your arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back where scars tell of his past and he reflexively tenses. But this time, the hands on his back mean him no harm. They lie there to pull him closer into your warm embrace, to protect him from those who seek to harm him. So he lets them rest on his vulnerable back, soaking in the strange warmness that the simple action brings.

Astarion closes his eyes, putting his own arms around you. It’s weird, hugging someone for the first time. You don’t mind his cold dead fingers resting on your back and even press closer against him, enveloping him in your warmth.

When your lips part ways, he doesn’t say a word lest his voice wavers and betrays him. He lets you do the talking, relishing in the way you hold onto his hand tightly. Not a single move is made when you lead him into his tent, only letting go of his hand to help him tidy up his bedroll. You make sure he’s comfortable before turning to leave, pausing when he calls out your name in such a gentle manner.

“Stay…with me?” He begs. Your heart aches from his tone and once more you’re reminded of how much he hurts on the inside, so you backtrack and wrap your arms around him.

“Always.”

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion angst

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

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Someone's there.

Bucky x Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

AN: This is definitely not what I intended to write when I started but anyway. Have good day my dudes!!!

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes #no y/n #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #tw panic attack #tw ab*se

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incendiobrock · 10 days

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The Driskill Hotel {Chris Sturniolo}

Summary: fem!reader x bf!Chris go to Austin, Texas with Matt and Nick to film a video for Sam and Colby's channel at the Driskill Hotel. The reader is very sensitive to the supernatural and gets convinced to do the elevator ritual alone... What could possibly go wrong? ;)

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks, ghostly encounters, fear of elevators, language, FLUFFFFF

A/N: I know this video is from awhile ago but I've had this idea and couldn't stop thinking about it. I started my page with imagines like this for Colby x reader and so I wanted to throw it back to my roots and make a Chris x reader (because I'm a die hard Chris girl)

Part 2??

You had been a fan of Sam and Colby for years, enjoying their content and being fascinated with their supernatural findings. There was always a part of you that was convinced you had a special connection with the supernatural, feeling extremely vulnerable and tethered to their world. Maybe it was due to your empathic nature, or maybe you were a undiscovered medium that hadn’t tapped into your powers.

You never tapped into your "abilities" because you were scared of what could possibly come from speaking to the dead. But when Nick, Matt, and Chris (and yourself) got asked to join in for an XPLR video on Sam and Colby's channel, you all knew that you couldn't pass it down. This is what led you all to Austin, Texas where the historic, haunted, Driskill Hotel was located.

The night had started somewhat normal, you all walked through the hotel with a tour guide where she explained the history of the building as well as the ghost inhabitants. Throughout the tour you would catch glimpses of shadow figures on the wall, hearing inaudible voices, and being extra sensitive to smells like cigar smoke and roses. The fear was definitely building inside of you when you observed that none of the rest of the group seemed to be experiencing the same things you were. You did your best to hold it together, knowing the triplets were excited to be included in the video, and not wanting to ruin your own experience of an inner fangirl being on an XPLR trip.

As the tour wrapped up and the night went on, Sam and Colby began to lead the investigation portion of their video. You stayed glued to Chris' side, feeling comfort in his presence, even with everything going on around you. Chris held an EMF reader in his left hand as his right hand was busy interlocking your fingers, running his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. He couldn't tell if you were nervous or if you were just trying to hone in on filming the video since you were all a guest to Sam and Colby's channel.

You and Chris stayed slightly behind the group as you made your way over to the elevators on the main lobby for the next part of the video, the elevator ritual. The elevators had already been acting up earlier in the night, not wanting to take you guys up to the floor you had requested. Elevators weren't necessarily your favorite inventions, a slight irrational fear of being stuck in one or one falling with you inside.

"Matt, the ghosts seem to really like you. Maybe you should be the one to do the ritual." You heard Sam say, observing how the EMF in Matt's hand continued to light up to red as they crossed through the grand lobby. As you passed by the receptionist desk you saw the figure of a tall man dart across the wall, making you subconsciously squeeze Chris' hand out of fright. "What's up baby? You okay?" Chris asked softly, pausing in his tracks to check up on you.

"Did you see that?" You asked him back, hoping that maybe you weren't going as crazy as you thought you were. Chris furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around the rotunda, trying to see whatever it was you were talking about. "See what?"

You let out a shaky breath, your palms becoming clammy as all the supernatural sensitivity was beginning to catch up to you. The hand that was holding onto Chris' disconnected as you rubbed the sweat on your pants, "I keep seeing shadows on the walls..." Chris frowns at your reply, wrapping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. His lips pressed a firm kiss on your forehead, "I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

"Chris! Y/n! You guys coming?" Colby asked, staring at you two from down the hall where they had stopped in front of the elevators. "Yeah we're coming, sorry!" Chris responded, gently pulling away from the hug and instantly wrapping his hand back in yours. As you stood in front of the elevator doors Sam explained to the camera, and to all of you, what the elevator ritual would consist of.

"y/n, will you do the honors?" Sam questioned, pulling your out of your trance and causing your jaw to drop open. "Huh? What?" You stuttered, not registering what he had elected you to do for this ritual.

"Do you want to do the ritual?" He rephrased, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. Your body tensed at the thought, not only did elevators terrify you, but you had already been experiencing paranormal things the whole night. "You don't have to if you don't want." Chris said, breaking the short silence that filled the room, knowing you were already on edge and trying to stand up for you in case you were wary about doing it. "Uh, yeah, I think I could do it... I would just need to write down the order of the floors." You said, uncertainty filling your voice.

"Awesome! I'll text it to you." Sam said, beginning to type up a message to send to your phone. A lump began to form in your throat as you awaited the notification being sent to you. Chris gently rubbed your lower back, doing his best to calm your anxiety without bringing too much attention to your state, understanding that you didn't like when others were aware of your intimate emotions. Your phone vibrated in your hand, looking down to see the message;

12:00AM

Sam: 4, 2, 6, 2, 10, 5, 1

"Okay it's exactly midnight, you have to start now." Colby said, pressing the up button and watching the elevator door open. You took the camera from him, not saying a word as you faced the elevator. You swallowed the lump in your throat, knowing there was no way you could back out of this now. Stepping into the elevator you instantly felt chills run up your spine.

"Now remember, when you get to the fifth floor a lady might join you. If she does then when you try to come back down to the lobby the elevator will actually go up to the tenth floor, that's how we will know it worked. If it comes back down to one then the lady didn't enter and the ritual failed." Sam said, reminding you and the audience how things were supposed to go.

Shakily, your finger made its way up to press the number four, officially beginning the ritual. The door slowly shut in front of you, keeping eye contact with Chris until you couldn't anymore. The elevator rose and the door opened, nobody was there. Floor two, nothing.

Sixth floor.

Second floor, again.

Tenth floor.

Then finally, the fifth floor. Your breath caught in your throat as the elevator door opened unusually slow, revealing an empty hallway. 'This is just a game', 'It's not real', you tried reminding yourself as your heart beat uncontrollably inside your chest. You waited for a couple seconds before pressing the button for the first floor, praying that this stupid ritual hadn't actually worked. The doors shut and the elevator began to descend back to the first floor, allowing you to let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "I guess the ritual failed guys," You lightly giggled talking into the camera, feeling relief wash over your whole body.

"Woah!" You yelped, almost dropping the camera as the elevator slightly dropped, the lights inside flickering. The screen above the door signaling that you were on the third floor. Before you knew it the elevator came to a halt, stopping dead in its tracks on the third floor.

"What? Oh no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered, panic rising inside of you as you dropped the camera to the floor and made your way to the control panel. You smashed the button for the first floor over and over again, hoping the elevator would start to move again. Nothing was happening however, the buttons not even lighting up when you pressed them. You began to reach into your back pocket for your phone, pulling it out to call Chris.

The dial tone played as you dropped to the floor in a seated position, legs shaking beneath you. After three rings Chris' voice filled your left ear, "Hey babe, why did you stop on the third floor? We were waiting for you to come back down-" He said quickly before you cut him off.

"Chris! The elevator is stuck! I don't know what to do, I'm freaking the fuck out!" Your breath became labored as you heaved in and out, feeling like no matter how much air you inhaled it wasn't reaching your lungs correctly. "Woah, woah. Okay, calm down please! Just breath alright? Listen to my breathing!" Chris instructed, knowing you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He let out slow, steady breaths of air while your vision began to blur with tears. Your head started to heat up and your ears began to ring, "I-I can't Chris... I can't breathe!" You huffed, clenching your hand over your aching heart.

"The elevators stuck, somebody go try and find someone to help!" You faintly heard Chris yell to the other boys, holding the phone away from his ear so it wasn't directed to you. "Yes you can, I believe in you babe. Nick is going to get some help, okay? Just hang in there." He continued to comfort you through the phone, coaching your breath back to normal as Nick found an employee. After five minutes, which felt like an eternity to you, the elevator doors where being pried open. The elevator had stopped just barely off center to the second floor, making the door inoperable on your side.

When the doors were finally opened you couldn't help but let the tears you had been containing fall, all the overwhelming fear catching up to your eyes. The employee held out a hand for you as you jumped the three foot distance onto the second floor lobby, landing slightly unsteady as the tears blurred your vision. Chris rushed over to you, faster than you had ever seen him move before, pulling you deep into his embrace.

"There, there, I got you. I got you, don't worry." He said, running his big hand through your hair. Your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, scared that he might disappear if you didn't hold him close. Tears stained his jacket sleeve as you buried your head into his shoulder. You both stayed like that for awhile, the others watching as you crumbled into Chris' arms.

Once you had finally cooled down, you all sat on some couches that were in the main lobby. You drank some water that Nick had brought for you as you stayed by Chris' side, his arm wrapped over your shoulders. "Y/n, I am so so sorry that the elevator got stuck. I had no idea that was going to happen and I feel horrible. I didn't realize you were scared of elevators." Sam apologized to you, feeling guilty that he had put you in this position in the first place.

"Sam, it's not your fault! How would you have known the elevator was going to get stuck?" You said sincerely, appreciating his apology even though he had nothing to do with the unfortunate situation.

"If you guys need to call it a night and go back to your hotel, we completely understand." Colby said, offering to end the night where it was instead of finishing out the investigation. "No, it's okay. I'm good now, really. There's no need to scrap the rest of the video just because of me." You reassured, wanting the boys to finish the video they had put so much effort into already.

"Are you sure?" Chris asked you.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now who's ready for the Estes Method?"

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