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trulyhblue · 4 months

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Baby England

Lionesses x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x reader (platonic).

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, coarse language, school, young reader.

A/N — still can't get over Sam's ACL. Like I woke up just to cry? No, thank you.

Masterlist

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The Games Room was quiet for what seemed to be the first time ever. The team was sprawled throughout the room, some of them on their phones, others by mountains of pillows. Georgia and Keira were in the indoor pitch juggling with one another. Alex was having a soft conversation with Hempo, laughing at something one of them had said.

The serenity of the room was something you didn't catch often. Usually, the hustle of the team would echo across the walls, loud pints of laughter and screaming coming from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy was often yelling at Mario Kart, and Ellie was always strutting around Table Tennis in triumph, while everyone else grumbled on about how she was too good.

But for now, it was silent, save for the low conversations from the different groups. Even Lessi and Tooney were keeping in check, sharing a rocking chair with mounds of blankets hauled over the top of them.

For anyone else in the room, it would've been extremely relaxing.

For you, it was anything but.

You wanted to snap your pen in half, feeling the fatigue of yesterday's game daunting on your muscles. The words on your laptop were dancing behind the blur of your eyes. You struggled to stay concentrated as Leah sat next to you, taking her eyes off her phone every once while to make sure you were actually doing your homework.

The Euros were speeding by quicker than any of you could imagine. The outcome of your results, and the number of fans that had started to compile over the weeks, was indescribable. This was your debut camp for the Lionesses, and while you spent most of your time on the bench, making late appearances in the 70th minutes of games, you wouldn't change it for the world.

However, with all the excitement and privilege that came with representing your country in such a prestigious competition at Sixteen, you were faced with the challenge of keeping up with school.

When you first signed with the Lionesses, your parents were determined to keep you in school. Your education was very important, and if football ever ended badly for you, they wanted you to have something to fall back on. Growing up through the youth groups, and developing skills in the Arsenal Academy, you were used to the physical and emotional demands of a professional football career. Your parents were incredibly supportive of your dream to play, but their underlying worry when you were called up to the National Team was daunted on them.

So, to make everyone happy, you decided to take on the complicated challenge of juggling both football and school. This meant that in your spare time, all you did was study for exams, take the exams, and then study for the next one. It was an endless cycle of school and work, but you knew that it would be all worth it in the end.

The worst thing about it was that none of the girls were your age. Some of them had Uni work to do, but you were still mastering high school subjects. The workload wasn't nearly as draining, and they seemed to have it all sorted out in a few short hours while you were spending all of your extra time peeling away your useless worksheets, essays and papers.

Lots of the girls were lenient. None of them liked the idea of you cooped up in front of a screen. Hempo would buy you some crisps from down the road. Mary would make TikToks with you, Beth would scoop you up for cuddles and a movie. LJ would pull you away for Mario Kart. All the girls believed that you needed a break, especially in such a stressful time.

But Leah was the exact opposite.

You had known Leah since you were seven. You had met her during one of your Arsenal Youth games, immediately looking up to her as an older sister and role model. Even as a teenager, Leah holds a protective arm around you. She was always ready to defend you on the pitch, not only as a Captain, but as a friend. She wasn't afraid to put you in line — she was the only one who could send you running laps if you were too cheeky. She was strict, especially when you parents weren't there to boss you around, and everyone knew that her authority over you was nothing to debate.

You were training with the Arsenal Women's Team while you were still at the Academy. You're not quite sure why you were chosen in the squad, as you struggled to believe you made the cut at such a young age, but the England Captain didn't hesitate to make you put in the work.

She was a bit like your agent, always persuading you to do something when you weren't sure what to do yourself. You still weren't signed with a WSL team, but as the Euros progressed, teams from everywhere were banking up to sign you as soon as possible. You tried hard not to delve too deeply into it. You knew Arsenal was a main contender, and that's where you most wanted to go, but your focus right now was the Euros... and the essay in front of you.

"C'mon, get it done," Leah ordered, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, her hand carrying the weight on her head against the desk. You had been sitting there for over an hour, a total of one paragraph typed out on your screen. Outside, you could see Beth and Lotte playing Basketball. You threw your head backwards, groaning in respite. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing.

"No use whining about it." She spoke, still not looking at you. "'Might as well smash it out now so it's done."

"'Dunno what to write about." You grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets. You managed to slip a glance towards Esme, feeling your hopes lift up when she gave you a knowing nod.

But of course, Leah caught the interaction. "Hempo, no." She snapped, sending the Forward back to her seat. "You don't get crisps when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"Leah-"

"-Get on with it."

You slouched back into your chair, making sure your Huff was loud and overly obnoxious. Leah had no reaction, leaning back in her chair, and continuing to scroll on her phone.

"Y/N." She murmured in warning.

When you made no effort to keep going, she finally looked at you.

You could tell she was over it. She wasn't obliged to sit with you, but it was an unspoken rule that she did, otherwise, you would never get it finished. The older woman secretly felt bad for making you do it. If it was her choice, you wouldn't be doing school during the tournament. She understood your reluctance, but both of you could guess the consequences of your actions if you weren't handing it in.

"You've got half an hour." She snapped, her glare darkening. If she wasn't strict now, it'd end badly. "If it's not done, I'll bench you."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Lauren stop her Lego abruptly. Esme was no longer looking at her phone, instead tilting her head away from the tension rising in an attempt to not get involved.

Leah didn't have the power to bench anyone, the older girls knew that. But to your virtue, you thought that Leah was capable of anything. An abuse of power, maybe, but it worked all the same.

You begrudgingly tapped at your keyboard, making a point to roll you eyes when Leah set an alarm for half an hour. You were determined to keep your spot as a preferred sub, refusing to let Leah feel all smug at the fact that you couldn't finish the stupid essay.

Lauren continued on with her Lego. Esme was starting a new bracelet. Beth and Lotte's giggles were drowned out by the determination written all over your face. Without your knowledge, more and more people began to cram into the Game Room. First, Lucy, then Kei and Gee. A few minutes later, Alessia and Ella were doing a TikTok, their voices growing louder as the minutes went by. LJ walked past with confusion written across her features. She leaned over your shoulder, eyes slightly widening at the page full of words. She glanced to Leah's phone and the timer, then at Leah, who was staring off into the distance.

By five minutes left, you had written nearly two whole pages. Your hands were cramping, and your feet couldn't keep still. Chloe and Katie were surrounding you behind LJ, waiting for you to snap out of your trance and notice the crowd that had complied.

You were reading over your final sentences when the door crashed open, revealing Millie and Rach running in frantically with a cameraman hot on their trail. Their presence was so boisterous that everyone stopped to see who it was, watching in curiosity when the two women started searching the room.

"We need the Baby!" Millie screamed, scrambling onto the floor to check underneath the lounge. "We need the baby!"

Rachel was running to the bean bags, dashing past Lucy, Keira and Georgia playing Mario Kart. Everyone laughed in amusement at the cameraman struggling to keep up with the two of them.

"Where is she?!" Rach screeched at Esme and Lauren, ignoring the fits of giggle the pair were in. "Where's the baby?"

"Over here, idiots," Zelem stated, causing both their heads to dart in your direction. The girls surrounding you were quick to scatter, knowing the wrath of the two women was not something easily escapeable. Millie was about to yank you from under your shoulders when Leah moved in front of you, her prior amusement halting, replaced with her usual sternness.

You were closing your laptop at the sight of the camera, beaming at the thought of freeing yourself.

"Not now, Bright," Leah uttered, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. "She's got school."

Instead of leaving you be, the duo closed in on you, beckoning the camera over to your work sprawled across the table.

Both of them held tiny mics, holding them up to their mouths as they spoke.

"Here we've got the Arsenal Protege in her natural habitat. Born and raised in red, she seems to be researching ways to leave."

"Both Arsenal and Leah."

Leah's face contorted into deep offence. "Hey!"

"Yes, it appears she is." Rachel nodded vigorously, picking up your book, pretending to read it. "She has written down Aston Villa as her top contender. Not only is she fast, but smart too."

Millie hugged you from behind. "But we all know what side of London she's thinking of, isn't that right? Smart, little, blue she'll be, am I right, Williamson?"

The camera panned to Leah, who was not looking at all amused. The thought of you being at any other club felt absolutely gut-wrenching to her. Like her, you had grown up bleeding in North London. She wouldn't trade any other player twice as good as you if that meant you'd stay. But while she'd never admit it, Leah wasn't worried about you leaving Arsenal. She was more worried that you'd leave her.

"Over my dead body." She snapped, wrenching the Chelsea woman's arms away from you, swerving your chair back to face your laptop. "Now, off you go, she needs to get this done."

"I've finished it, Lee." You muttered, feeling embarrassed at the fact that fans would prune over the way you were bossed around. When it came to your figure in the media, it was mainly regarding your blamelessness in comparison to your more experienced teammates. You were often babied by the girls, and fans adored the interactions you would have with them, especially with Leah.

Your Captain looked at you, crossing her arms. "You promise me you're done?"

"Promise." Your cheeks heated as the snickers fell from Daly's lips. You nodded, slowly inching off your seat. "Please, Lee, I've been stuck here for hours."

"Yeah, c'mon, Williamson, let her come to the dark side." Millie barked, causing Leah to grumble at the notion.

It took her a few moments to decide whether or not to let you go, huffing in defeat when she turned off her phone. "Fine. But no Chelsea or Villa talk, swear to Go—"

You were off before she could finish her lecture. Millie had picked you up, lifting you over her shoulders as Rach followed behind. The three of you ran into the indoor training pitch, with the poor cameraman following after you hopelessly.

When Millie plopped you down, you engulfed the warmth of someone's lap. You craned your head back to find Jordan looking back at you, her beady, toothy grin beaming back at you. The Arsenal midfielder wrapped her arms around you as you made the effort to snuggle into her body. Jordan was like your second mother when you were away from home. She was an ongoing support that wore her heart on her sleeve. She was different from Leah's opposing relentless, being more of a calm before the storm, less sentimental but effusive nonetheless.

You were supposed to be Jordan's substitute during your time at the Euros, but her knee injury had ruled her out. Therefore, the woman was only there when the squad wasn't training.

You noticed the multiple cameras surrounding the couch you were all squeezed on, but the attention felt a little less daunting with the comfort of the girls around you.

"We've got some questions for you," Millie spoke, revealing some palm cards from God knows where.

You nodded, keeping your head on Jord's chest. "Ask away."

"Who is your favourite teammate?"

You thought to yourself for a second before shrugging. "Jordan."

Rach scoffed. "Boring."

"Yeah, next!" Millie rolled her eyes. "Who would win in a fight, me or Daly?"

"Why am I answering these?!" You laughed, shaking your head. "You could've asked anyone."

"Those aren't the real questions." Jordan prodded, leading the two women to laugh their heads off at their supposed humour. You looked around at everyone, extremely confused about what you were here for. There were a few PR Managers behind the media setup, all with clipboards in their hands. You managed to catch Jordan eyeing Bright and Daly, squeezing your body a little tighter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just having a laugh." Mils chortled, straightening up before continuing. "We're to announce that Baby England here has been asked to answer a few questions on behalf of the team."

You watched the centre-back intently. "Why me?"

"Dunno." Rach shrugged, followed shortly by Mil's voice. "Just 'cause."

"Alright, then, by who?"

"God, you'd think with all that schoolwork you'd be a bit brighter."

Jordan huffed from behind you. "Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright." Rachel scoffed, taking out the same cards as Millie had, the England Lioness logo plastered on the back. "So, seriously now, how do you think the Lionesses have worked throughout the Euros?"

You were never the one to be faced with serious questions in interviews. In fact, you had only ever attended one or two. At Arsenal, you were in the Academy, meaning the media surrounding you and your team was very scarce. As a representative of your National Team, the two interviews you had been a part of were your induction and your Player of the Match award at the end of one of the games. You weren't used to being in the spotlight like your England teammates, but you were not opposed to being overshadowed by them either. You knew you had a lot to learn, you were happy to play alongside them.

“Erm, I'm not quite sure.” You posed, blushing at the laughter that followed. “I'm very proud to be a part of it… this is a big opportunity for me, and I'm grateful for having the chance to represent my country.”

“True English,” Mils said fondly, finding the camera with her eyes. “Modest as always.”

Jordan hugged you tighter. “Let her finish, Millie.”

“But I think all of the girls think that, even to a bigger scale than me.” You continued, fidgeting with your hands. “It's a home Euros so… we all want to bring it home. I think that's one of the main contributors — the pressure, but also the idea of winning. We all want our families and country to be proud. So, yeah, and because we all love football. That's a given.”

“That was a bloody good answer, Baby England,” Rach commented. Her hand was rubbing your shoulder, her legs crossed over each other on the lounge. The Defender behind her was smiling, propping herself into a more comfortable position before she spoke.

“Speaking of,” She smirked. “Are you bothered by your nickname ‘Baby England?’ Do you feel a bit bugged by it?”

You giggled into Jordan, your cheeks inevitably heating up. “Erm, yes and no. I mean, I know I'm the youngest but I’ll go back to training and the girls will be teasing me for it.”

“Do you want to stay in the Academy?” Rach asked. “What’s your plans after the Euros?”

“Not sure.” You shrugged. “Hopefully we finish with Gold, that's the hope, obviously. But, I’ll just have to see.”

Both women looked at each other, then the camera, hiding their smiles concurrently. Jordan and you watched in confusion.

“Should we start the list of offers you've got right now?” Daly chortled. “I can think of five on the top of my head.”

“Who’s your top five?” Millie continued, leaning in and mouthing her club Chelsea.

“Leah would kill me!” You laughed, shaking off the question. “I was talking to Lessi and Lotte about the States, cause my parents still want me to have an education. But to be fair, my agent hasn't told me any offers. I don't think she will until the Euros are over.”

“Well, you heard it hear first.” Rachel beamed. “Baby England to Villa!”

The Cameraman was about to end the video when a booming fury echoed from across the room.

All heads turned to an enraged Leah storming over. “I said no Villa talk!”

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yourusername (pretend it's you and Leah)

yourusername — sorry @ rachdaly, no Villa talk

Comments

milliebright — u say nothing about Chelsea, right?

^ leahwilliamson — don't even go there.

lionesses — football’s coming home 🫶🏼

racheldaly — I’ll find a way

^ leahwilliamson — no you won't.

user1 — Leah fighting for Y/N’s spot at Arsenal more than Arsenal themselves LMAO

^ user2 — she really said North London Forever

lottewubbenmoy — Baby England 🫶🏼

alessiarusso99 — beautiful girls

*liked by yourusername, leahwilliamson

User3 — is this an Aston Villa denial confirmation?

^ user4 — I think shes just referencing the YouTube video or Her, Jordan, Mils, and Rach.

^ user5 — shes got all these offers, who knows

^ user3 — she practically confirmed she was going to North Carolina in that video tho

^ user4 — 🤷‍♀️ you could say that is is an Arsenal Confirmation since Leah’s in it. Fr tho idk.

Leahwilliamson — my 🌟 girl

^ user6 — their friendship is so cute

User7 — All these clubs want her, WHERE WILL SHE GO

^ yourusername — 👀

^ user7 — STOP DO NOT DO THIS TO ME

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sleekswosobession · 3 months

Text

that’s enough

barça femeni x teen!reader, alexia putellas x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: this is a mess. the plot is like when ur writing an english essay and you let your subconscious mind write it so it ends up splitting into three topics with no context.

TW: throwing up, coarse language

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Last night, I went out again. It isn’t unusual for me and if I get caught it gets me in trouble with Alexia. I’m not even doing anything bad most of the time, just driving around to take the pressure away. What I don’t factor in this time is the fact that we have an early morning session and a late night session. So if hell was a day, this is it.

First, we have a video session discussing tactics. Which is at 7am, then at 6pm we have a field session. Of course when I wasn’t there when Alexia woke up she immediately called me.

“Where are you? Where’s your car and why aren’t you in the house?” She questions clearly annoyed.

“Relax Alexia, I went out on a little drive, I’ll be there for the video session don’t worry.” She’s about to say more but I hang up. I know I won’t hear the end of this but there can’t be too much harm.

Turns out there can be.

I walk inside the room with my mcdonald’s coffee, I’m not the last person there but Alexia is in the room and shoots daggers at me. I shrug my shoulders, moving to sit next to Ingrid.

“Alexia is really mad, what did you do this time?” She asks, looking at me with a slight smirk.

“I went for a drive to clear my mind. I guess it’s illegal to do that now. I got a coffee though.” She wrinkles her face in disgust.

“Out of all the places to get coffee, you choose the worst one? Honestly kid, please find some place better. Staring at that makes me physically sick.” I roll my eyes.

“I was in a hurry and they call it fast food for a reason. Imagine if I was late? I’m already in trouble.” She nods her head in understanding.

“So, any plans for today or are you going to play Hogwarts Legacy all day.”

“I’m going to watch a movie.” I reply.

“The whole day?” She questions confused.

“Well… I never said I was seeing the movie IN Spain.” She sighs pinching the bridge between her nose.

“That’s not a good idea. Why would you do that?”

“Because I hate subtitles and I don’t want the movie to be in Spanish.” I shrug.

“That’s… a good point. If Alexia finds out you’ve left the country again she’s gonna lose it so have fun and make sure not to tell her you told me.” I nod.

“Will do my friend.” I’ve left the country before, one time to Germany where I accidentally met Georgia Stanway and got drunk with her. And the other time was at the UK in which I got into some nasty fights against some sad Arsenal fans. Like yes I was taunting them but no reason to attack me. I won in the end, obviously.

So if Alexia finds out I’ve left again she will be so mad. I focus my attention to the screen in front of us and listen in on what whatever Jona has to say.

- - - - -

After the session, I quickly make my way out of the room and into my car. I’m almost gone but Alexia is right behind me and she bangs on the window. I groan pulling it down.

“Hi Aleeee.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Ale.’ me. Where have you been and how long? Do not lie to me.” I sigh.

“I went out on a drive around town, it’s so pretty at night, so excuse me if I want to look at it. Now if you must know. I’m on a tight schedule so, may you please move so I can move?” I ask, she reluctantly agrees and steps back allowing me to drive off to the airport.

(this is rlly fast paced but you can imagine whatever movie you want during the time skip)

- - - - -

It’s currently 5pm, I’ve been out all day the flights were only 2 hours and they were cheap. I don’t know why the others think of this stuff. Maybe I’m just Australian though.

I notice my stomach feels off, but it’s probably because I’m dehydrated and haven’t eaten a proper meal all day. Only a large popcorn and 2 packets of skittles.

I arrive at the grounds just in time and walk in with Sandra. I walk over to my area and get changed into the kit, before walking out onto the field with Lucy.

“You alright mate? You’re pale.” She states.

“I’m good, little tired is all.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me but we walk on.

The session is gruelling, high intensity and does not do anything to help what I’m feeling. Alexia has been pushing me harder than anyone else which is annoying and I low-key want to fall to the ground. That would only result in more laps though.

The 1.5 hour session ends, we have dinner which lasts half an hour than another 45 minutes in the gym. Both of which I am not excited for.

I can’t even think of anything when it happens, I feel bile rise up my throat and I just know that I should’ve eaten a proper meal. I make it into the bathroom in the nick of time, spilling my guts into the bowl. Someone is in here holding my tied back hair but I can’t be bothered to find who.

When I finally stop gagging, I flush the toilet and lean against the wall staring in front of me to find Keira.

“You feel any better or do you want to stay here.” She asks, resting her hand on my cheek. I shrug my shoulders as she sighs.

The door opens again and it’s Lucy.

“Oh, there you guys are. What happened?” Lucy turns to Keira.

“I was walking by the bathrooms and heard someone gagging and here she was throwing up.” She nods her head and I go to stand up.

“NO! No, you are not doing that. What if you throw up again? I’m going to get Alexia. Right now.” Lucy says sternly.

“Nooo, get Ingrid instead? Please Lucy.”

“Fine.” She walks out leaving Keira and I alone again.

“Mind telling me what lead to this moment?” I nod, explaining the staying up all night to not eating any proper food.

“That’ll do it. Can’t believe you just got on a flight to London.”

“It’s not even that long, it’s a great way to spend time. It’s like you saying a 45 minute drive is long. That’s how long it takes for me to get to school when I’m in Australia.” She shakes her head.

“Aussies sense of time is so out of whack I’m telling ya!” The door is opened again as Ingrid and Lucy make their way inside.

Ingrid sighs, “What are we going to do with you huh?” I laugh.

“Come on, let’s get you to the medics and then you can go home. I’ll drive your car and before you say anything we will be telling Alexia.” I nod, knowing there’s no escape.

We get to the medical room and Alexia is already there, talking about her knee with one of the physios. She looks over in question, Ingrid pushes me forward while Keira explains everything to the doctor. Who explains for me to eat a proper meal and drink some actual water. Before going to bed to get actual sleep.

Alexia is fuming, muttering many curse words and dragging me out of there. We get our stuff and give my keys to Mapi who nods at the plan of getting my car back home.

- - - - -

We walk through the door and Alexia guides me to the couch.

“I have had enough of this. We need to set some rules ok? You are 16 in a foreign country, you can’t go around to other countries when you fucking feel like it. I don’t care if you didn’t do anything bad but I can’t have you out of this city without me. Got it? As for the night driving, we’ll set a curfew and I expect you to be back by a certain time and you won’t be able to leave until a certain time. I told your parents I’d watch out for you but you are seriously making it hard for me to live up to that.”

“Sorry Ale.” She shakes her head.

“I’m not doing this with you right now. I’m going to make you a proper meal, you will drink 1 litre of water then you are heading straight to bed. No phone, no xbox, nothing until I deem you can be trusted. Am I clear?” I nod, feeling like I was 12 again.

“You might think this is excessive but I care about you. I want you to be safe, I need you to be safe. So please, make it easier for both of us.” Shes pleading now and it makes me feel bad, tears brim at the edge of my eyes and she sits down next to me.

“Amorcita, don’t cry. Por favor.” She rubs my thigh.

“I’m sorry Ale, I didn’t mean to. The night drives just lessen my anxiety about some things, you know. Like therapy.”

“I know, but you can speak to me about it any time if you feel you’re spiraling. Anyone on the team. Don’t do stupid things to get us to notice. Just talk I’m always here.” I sob into her arms, I can feel all the anger she has fade.

“Thanks, this means so much. Again I’m sorry.” She shakes her head.

“Don’t be, but I would like to know why you travelled to England to watch a movie, don’t you hate England?” This has me laughing.

“I mean… I do but in Spain it’s either gonna be in Spanish or have subtitles and I wanted it in English without.” She laughs softly.

“Of course, now how do you feel about Chicken Burgers for dinner? With potato gems.” I nod my head. She gets up and walks into the Kitchen starting to make the food.

Maybe I can start trying, and maybe I am truly cared about more than I thought. This team 🫶.

A/N: I LOVE SICKFICS I HAD TO. if you see any sickfic requested, i probs requested it lol

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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sebasluv · 1 year

Text

sebastian sallow headcannons + reader (crush)

a/n: doing this for the community 🫡 jkjk | spoilers (ofc)

whether you met him first in the common room or the defense against the dark arts class, you are sure something more than a spell sparked that day; a friendship, perhaps

"not bad, not bad for a new student," he dusted himself off the floor. glancing at your stretched hand, he took it gladly; as you pulled him off the ground.

"thank you...i was nervous about what i did back there, hope you are alright"

"i've had it much worst, believe me," he smiled.

occasional meetings at dada (lol) became frequent meetings throughout multiple classes. whatever fate wanted, you were glad to be greeted with those eyes you know so well

"class, welcome the newest rose to our garden," professor garlick smiled warmly at you. being ever politely you are, you returned the gesture, only to be distracted with the burning hole in your head.

'shit, he is staring at me,' you thought. staring back, he doesn't seem fazed by your gaze, 'is he zoning out?'

of course, professor garlick had to put you next to him. *wink wink*

can't also help that professor weasley tends to call him to help you with everything.

"excuse me, mr. sallow, please come to my office after this class," she pierced through her eyeglasses, and sebastian can't help feeling a sweat drop off his face.

'shit, what did i do'

...

"please, accompany ms. l/n to hogsmeade for her to buy her supplies," she assigned him without even looking up from her parchment.

"professor, but, why me?"

"don't you worry, i saw you with her in the class, you don't have to hide your feel-"

"no!- erm- i mean- no, she was just- stuned me during our duel"

"then, good, she will need a lot more practice to get comfortable," she replied. "now, run along."

...

"thanks for getting me out of detention," he chuckled as he walked side-by-side with you to hogsmeade.

"you're welcome?" 'fuck, he is staring again'

he got those chocolate hair and eyes...which it seems that you can not get enough of them

loves accompanying you around the vast castle of hogwarts

walking together after class is one of your favorite activities to do together

picking and packing up your books after charms class, you’ve noticed a green robe coming up to you.

“forgot this?” he passed your notebook.

“thanks, seb”

“what about…if i say…would you fancy a butterbeer this evening?” he questioned while staring at your hurried gestures.

“i- erm…i don’t know, i got a potions essay to work on…you know…they are quite the pain in the arse”

“hey, c’mon, butterbeer’s on me? it’s friday night,” sallow chuckled. “please?”

“hm…fine, meet me up at 6, quidditch gate,” you hurled your book bag up your shoulder as you reach for your wand.

“alright…see ya”

of course, being the ever gentleman he is, he will walk you to your dormitory. from the very highest ravenclaw towers, to the lowest hufflepuff dungeon, or even the golden house of gryffindor. (ofc if you are in slytherin, he will not miss a chance to send you to your room)

“alright…thanks for tonight, it’s my cue here,” you halted before your destination.

“you’re welcome, butterbeers are still on me next time, good night,” he smiled.

“night, seb”

sebastian was not quiet, no, he wasn't very close to being the quietest in the class. you will always find yourself, or perhaps, your ears, catching a glimpse of his voice in the busying class.

he can be the biggest teaser and a sarcastic commentator, which you act like you hated it. (no, you love it)

"i hope you don't mind me tying your shoe laces for you, cause i don't want you falling for nobody else," he chuckled.

"oh, please"

but one thing you have noticed is that, he will always find a good use of his chocolate eyes; they always find themselves searching through the sea of people to catch you.

he can be quiet if he wants, zoning out isn't the furthest of his forte

throwing out a joke or a comment were not something you are not used to as well.

of course, he finds a good blush in your cheeks everytime.

as cheeky and cunning he is, you couldn't ignore the feeling in your gut every time sebastian mentions his sister.

his demeanor shrinks and all you can hope is to comfort him in your arms.

he is loyal as a hufflepuff, quite interesting to find a slytherin boy as well-mannered as him.

'please, no, please, no-'

"who did you brought here with tonight, mr. sallow?" the librarian questioned.

...

"no one, ma'am"

"such a shame, mr. sallow, i will call the headmaster on this. just imagine what your uncle would-"

with one last glance, you mouthed him a 'thank you' and a smile on your face. your heart was beating so fast that it might nearly jumps out and pump itself on the floor.

you can lie to me, but i will never believe that sebastian does not love hugs.

he loves a good ol' hug. side hug, back hug, front hug, bear hug, a soul crushing hug, anything hug. plus one if it is a surprise hug.

mans love to joke around sometimes but, in the end, he is super protective. just a glimpse of how he would protect his sister. a gentleman, yet a bold friend.

standing up for you and always believing in you. hell yeah, he can even take a punch in the face for you *wink wink* and he can definitely place a punch for you; perhaps, a curse

the great hall is such a buzzing place, filled with students and delicious food to the brim. but undeniably, one of the best places to throw glances across the room for sebastian and y/n.

whether you are sitting across the room or just across the table, his eyes will always search for yours.

"i got my eyes on you, remember that"

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow imagines #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy imagines #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #slytherin

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lizsgraveyard · 1 year

Text

Detention : S.Shinazugawa (+18)

Author’s note: Reblogging is allowed but please do not post anywhere else without permission, I saw someone else stealing fics from demon slayer and posting it somewhere else

Author - Lizsgraveyard

Summary: What’s the best way to spend your Friday night? With your teacher in detention, who you just so happen to have feelings for.

Pairing- teacher. Sanemi x f!reader

Warnings: smut 18+, Jealous Sanemi, spanking, fingering, oral, student-teacher (this takes place in a college AU)

note: I posted this originally on me Ao3 but finally decided to post it here. Side note: I’m not very good at smut, so I apologize. Not spell checked. I very much love math teacher Sanemi.

———————

I sighed as I walked into my next class. My eyes struggled to stay open. I mentally kicked myself for leaving my English essay until the last minute, resulting in only four hours of sleep. Fortunately it was my last class of the day, and the last day before the weekend. But unfortunately it was math. My worst nightmare. I barely skimmed by in high school, but it’s even worse in college. But there is one positive thing about the class, the professor.

The first day he walked into the classroom I could help but fall for him. He looked to be around 25. With his white hair and his shirt unbuttoned revealing his built body, it was a bit of a distraction.

But I can’t help but to push these thoughts aside. He is a professor and I am a student, I couldn’t risk him getting fired. Also, he seems to be close with our other professor, Kocho.

I entered the classroom, walking to my usual seat in the back of the classroom. As I was walking though, I could shake the feeling of a pair of eyes watching my every movement.

I sat down at my seat. Class began as soon as I did. I pulled out a notebook and began jotting down notes as Professor Shinazugawa began to explain new equations from the unit we started just recently. Just listening to his voice is enough to distract me. What is wrong with me? I let the very existence of this man take over my thoughts.

Those thoughts were interrupted by a note landing on my notebook. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. I looked up to my right and saw my friend Akira, who was not in his usual seat. He was looking ahead, to not look suspicious. I rolled my eyes and picked up the note and read it discreetly.

“Having a party tonight, wanna come?”

I rolled my eyes. And leaned over to whisper, “Couldn’t you have asked me before class or waited until it was over?” If Shinazugawa caught him passing notes, I would hate to see what would happen to him. I mean, he threw a student out a window for saying math was useless.

“What are you worrying about, we’re in the back of the class, he’s not gonna notice,” He whispered back.

“While that might be true, it’s a risk I’m not willing to take, you know I’m not doing so hot in his class, it wouldn’t make it look any better if he caught me talking during the middle of his lecture.”

I’m not trying to get him to hate me more than he already does. Did I mention that, I’m probably his least favorite student.

“Let’s just pay attention Akira before we get into trouble,” I told him sternly.

“Come on (Y/n),” he began begging like a child.

I shook my head no and started writing down notes.

“(Y/n) please?”

“No, Akira.”

“(Y/n)!”

“Akira, I said-“

“Hehe, that wasn’t me,” Akira said sheepishly.

I could feel my stomach drop and my heart beating out of my chest. I slowly looked to the front of the room and saw him glaring at me. I made a mental note to clobber Akira later but that is the least of my worries right now. I am in so much trouble right now.

“If you like to talk during my lecture, then I hope you will like sitting through detention, after class!”

He went back to his lecture, not even sparing another minute on the matter. Which I’m thankful for. Usually he will scream you out, sometimes it takes up the entire class time. But still, I did get in trouble in front of everyone.

I slumped back in my chair, my face burning from embarrassment. I glanced over at Akira, who gave me a sheepish smile. I glared at him and turned my attention back to the lecture. The least I can do is to get back to work, as I was doing before. This time without a certain someone yapping in my ear.

What’s the worst that can happen? Maybe he’ll just yell at me. Maybe he won’t throw me out a window. Or maybe something else can happen.

——————

The last bell of the day finally rang. I would be more excited, but I have to stay behind while everyone else gets to go home for the day. There goes my plans for sleeping as soon as I get home. I groaned silently as I started packing up my things so I could move to the front of the classroom.

Before I got very far though I was stopped by Akira. Who still had the same sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry about that Y/n, I was just trying to prove you wrong, guess you were right,” he apologized, “Are you still gonna come to my party?”

”I’ll think about it.”

He smiled before hugging me. He let go and waved me goodbye, mouthing ‘good luck’ as he left the classroom. I continued my way towards the front of the class and sat in one of the seats. I took out the math homework he had assigned for today and started working on it. Pulling out the notes to help me. I read over my notes trying to do the problems the best that I could, but I didn’t seem to help in any sort of way possible.

Suddenly I felt someone standing behind me, looking at me failing miserably to solve just one problem on the worksheet. I turned my head around slightly and saw my professor looming over me, it was a little intimidating.

“We went over that formula, when you were disrupting my class,” he sighed, taking a seat next to me, “Do you want to tell me exactly why you decided to ignore my lecture to talk to a boy?”

“I-I wasn’t talking to him, I mean I was, b-but he spoke to m-me first,” I rambled on. I must look like I was trying to come up with an excuse right now, but it doesn’t help that he’s sitting so close to me.

”And you let him continue talking to you.” Why did it sound like he was jealous? No, he couldn’t be. I’m sure he’s seen Akira and I talking after class and outside of it. We were just friends and nothing more.

”Believe me sir, I was trying to get him to stop but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

He tensed up after I called him sir but immediately composed himself. Why was he acting like this? I didn’t want to offend him in any way, and sir was very polite.

”There are other guys you can talk to besides him you know,” he grumbled a little bit.

My mind went blank as I stared at the worksheet. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. That tends to happen when you have a crush on people. All kinds of thoughts ran through my head at that moment.

Did he not approve of Akira?

Did he know something about Akira that I don’t?

Was he referring to himself when he said that?

Am I just an actual idiot for actually thinking these things?

I decided to ask him about it, “What do you mean professor, who would you suggest I talk to then?”

He smirked at me a little bit, causing a blush to spread across my face.

”I think you’re looking at him, darling.”

I was at a loss for words. This isn’t really happening.

He leaned in closer to my face, our lips just inches apart, but he hadn’t connected them yet. He just stayed in that position for a moment. Not moving an inch closer. I wanted to beg for him to just close the gap.

”One thing, don’t call me professor, I want to use my name,” he said, “Because it’s what you’ll be screaming for the next two hours.”

“W-what?”

He closed the remaining space between us, slipping his tongue in while my mouth was open because of shock. I let out a soft moan as his tongue explored my mouth. I soon snapped out of my daze and placed my hands on the back of his head and pulled myself closer to him. His lips left mine and I felt him nip at my neck. I let out a surprised gasp as he did so. He pulled away, satisfied with the hickey he left.

“Now darling before we do anything, I still have to punish you,” he huskily. I stared at him in confusion. I felt him lift me up and bend me over his knee, pulling my skirt up, revealing my white lace panties. He ran his hand over my ass before giving it a harsh slap. I yelped, it hurt, but in a good way.

”Let’s see, I caught you talking five times and there were two of you talking, so how about I ten, don’t you agree darling?” He asked.

I nodded my head. “You better speak before I double that.”

“Yes, Sanemi,” I replied to him. He smiles, before running hand over my ass again before saying, “Count with me.”

Slap

“One!”

Slap

”Two!”

Slap

“Three!” I moaned out.

I heard him chuckling, “are you enjoying this?”

”Yes,” I answered sheepishly.

He continued on with the punishment. Each of his slaps, each getting harsher as he made way to ten. I could feel my panties drenched afterwards. I felt him grope me before sitting me back up in his lap, leaving a kiss on my shoulder. Without him asking, I stripped down my underwear down my legs.

”Eager are we?” He asked and I nodded my head. He slipped his hand between my legs and into my folds. I moaned a little as he did so. His fingers found their way to my clit and he started rubbing it in circles. I whimpered, my hips bucking at the contact. I was wishing for more than just that. “What do you want darling?”

“Your fingers,” I begged him.

I felt his fingers trail down into my folds. He inserted two fingers, thrusting them at slow pace. I started bucking my hips again to meet with his fingers. He groaned behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me from moving. I felt something poke me from below, my face grew more red than I already was. I felt him add another finger as he quickened his pace a little bit.

I let out a loud mewl as I felt a familiar knot starting to form. I felt him add another finger as he quickened pace. I was so close to my climax. But before I could feel my release, he removed his fingers. I let out a whine at the loss of contact, and the fact that I was so close to my release.

“Darling, what did I say I wanted to hear from you?” He asked, letting his thumb rub my nub at a slow pace, “I want to hear you scream my name, don’t hold anything back, okay.”

“Alright,” I replied. He slowly added his fingers back, keeping his thumb on my nub. He was pumping his fingers at a slow pace.

“Sanemi, please go faster,” I begged him. He did as I asked and started pumping his fingers at a faster pace than he was going before. I felt him nipping and kissing my neck. I continued letting out loud moans, his pace kept getting quicker.

I finally felt that knot in my stomach again, “Sanemi, I’m gonna come!” I moaned loudly. He quickened his pace, rubbing my clit faster as well. I kept letting out loud mewls, until the knot finally came undone.

“Sanemi!” I screamed as my high came. Short quick breaths came out of my mouth. I turned to kiss him on the lips. I pulled away and got off his lap to start unbuckling his pants. He grabbed my hand away, stopping me from what I was about to do. He continued on, unzipping his and pulling them down to his knees with his boxers. Stared at the size of it it was big but not too big, exactly what I imagined it would be.

“As much as I would love to see your mouth around my cock, we can’t stay in here forever, your detention is almost up,” he said. I moaned at the thought of it. He spit into his hand and stroked his member before lifting me, pulling up my skirt, and slowly inserting it. I winced a little bit and dug my head into his shoulder. He stopped and asked, “Are you okay, do you want me to continue?”

I nodded, “Yeah just don’t go too fast please.” He continued sitting me down on his cock slowly. I bit into his shoulder and he groaned softly. He lifted up his hips and slowly thrusted into me.

It took a little bit before the pain turned into pleasure and I moaned when he thrusted into one last time. “You can go a little faster.” He didn’t waste any time as he picked up his pace, bouncing me on top of him as he did so. He lifted up my shirt and bra and started sucking at my nipples. I let out loud moans, if anyone were to walk by, they would know exactly what was going on. But thankfully, all the students are usually at home and the teachers are in the teachers lounge, which is on the other side of the building.

“Do I make you feel good?” He asked.

“Yes!” I said loudly.

“I wouldn’t compare to anyone else? No boy would ever make you feel this way?” His thrusts started getting faster and harder.

“No Sanemi, you can only make me feel this way.”

“Good, because I better not see you around anyone else. You’re mine.”

I felt that familiar feeling come back, and I can tell he knew too. He picked me up and sat me on the desk, so he could thrust into me even harder. Endless moans left my mouth.

“Come for me darling,” he said, “Don’t hold anything back, show me how good of a girl you are.”

I threw my head back and screamed his name as I came. He came shortly after me, cumming deep inside of me. Thank god I was on the pill. He leaned down and placed one last kiss on my lips before sliding my panties back up. He picked up a piece of paper and scribbled something down and handed it to me before pulling up his pants.

“Have fun at your party, no boys,” he said sternly.

“Yes Sanemi,” I said before standing up, grabbing my stuff, and waved at him one last time before exiting the classroom.

I looked down at what he wrote down.

“Call me later tonight.” He wrote down along with his phone number.

Maybe I won’t beat up Akira after all.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi smut #sanemi x you #demon slayer smut

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 3 months

Note

Can I get a 7 with Steve Rogers or Peter Parker? I love the nice guys being angsty

And congrats on the 5000

.⋆｡Noise｡⋆.

Peter Parker x plus size reader

You don’t like the quiet, Peter does

Warnings: angst, noise sensitivity, college!Peter, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Follower Celebration

Silence was your worst enemy, although you never really understood why you hated it. Whether that be the awkward silence during a lull in conversation or at 3am when the city quieted down. There had to be some kind of noise around you for you to feel at ease, usually it was music from your headphones or the chatter of other people but that wasn’t the case in Peter Parker’s room.

Somehow his room was the one place in all of New York that seemed to be above all the noise of the city. There were no sirens or voices or just random noises from the subway. Just silence.

And it was slowly driving you crazy.

At first, the sound of your fingernails tapping your keyboard soothed you. It was rhythmic and just quiet enough to not disturb your best friend as he was studying. Then you moved onto bouncing your leg, which given that you were wearing socks and the whole room was carpeted, you could make almost no noise.

You sighed and shifted in your seat, becoming antsy as the silence seemed to close in around you. You could feel Peter’s eyes flick up to you occasionally but he never said anything so you started doing the only thing you could think of to create some noise. You began to hum.

The vibrations rumbled through your chest, immediately soothing the panicked feelings around your heart. Your shoulders dropped with relief and you finally felt like you were able to concentrate on the work in front of you instead of just mindlessly typing away to appear busy.

You switched songs every 30 seconds or so, nodding your head along to the beat you were creating. Your usual smile began to pull at your lips as, unnoticed by you, Peter’s face fell and his eyebrows scrunched.

He cleared his throat but you didn’t hear. “Y/N?” You looked back at him, pausing your humming for just a second. “Do you think you could be a little quieter please?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” You responded bashfully with a giggle. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and sat back against the wall behind his bed. He gave you a half-smile to which you winked at him before turning back to your work.

Things were quiet again save for the occasional turning of a page or alert on your phones and you started to feel that discomfort creeping in again. Like a massive weight slowly coming down onto your torso, the anxiety grew once more. Your eyes darted over your essay but you couldn’t comprehend any of the words that you had written.

Your breathing picked up as your heart pounded loudly in your ears though it did not give you the relief that other noises would have. You swallowed thickly, clamping your jaw shut tightly. Maybe a little noise would be okay, you thought as you brought a hand to your chest to where your shirt didn’t cover.

The soft tapping of your fingers against your bare skin was barely louder than your racing heartbeat but it worked. Your body eased as you picked up the pace, finally getting the relief you desperately needed. You hadn’t even noticed Peter’s frown deepening, the vein in his neck twitching with aggravation.

“How are you this fucking annoying?” Everything stopped and your veins turned to ice.

“I-I’m sorry.” You managed to squeak out around the massive lump in your throat. Even Peter looked shocked at what he said, his brown eyes wide with terror. “I think I should head home, my roommate will get worried if I’m not there after dark.”

You tried to grab your tote bag from the floor but before you could even touch the canvas handle, Peter had sprung from the bed and caught your hand. “Wait I didn’t mean-“ You shook your head and swallowed back your tears, you couldn’t talk about this now.

“I know I’m noisy okay, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” You tried to pull yourself away but his grip tightened. “Peter.” Your voice wobbled but he didn’t give you an inch.

“No, no I’m sorry. I was being an asshole.” He gently pulled you towards him and you let him wrap you up in his strong arms, needing some sort of comfort even from the person that had hurt you in the first place.

“Then why did you say that?” You murmured, slowly melting into his chest. Peter held your wide hips gently, brushing the tops of your thighs through your clothes with his thumbs.

He sighed heavily and let his forehead rest on yours, a regular gesture between the two of you that was far from platonic. “I’ve had a rough day. There was a robbery this morning and that made me late to my lab and then some asshole thought it was funny to use a dog whistle right outside. And I just- I was overstimulated and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, not when you were really trying.”

You whimpered as a tear slid down your cheek. “I’m sorry beautiful, I really am. Let me make it up to you.” His right hand came up and gently wiped it away, keeping his hand on your soft jaw as he urged you to look into his eyes.

“How?” His smile was almost unsure, seemingly a little wary of how honestly he should respond.

“Let me order some food and we can watch Percy Jackson.”

“And cuddle?”His smile grew as his eyes twinkled. He ducked forward and gently kissed the tip of your nose.

“Whatever you want, I’m at your mercy tonight.” You giggled.

“And tomorrow too, I’m still kind of hurt.” Peter just squeezed your hip.

“Anything for you.” Maybe the silence wasn’t so bad, as long as Peter was quiet with you.

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nordidia · 7 months

Note

Do you think CJ and Raph ever talk about their experiences with PTSD/anxiety together or even share advice on coping? Or do you think Raph would rather not? Explain your reasoning in your essay below

(i typed an entire novel and then accidentally closed chrome and it deleted everything let me try doing this again i barely remember what i said ok so. also this is just me blabbering idk guys im not a rise writer im just some opinionated guy online and you can completely disagree with me and i dont say what goes or not ok? ok!)

i dont think raph would go to him with his issues but i think it'd defo get talked about through asking CJ about things and checking up on him etc. and i think CJ would give raph alot of insight and advice on how to deal with anxieties and traumas,, tho alot of their convos would just be one of them saying something vile and the other one going "oh. is that not normal?" and the first one looking at the latter like this

but all in all i think they'd definitely help eachother with dealing with stuff... i think especially raph will assist CJ in just taking the blow on how much there is to unpack... his entire life has been a big traumatic event, i imagine suddenly living a sustained life without having to fight for survival every day would be a lot for him to deal with, especially the confusion and grief over what he has lost (maybe what he has lost feels a bit like pointless grief to him now? which is a trauma in itself) and also grieving what he never had. as we know, grief is also things we shouldve had but never got, and i think all the hamatos would be really helpful in dealing with that.

tho CJ seems to be a bit of a hardass on stuff like this which is incredibly understandable when you've had to fight for everything with zero stability at all anywhere you went. i could see him confiding in raph about it, but not only him if im honest. but there is an undeniable security about raph i think that the characters i the show feel, and i think CJ would seek the stability and consistent reliability that raph provides.

i also like that CJ doesnt seem too scared about calling out people when they do wrong, i can defo see CJ bluntly telling raph that bad coping mechanisms is stupid and makes things worse and worries everyone around. (this is ofc hand in hand with the good ol' HC that raph bottles shit up/avoids talking abt things. personally i think he never shuts up and frequently rants about stuff and lets his family know whenever shit is up but he avoids going too deep so his family thinks he's being fully transparent when actually he's just not voicing the worst shit. this is so real to me no i do not need therapy shut u)

i definitely think raph would confide in CJ about the krang thing. CJ is the one who knows the most about it, i can see raph going to him to just get a bit more information about what was going on, and also a bit of relief hearing that it didnt go as bad as it couldve gone... CJ being experienced with krangification would absolutely soothe worries and make him feel less alone about knowing what he knows and having gone through something thats a step further than his brothers

IS THIS A GOOD ENOUGH ESSAY i have academic anxiety dont grade me please its 4am i have taken melatonin pills im on my last leg help m *ficking dies*

edit: GOODNIGHT LOL

#asks!#ohhhh raph and casey duos my beloved #rise raph #rottmnt casey jr

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hanlimz · 7 months

Text

lol i wrote this at 2am bc i love jungwon sm and i needed to word vomit so i can focus on this stupid essay i have to write 💔 be gentle w this bc it’s not that good haha !! pls enjoy ❤️

the incessant ringing of your phone is a cacophony of sound pressed against your ear as you wait with bated breath. it’s been a week since jungwon was last able to call, a week since you were able to hear his voice; and, it’s been even longer since you’ve been able to touch him (in any capacity). your palms are itching for the opportunity to cup his face, and your lips are yearning to pepper gentle kisses over the apples of his rounded cheeks.

so, you picked up your phone and clicked on his silly contact photo. while you wait, you count the ceiling tiles. you see how long you can go without blinking. you lose track of time, and you eventually try to freestyle over the stock ringtone. just as you rhyme sublime with you’re mine, the noise stops and jungwon begins to laugh. why he always manages catches you at your worst—you will never know.

“i hope that rap was about me,” he snorts airily, amusement having stolen his breath away. you can almost see his pretty face through the phone; the way the corners of his lips quirk up, his dimple deepening, the gentle reshaping of his eyes as they wane into two, umber crescents. laughter is so transformative, and you’re glad you can see it (even if only in your mind). “oh, [y/n], also—i just posted some selcas on we—” the phone cuts out, and the momentary silence slices at your heart.

“won? you still there?” you ask, tentatively, “i promise the rap was about you. cross my heart, hope to die.”

jungwon’s pseudo-presence floods your chest once more as he chuckles. “that’s good to know, babe—but, no dying on my watch, ‘kay?”

“bold of you to say when you’ve left me here,” you scoff.

“to die?” he inquires, another bout of giggles hiding behind his words.

“to die,” you answer, dramatically. “to wither, to waste away with no boyfriend to sing me to sleep and kiss me when i’m sad.”

the line goes quiet for a few seconds, and it’s almost a comfortable silence. something lurks behind this pregnant pause, however, and you can’t help but feel stifled by the heavy weight building in your stomach. jungwon is overthinking—the feeling is palpable. he’s chewing on his bottom lip and you can almost taste his vanilla chapstick; the nail of his thumb is worn down to the quick in the same way he’s bitten at the inside of his cheek.

“jungwon, you know i’m just joking, right?” there’s a hint of regret lacing your voice, a tinge of melancholy, but it mixes with a resolute affirmation of your love for him. “i miss you, but i couldn’t be more proud of you. watching those clips of you on stage, seeing you enjoy yourself—it all makes me love you even more. you’re doing so well.”

“i know,” he sighs, sounding exceedingly dejected. “i just feel like i can’t give you what you need—like i can’t be who you deserve from this far away.”

your jaw goes slack upon hearing his confession. his words shock you to your core; strong-willed yet so fragile-hearted, why your lover is so critical of himself—you will never know. in your eyes, jungwon is nothing short of angelic; ethereal in a way only known by beings of the heavens, jungwon brightens every room he walks into and makes your day better by merely existing. he is a sanctuary of sorts—warm and inviting and gentle.

“are you insane?” the question tumbled from your mouth before your brain could formulate a better response.

he hums, inquisitively, “i don’t think so?”

“okay, not exactly how i wanted that to come out,” you concede, “but—seriously, won—you’re my everything. you never have to worry about me wanting more, because you’re already who i want. who i need. and, honestly, i don’t know what i did to deserve you.” you know he’s flushed on the other side of the phone, cupping a sweater paw over his face while trying not to giggle and swing his feet like a schoolgirl. “yang jungwon, i love you very much, and i’m always so, so thankful for you … so, tell your brain to stop beating you up, or i’ll kick its slimy, little ass.”

“thank you, [y/n]. i love you, too.” he laughs for a moment, then stops himself, “wait—did you just say my brain was little?!”

#enhypen fluff #enhypen reactions #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #; — cass writes: soft n sweet #enhypen imagines #enhypen jungwon #enha x reader #jungwon reactions #jungwon imagines #jungwon headcanons #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader

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disasterofastory · 2 years

Text

Boys (Stucky x Reader)

Boys students!Stucky x professor!Reader Warnings: teacher-student relationship, smut

Summary: You are their favorite professor.

A/N: The “boys” are in their early twenties. Kinktober 2022

You dimmed the lights long hours ago when you said goodbye to your students, and they left the lecture hall, letting the heavy door close behind them with a loud thud. You, on the other hand, stayed to start reading the essays and taking care of the administrations. At home, you would do anything but work. But it's okay. You like it when the large building empties and calms down after a long week of rush and ruckus. Sometimes you even forget you teach young adults, especially when Halloween comes and every one of them is excited and ready for the endless parties and fake haunted houses.

You are hunched over the desk under the lamp's light on the corner. Your hands are hoover above the keyboard of your laptop, staring at the bright screen and long sentences that blur together the more you read. The back of your head throbs with a slight pain that warns you you should stop for tonight and go home. You will have enough time to finish everything for Monday.

The two boys are known for their talent with sports, especially football, and their diligence when it comes to their other studies. All of your colleagues love them and their little group of friends. They are a loud bunch but kind and respectful at the same time. You have been teaching Steve and Bucky for years now, and you are familiar with their sweet-talking and mischievous behavior.

You are ready to close your laptop and end the day when your attention gets stolen by the opening and closing of the door. Your eyes shot up to the top of the stairs, watching the two familiar forms getting closer and closer.

"What are you doing here, boys?" You ask them and can't help but laugh when you see their costumes. "And looking like that?"

Both Steve and Bucky are in their football gear, plastered with fake blood on the worn fabrics.

"We are footballers in a zombie apocalypse," Bucky says with a cheeky grin on his face.

Seeing them up close, you notice the fake gash on their cheeks and the purple bruise under their eyes.

"I see," you reply. "You really made an effort to impress, huh?"

"Well, we had to," Steve answers this time. They stand in front of you, giddy with something you can't tell. "We want to impress our favorite professor."

"Oh, I thought I am the only one left in the building," you tease.

"I mean, we met Professor Fury when he left, but…" Bucky doesn't even finish. His face contorts into a grimace, knowing well enough the man's strict teaching techniques.

"Don't be mean, boys, Professor Fury just wants the best for his students."

"Yeah, but we like your lectures more," Steve says, smirking.

"You are just saying it because I'm not a tall, bald man who calls people motherfuckers."

"Luckily, you are not." It's Bucky's time to smirk as they watch you packing your things away, moving around the desk in your elegant pencil skirt and black shirt with scary-smiling pumpkin heads on it.

"You are our sweet teacher," Steve says. His voice deepens. "Who has pretty hair, nice dresses, and the donkey is the worst she ever called us."

"Now you are just trying to get better grades for your essays." You try to make it a joke because you know his words are over the line. They are your students, and they are much younger than you. They shouldn't tell you these things, and you shouldn't let them. The warning is at the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out when you open your lips. Something stops you, and you are not ready to admit the reason.

"Oh, we are not worried about it, Professor," Bucky replies instead of Steve. The word professor rolls on his tongue, which makes it really unprofessional and much more exciting.

"But why should we lie about it?" Steve asks. You almost jump back when you notice him standing next to you. Your shoulder almost touches his broad chest.

"You are our prettiest Professor."

"Boys, I don't think…" You start, but Bucky cuts in before you can finish your sentence.

"But what are you thinking about us?" He asks, moving closer.

Steve's arm snakes around your waist, leaning so close to your ear that you can feel every word fanning over your ear. "What do you think about our costumes? Don't we deserve candies for it?"

"Or some other reward?" Bucky adds, leaning over the desk.

"Boys…"

"Don't you like them?" Steve is a stubborn one. He does everything to keep you away from rejecting them. And it doesn't matter how much you try, you can't be angry with them.

"They are really… creative." It's hard to find the words when Steve's body presses against yours. His hand is firm on your hips, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of your skirt.

Clearing your throat, you reach out to grab your bag from the table, but Bucky is faster. He pushes it aside and catches your hand to pull you closer to the table. Without Steve's arm around you, you are sure you would fall.

"Maybe you should show them to the others?" You ask. Your voice is high and trembling. "I'm sure the campus is full of parties now."

"Yeah," Bucky hums. "That was our first plan."

"What changed?"

"We missed you," Steve answers. "We thought we could have a small party with our favorite Prof, doesn't it right, Bucky?"

"Steve is right, Miss Y/L/N," the brunette nods. His fingers are linked with yours.

"Oh, I don't think… I'm too old for parties."

"Not for this one," Steve shakes his head. "You are just right for what we planned."

You know you shouldn't ask it, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. "And what are those plans?"

"I'm glad you asked," Bucky smirks, and with that, he pulls on your hand again until you are sitting on the desk with Steve's help. A loud gasp escapes your lips at the sudden movement. You can barely process what's happening, and the blonde man's lips are already on yours. His kiss is soft but firm and willful. His hand keeps you against himself by the back of your head.

"Wait…" you gasp out. "We can't…"

"Don't think about it," Bucky breathes behind you.

"But…"

"No buts, Miss Y/L/N," he smirks into your ear while his friend kisses down your neck. He nibbles on the soft skin, licking the burning spots he leaves behind, and your head tilts to the side on its own accord to give him more space.

"We watch you, wearing those cute dresses and tight skirts," Steve hums against your collarbone. You don't even know when he started unbuttoning your blouse. The black lace of your bra peeks out as he pushes the soft material off your shoulders.

"Always so pretty and happy to see us," Bucky coos.

"We sit in your classes almost every day, watching you walk and lean above the desk, staring at your plump ass and imagining it without the damn skirt."

"We think about what you have under these clothes."

"And we are hard, Professor," Steve groans. It fans over your skin, making you shudder in their arms. "So fucking hard."

"Boys…"

"Don't call us that," Bucky scolds you, but there is no real firmness in his velvety voice.

The blonde chuckles, lips still nibbling down on your chest. "I think we should show her, Bucky."

"That's a great idea, Steve." And with that, they move you again. They are manhandling you with ease. Steve's hands slide down under your knee, grabbing you there to push it closer to him and up in the air until you are on your back. The only thing that keeps you from the painful slamming is the brunette's hand on your shoulder blades. He makes sure you land softly on the wooden surface.

Your mouth opens again to ask them what they are doing, but the blonde footballer pushes your skirt up on your waist until your panty-covered pussy is in front of his lustful gaze.

"I knew it," he smirks, glancing up at his friend for a second. "I told you there is a reason you can't see the line of her panties, Buck."

"That's not true," the man behind you argues. "You said she doesn't wear anything."

"What?" You gasp. Even the thought of you teaching without panties makes you embarrassed and excited at the same time.

"Well, it's barely anything," Steve's stubbornness shows again. He reaches under the lace with his finger, knowing well enough that he slides through your folds in the process.

"But it's still something!"

Steve sighs. "Fine. I will pay you later."

"Did you bet on me?" You gasp.

"Oh, we have so much bet on you, Professor," Bucky replies. "And we will find everything out tonight."

"Yeah," Steve hums, kneeling down between your legs. "First, we will find out your taste. Bucky said you are sweet, but I'm sure you are even sweeter."

A straddled cry leaves your lips when he pushes your panties aside and flats his tongue against your pussy to lick you up. Your hole tightens, and you gush in his mouth, flooding his senses with your taste.

"I was right," Steve groans and dives into your count while Bucky busies himself with your shirt. He pulls it out from your skirt to unbutton it entirely. Soon, nothing hides your black bra, and he feasts on the view of your tits. His thumb ghosts over your nipple until it's hard under the pad of his fingertips.

"Boys…"

"Ah," Bucky tsks, shaking his head with feigned disappointment. "This world again." He leans above your other breast, licking the fabric and launching on your nipple. He sucks it in, soaking the lace with his saliva.

After a few flicks and licks, you are a dizzy mess, wanting to stop and begging for more. Your clit throbs between Steve's plump lips as he sucks the hard bud. The hand that doesn't hold your thigh is busy with your hole. He teases you, barely pushing his finger inside you before moving out. You know what he wants, and you are not ashamed to do it.

"Steve," you cry out his name. "Please."

"What do you want from Steve?" Bucky asks because his friend isn't willing to stop his sucking. He wants everything your pretty pussy can give.

"His fingers," you reply. "Please, Steve. Don't tease me anymore."

"Do you want to cum?" Bucky pushes your bra lower, letting your breast free to play with your nipples some more. They are so hard under his attention it almost hurts.

"Yes," you reply. "I want him to make me cum."

"You heard our sweet professor, Stevie. Make the lady cum!"

And he does. He pounds you with his fingers, focusing on your clit again until stars start to dance in front of your closed eyes. Your orgasm comes quickly and powerfully. It jerks your body, burning your veins and squirting your pussy.

You need a few moments to come up from the blissful blackness, and when you do, their words get clear in your ears.

"Did you see that?" Steve gasps in awe. "It's so sweet, Buck. She is so sweet."

"Do you think I could do it with my cock?"

They talk about you, so casually as if you aren't even under them, bare and sensitive. It surprises you how much it makes you crave more.

"Oh," Steve smirks when he feels you tightening around his finger. "I think Miss Y/L/N wants to try it."

"Then let me there, punk."

They switch places, and soon, Bucky is between your legs while Steve smirks down by your side.

"Do you want to taste yourself, Miss Y/L/N?" He asks smugly. His face glints with your juices, and his lips are red and swollen. He doesn't even wait for you to answer. Leaning down, Steve kisses you again, pushing his tongue inside your mouth so you can taste your wetness coating his face. Meanwhile, Bucky unbuckles his pants, taking out his cock to jerk off the view of you making out with his best friend, your legs still wide open. Your pussy drips with your juices.

"Do you like it, Miss?" Bucky grins when Steve straightens himself, following his friend's lead and taking out his hard erection. The tip of his cock is red and glints with precum. A vein runs at the underside of his shaft, disappearing behind the white fabric of his pants. Bucky's hands on your thighs are the only thing that keeps you from leaning close and drawing the bluish line with your tongue.

"I think our dear prof is too busy to answer," Steve chuckles, playing with his cock under your heated gaze.

"We should turn her around," Bucky hums. "I really wanna tap that ass."

You don't even react when they manhandle you again. You let them turn you on your stomach and take off your panties. It didn't hide much anyway.

You look back over your shoulder when the brunette speaks up again. "I will keep it," he says as he puts the thin lace in his pocket.

"Hey," Steve grunts. "I wanted it."

"You can have another one."

"Another?" You ask, shocked, but again, they don't answer. Bucky is too busy gliding the tip of his cock through your wet folds, and Steve positions himself in front of your face. His cock points at you so close you could lick him.

"She is so warm," Bucky groans, sliding his shaft against your slit. He coats his cock with your wetness, enjoying the softness of your pussy.

"Yeah?" Steve hums. "I bet she is warm somewhere else too." He cups your jaw, pulling on your lower lip with his thumb. "What do you say, Miss? Do I get a reward?"

Not bothering with words, you open your mouth, letting him slip inside your warm channel.

"Oh, god," Steve groans. He braces himself on the desk while his other hand takes hold of the strands of your hair.

"Are you ready, Prof?" Bucky's voice is tight and dry behind you. "Are you ready for my cock?"

You hum with Steve's length still in your mouth. You move your arm to grab the base of his cock. Your finger curls around it, and your mouth leaves the tip with a wet sound.

"Do it, Buck," Steve laughs again. "Can't you see that our favorite teacher is busy?"

You lick up on the vein, flatting your tongue on the tip, and suck it into your mouth again. You feel him jerk, and the man moans above you. You tease the soft skin with your warm tongue, soaking him in your saliva.

Meanwhile, Bucky guides his cock to your entrance, pushing against the hole, that he can't wait to feel around his aching erection.

"So tight," he rasps, forcing himself deeper. Your moan is muffled as he stretches you out. Your muscles burn, but the brunette gives you enough time to adjust around him inch by inch.

"So good," Bucky groans again. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. You are sure it will bruise, but you don't care. You are filled with Steve and Bucky on both ends, and it seems like it's enough to make you forget how to worry or even think.

Your breathing is heavy, and you can hear the beating of your heart in your ears, suppressing the filthy noises the two men make as they slide in and out of you.

"I don't know how long I can do it," Bucky warns, lifting you off the table for a second to reach his hand under you. His fingers slide to your clit, flicking and pinching the sensitive bud.

"Me neither," Steve replies. His head falls back as you suck him in more, hollowing your cheeks and gulping around his throbbing cock.

They use you and fuck you into oblivion. At some point, you don't even dare to move, afraid you would hurt Steve in the process. Your eyes roll back, and saliva drips down your cheek. The wet noise of Bucky pounding into you fills the hall, mixing with your moans and grunts. Your nerves are in flames, and the hot coil in your lower belly is almost too much to bear.

"She will cum," Steve groans. "And I will too."

The blonde wants to ask you where you want it, or he should use his own hand but hearing his words, you suck him in deeper.

"Oh, holy…" he gasps. Every word dies on his open lips.

"I feel it." There is an awe in Bucky's tone. He can barely hold himself up when he feels you tightening around him. Your walls shudder on his cock, milking him into the mess of your hot pussy.

Pleasure washes over you in waves that knock you out for a few seconds. Your body jerks, your muscles contract, and the men cum inside you with such power it almost forces them to their knees. They pump you full until their seed drips down your hole and mouth. Your lungs ache since you can't remember how to breathe anymore. They are the only thing that keeps you grounded.

"Are you okay, Miss?" Steve kneels in front of you with that sweet curve of his lips that you know well enough. He smiles at you like this every time you praise him after a good answer.

"What?" You groan out. Your throat burns, and it feels like he is still inside you.

"It's okay," he replies, caressing the side of your face. "We will help you."

And with that, the two footballers take care of you softly and carefully while you try to win back your clear mind and strength. They clean you and adjust your clothes until you are presentable again. Your insides are still quivering, but at least you can keep your weight as you stand up.

"What do you say, Prof?" Bucky speaks up when all three of you are leaving the lecture hall. The cheeky curve on his plump lips is back, but hunger still shines in his steel-blue eyes. "We could have a trick or treat at your place."

"And we sure have to do some plus work to keep our good grades," Steve adds teasingly. Both of them have a lot of plans to earn your affection and good grace, and they can't wait to show it to their favorite professor with the sweetest smile and pussy.

You should say no. You should stop this whole thing and forget what happened. It's not right.

"Alright, boys."

"Boys!" Bucky gasps, swatting your ass.

#stucky x reader #stucky x reader smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #kinktober 2022 #marvel imagine #avengers imagine

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undreaming-fanfiction · 11 months

Text

Just Your Voice...or something

This ficlet is for @stevethehairington's birthday, the best of celebrations to you, Mack!!! I was thinking for some time what you'd like and I was reminded of your small essay about the Little Mermaid. So...have a Little Mermaid Steddie AU.

The sea witch was supposed to be terrifying, that's what everyone kept telling Steve. He'd sell you potions that would destroy your mind. He'd find any loophole to make you do their bidding. He'd cheat, lie, promise the impossible and connect with the spirits of the deepest ocean to enslave anyone and anything.

The thing was...Steve really did need his help.

The second he entered the witch's cavern, he already felt like he made the worst mistake of his life. There was a huge bubbling cauldron, glowing with whatever toxic stuff the witch was brewing, and from the shelves carved in to the cavern walls, tens of tiny creatures were watching, waiting, following his every move.

"Well well well. Prince Steven himself. I should have cleaned."

Steve turned around so quickly his hair created a halo around his head. There the witch was, sitting on the ceiling with their tentacles wrapped around loose rocks, staring down at Steve, turning their head curiously to the side.

"Uh...what are you doing on the ceiling?" Steve asked, returning the questioning glance.

That made the witch chuckle. "Good question. Stretching. Also it gives me a new perspective."

"An upside down-perspective doesn't sound very useful, but whatever makes you happy," Steve shrugged. "Listen, uh...I came here with a request."

"Oh? A request from the prince himself? I will need a right side up perspective for that then." The witch bounced off the cavern ceiling and landed before Steve with almost staggering grace. Only then could he properly see what they - no, he - looked like. Long, flowy hair around his head, dark eyes and a mischievous smile that gave way more credence to the rumors. He too felt inclined to do whatever the witch asked of him. "Hi," the witch stuck his webbed hand forward, "I'm Eddie, the local witch and the perpetrator of every single bad thing that happens around here. Ever had a bad hair day? That was me."

Laughing, Steve took his hand and shook it. It was becoming more and more difficult to remain cautious when the witch was so charming. "Nice to meet you, Eddie. I'm...well, Steve. You alread know that."

"That I do." Eddie moved backwards and crossed his tentacles in a way that Steve often saw humans do with their...not-tentacles. Legs, they called them. "Well then, Steve. What can this measly witch assist you with? Not that I dislike visitors, but I don't get to see too much royalty around here."

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. Royalty, sure. As if he was anything special to his father, his only redeeming feature were his looks, the golden scales and a beautiful mane of sun-kissed hair, that was it. "Funny. Uh, look. I need legs. Also to breathe up there." He pointed vaguely upwards to the distant surface.

Eddie blinked. "Uh. Sure, legs. Dare I ask why? A pretty lady or something in the land above?"

The prince snorted. "Yeah, no. Look, it's not like you care, but there's this kid up there, he almost drowned. Name's Dustin, I think, and I...shit, this sounds way more stupid than I usually do, but I want to make sure he's okay. He didn't look too hot when I dragged him to the beach and his mom was going crazy with worry. So...yeah. That's why."

"That..." Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. "That's so sweet I might barf."

Steve shrugged and pointed towards the cavern entrance. "Be my - well, your guest, but you might want to do it outside. So. Legs. How much for a pair of legs? A temporary one?"

Eddie grinned at him, twirling his tentacles some more. It was almost hypnotizing. "Oh, I don't know. Pretty difficult, those pesky legs. All those toes, ten of them, that's a full day's job. I'd say the price is...your voice."

Ah, there it was. The evil streak everyone was talking about. Steve just closed his eyes and nodded, resigning himself. "Fine. Take it."

He expected pain, maybe. Or something touching his face, at least. What he didn't expect was a loud fit of laughter invading his ears, reverbating through the cavern.

"What?" he asked Eddie, annoyed.

"You..." wheezed Eddie, wiping at his face, even if any and all tears would dissolve in water instantly, "you really thought I was serious? That I'd do some evil crap like that? Ah, man. My reputation has to be way worse than I assumed."

Steve's scowl sent him into another fit of giggles while the prince searched for a reasonable response that didn't include punching the witch. Just a little. "Okay then, so what do you want?" he snapped.

One mighty sweep of tentacles and Eddie was next to him, hand over his soulders. His black scales were smooth and surprisingly pleasant to the touch. "Geez, Stevie, calm down. Contrary to what you might believe, I'm not that bad."

"Yeah?" Scanning the walls of the cavern, he noticed the scared eyes of the tiny creatures around. "Care to tell me if those poor, unfortunate souls moved here voluntarily?"

Eddie just snickered and crooked his finger at one of them, inviting it closer. It wiggled in the water a little before slowly descending into his palm. He touched its forehead with a long finger and muttered an incantation. And just like that, in a puff of colorful swirls, floated Chrissy, with her golden hair and forest green tail. "So, Chris," drawled Eddie, "care to describe to prince Steven here how I kidnapped you and forced you to live here with me?"

"I..." Steve was at loss of words. "I thought you left? Or disappeared?"

Chrissy snorted and moved closer to Eddie, finding comfort under his arm. "Yeah, I did both. Because Jason wouldn't leave me alone. I came to Eddie for advice on where I could go, but he let me stay here, in a changed form...for my own protection. Just like the others. Really, Steve, prejudice doesn't suit you." Turning back to Eddie, she nudged his side. "Hey, Eddie, can you change me back? I'll take a brief nap."

Ruffling her hair, he touched her forehead. "Sure thing, Chris. Off to the bed with you." And just like that, she was a tiny octopus again, floating to her shelf.

"Oh wow," breathed out Steve. "I feel like a huge asshole. That's...that's actually really nice of you."

Eddie shrugged, returning to his cauldron. "What can I say. The rumors are useful, it keeps the rich and mighty assholes out. Except for this asshole," he pointed at Steve with one of his tentacles, but there was no venom. "So, legs. Can do, a small spell and you'll change when you exit water, you'll have your tail back when you re-enter it. Just a small warning for you - you'll want to get covered when you get up there. There's going to be...something...where the front of your tail is and humans don't like to see that."

Steve snickered at that. He definitely saw one of those during his trips to the surface and he absolutely didn't want to see that either. He watched as Eddie muttered something weird and deep that sent sparkles towards his tail. "Great, thank you. Uh. So, what about the payment? What do you want?"

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. "Whatever. You want to check on a kid, so it's not like I'm going to charge you something crazy. Two pebbles, a pretty mug for my cavern, whatever."

"Do you like anything from the world above I could bring you?" Steve asked, moving closer to the cauldron. "Since I'll be there. They have a lot of interesting stuff."

"Hmmm...maybe..." Look, mermen normally didn't blush, but Steve could swear Eddie's cheeks turned a bit darker. A strand of his wavy hair floated into his mouth and he started chewing on it nervously. "OK, so theoretically. If you were to find one or two. Apples? Do you know what those are?"

The shame in Eddie's face had Steve laughing, clutching his sides. He just looked adorable, trying not to ruin his cultivated image. "Sure, I know them. They float, but I'll get them down here. You've got a sweet tooth, huh?"

"Not a word, prince," the witch threatened, pulling more and more hair in front of his face. "No one will believe you. Now shoo, go check on your kid and find me some apples."

Steve saluted him. "Shall do, oh mighty witch!" With a single sweep of his golden tail, he was gone.

When everything quieted down, Eddie stayed hunched at his cauldron. He didn't really foresee this day going so...weird. Not bad, but weird.

"You like him."

He scowled at the tiny Chrissy creature that floated in front of him with a smug expression. "Oh shoo with you too. He's going to check on the kid and fall in love with a pretty lady or a princess above, or he's going to toss a half-rotten apple to me when he comes back and will never speak to me again. They always do."

She floated closer and nuzzled under his chin. "I don't know, Eddie," she sighed. "He seemed like a good guy. And he had those eyes. Just wait, I'm about to earn an I-told-you-so."

- - -

Eddie hated being wrong. But when, not even a day later, he found Steve waiting in front of his cavern, a satchel of apples in hand (well, above his head, struggling to keep it underwater) and a wide smile on his face, he thought being wrong wasn't the worst thing in the world.

"Welcome back, your highness," he invited Steve in. "So, how was your child friend?"

Steve beamed at him, his face bright even in the shadow of Eddie's abode. "He's doing well. A bit shaken, but recovering. His mom was really grateful, both to me and you. She sent you this...what did she call it. Token of appreciation from her garden. They should be one of the sweetest types." He handed Eddie the satchel and watched with fondness as the sea witch shoved his hand in, grabbing a beautiful red apple and taking a bite. The look on his face was pure bliss.

One crunch later, Eddie opened one of his eyes and looked at Steve. "Want one?"

"Uh, I..." Steve stammered. "They're your payment, I couldn't-"

Shaking his head, Eddie shoved an apple into his hand. "Don't give me that crap. You saved the kid, you deserve an apple. Now make yourself comfortable. Unless you're afraid to stay?"

Steve laughed and floated closer to Eddie, taking a bite of his apple. "Of you, Eddie? Never."

The crunching of apples was loud in the cavern, but not enough to drown out the quiet "I told you so" from the highest shelf.

(also, I forgot to mention this, but the cauldron? It was soup. Eddie is feeding a full cavern of runaways so of course he needs to cook in bulk)

#steddie #steddie au #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie drabble #little mermaid au #stranger things #stranger things drabble #chrissy cunningham #dustin henderson

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definitelynotstable · 8 months

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Camomile pt. 1 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Babes!!!!! I didn’t even take my ritalin today where is this coming from?!?!?!?!? Also new Hozier album like hellooo????

Synopsis: You've run out of tea, the only other person who drinks camomile is Lieutenant Ghost ... Word count: 633 Warnings: none. Ghost x gn!Reader: not explicitly romantic but fluffy.

*✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:

The mission had gone well, no one had been injured, the intel was sound - overall a job well done. Whenever things worked out it left you restless. It was the job, you supposed; to always expect the worst.

It was late. It was late and you were wandering down the hallway, phone torch on are you blearily stumbled into the kitchen. You shut the door carefully behind you, it clicked, sounding far to loud in the silent room.

In a daze you managed to fill the kettle, flicking it on as you rustled around on your shelf. Met with an empty tin you sighed. You had forgotten to buy more tea.

Surely your teammates wouldn’t mind if you borrowed a single bag? Scanning the shelves you spotted a small tin labelled “camomile” in scratchy handwriting. Ghost’s shelf.

The man was sure intimidating but he wouldn’t mind …right? God it was late. It was Ghost’s camomile of nothing.

Sending out a prayer you snagged a bag from the tin.

*✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:

Mere moments later you sat hunched over, a mug of steaming camomile warm between your hands. This was exactly what you needed.

“Couldn’t sleep?’ A low voice came from the doorway.

You jumped, tea dripping over the edge of the mug and onto the table. You hadn’t even heard him come in. A hand pulled the mug out of your grasp and suddenly a cloth was wiping the table in front of you.

The man had ditched his hard-shell mask and wore a plain black balaclava. Blond hair poked out from under it, he looked like he had pulled it on haphazardly in a sleepy haze. It wasn’t often you saw your lieutenant caught so of guard.

“Shit, thanks.”

Ghost shook his head, gently pushing the mug back into your hands and wringing the cloth into the sink. “My fault, don’t worry about it.” He filled the jug up, flicking it on before turning around to lean his hip against the counter, arms crossed. “Need another?” He asked jutting his chin towards your tea.

You flushed red. You were not taking another of this mans tea bags. “No, thanks though. I was almost finished anyway.”

The lieutenant nodded in reply, busying himself with his own drink. You watched nervously as he reached for his shelf, he paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side. He grabbed a teabag before righting the tin, you had left it at an off angle.

Christ this man was thorough.

“Nicking my tea, Sergeant?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry sir I ran out and everyone else just had coffee-“

“Relax,” he placed his mug on the table across from you, sliding into the chair. His eyes crinkled and flashed in the dim kitchen lighting, “I stole some of yours last week - we’re even.”

“I - you what?”

Ghost stretched out where he sat, shifting his chair to the right so he could have his long legs out in front of him, ankles crossed.

“I used one of your teabags last week,” the man repeated, one arm crossed against his chest as he blew gently before taking a sip from his mug.

“Oh.”

“Hope that’s ok,” he raised an eyebrow, looking over the rim of his mug.

Shaking yourself out of your stupor you smile hesitantly. “Of course. Anytime LT.”

You can’t tell for sure, but it seems like he smiles back.

*✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:

Masterlist

Next Part:

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #task force 141 #cod mw2 #ghost drinks camomile #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader

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peachypwark · 11 months

Text

Caught

Synopsis: Jake gets caught in an awkward situation but maybe it’s not the worst thing being caught

Warnings: sub!Jake, dom!reader, masturbation, best friends to lovers, unprotected sex, blow job, cum eating, riding, mention of a threat made toward Jake reader doesn’t have a gag reflex, use of the nickname baby (lemme know if there’s anything I missed)

Word count: 1,280 (yet I can never meet the word count on my essays😭)

AN: this is my first smut that I’m actually publishing and it may or may not be inspired by the photo above and it may or may not be a little self indulgent

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You had a crush on your best friend Jake ever since he hit puberty and boy did it do him good. Of course you loved him before he became physically appealing, but you had always pushed the thought down and pretended the crush simply didn’t exist. As time went on you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore and just admitted that you were in love with the man. Now you were hot too, when you hit puberty, Jake took notice to how you became a woman. Noticed how you grew into all your features in the best way possible and it became very hard not to develop a crush on you and fantasize what it would be like to be with you, it became sexual for him last year when you started wearing clothes that hugged your figure in such a delicious way. Hence why he’s currently fucking his fist at the mere thought of those black velvet bell bottoms that you wore to work when he saw you earlier this morning and how they accentuate your hips. He’s been edging himself for an hour, so lost in the pleasure that he didn’t even hear the front door open and didn’t hear your sweet voice calling his name. You had gotten off early and dropped by your favorite boys house. When you opened the front door, you didn’t see him anywhere downstairs but then you heard a slight whimper, followed by your name. Worried about your friend you went upstairs only assuming he was asleep and was having a bad dream, which you would definitely tease him about later, but when you opened the door you were met with the image of your best friend sprawled on his bed, pumping his cock and panting your name. You couldn’t help but be a little turned on at the image in front of you, wanting to take over and torture him a little. Your eyes lit up at the idea that popped into your head

“Jake~” you said in a sing song voice watching the boy jump and cover himself at lightning speed

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He asked his heart beating out of his chest but all you could think about was how fucked out he looked

“Do you do this often?” You said looking straight in his eyes

“Wha-“ he said before you cut him off

“Do you always think about me when you touch yourself, hmm?” You questioned but only greeted with a look of guilt on his face

“Answer me, Jake” you asserted “use your words”

“Yes” he answered looking fairly embarrassed before you crawled towards him and straddled his lap

“Me too” you whispered in his ear looking back at his face to see a look of pure shock. Jake looking in your eyes to find them dripping in lust and finally you closed the gap between you and captured his lips in a kiss of pure need and hunger. Tongues fighting for dominance, which ended in you winning that battle, breaking the kiss with only a string of saliva connecting you. Taking in his swollen pink lips before moving down to his neck, biting and sucking until he let out a whimper letting you know you found his spot continuing to suck at that spot until it became bruised. You then got off his lap to pull the covers off of him, his dick slapping against his stomach still very hard from playing with himself for an hour and still not cumming. His tip was red and angry, precum oozing out and dripping along his length. You wrapped your hands around his throbbing member and are immediately met with a groan from Jake before laying on your stomach between his thighs to suck his dick. You kissed his tan thighs causing him to squirm before you got to where he really needed you. You licked a stripe up the underside of his cock before giving some kitten licks to his tip

“Please, no teasing” he cried

“Ok” you said before taking his whole length in your mouth bobbing your head up and down while the boy in front of you becomes a complete moaning mess, scratching at your back under your work shirt to try to stabilize himself from the earth shattering head he is receiving right now.

“Shit, I’m cumming” he moaned out which only made you go harder, you even started fondling his balls and just like that he was shooting thick ropes of cum into your mouth, rolling his hips into your mouth to ride out his high before you released him out of your mouth with a pop, noticing he was still hard.

“Babe look you’re still hard as a rock” you said getting up and taking your clothes off and kissing his lips while you got back on his lap. He could still taste himself in your mouth and his mind was so foggy he didn’t even realize you lined him up with your entrance. Slowly sinking onto his member making him break the kiss and throw his head back with a groan.

“Mm you fill me up so good” you praised him while bouncing on his lap his finger nails digging into your hip as he progressively gets more vocal, his sounds mixing with your own

“Y/N, I can’t hold it much longer” he sobbed out, tears forming in his eyes with how good he felt.

“Just a little bit longer, ok baby?” You panted out soon feeling that familiar knot in your stomach

“Cum with me, Jake” you said and as soon as you finished that sentence you could feel him twitch inside of you and painting your walls white, triggering your own orgasm rolling your hips to ride both of your highs out. Your forehead resting against his, both of you bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I guess we can skip the awkward love confession now” you said to him

“Wait what?” He exclaimed “you actually like me”

“Well, yeah ever since you had little gap teeth” you said watching his eyes light up and smile the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, immediately kissing your lips, this kiss more gentle than the ones you just shared.

“I’ll be right back, I just gotta clean myself up” you said almost forgetting he was still inside you. You got up and scurried to the bathroom after you found your underwear and grabbed one of jakes shirts and got yourself cleaned up. When you got out of the bathroom you saw Jake in sweatpants, immediately jumping into bed with him, he let out a slight giggle at your eagerness to cuddle with him after the way you fucked him. You laid right next to each other, his face in the crook of your neck and you playing with his hair.

“Jake” you said making him take his face out of your neck

“Yeah?” He questioned

“When did you start liking me?” You asked him curiously, considering you had no idea he reciprocated your feelings

“When you threw a book at that boy for threatening to shoot me in 8th grade” he said with no hesitation “I don’t know something about the way you handled that had me down bad” he said smiling at you

“So what I’m hearing is, you like that I’m mean?” You said smiling at him as well

“Love it actually” he said causing you to roll your eyes

“Go to sleep loser” you said

“Yes, ma’am” he said taking his place back in the crook of your neck and soon you were both asleep, feeling giddy about how this all transpired cause he got caught.

#jake sim #enhypen #jake sim smut #jake sim smuts #enhypen smut

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can I request a love triangle headcannons with Johan & Eli? Thank you in advance 💙

I'll be honest. My response is late but I have been thinking a lot about this dynamic ever since I've seen this. In a word: stressful.

Have... whatever the hell this is. And thanks for requesting anon!

Johan Seong/Reader/Eli Jang love triangle hc

This is not a joke. In this essay I will...

Yikes, you're really picking the two with the lowest tolerance for romantic bullshit?

Listen. Any sort of love triangle involving Johan Seong is the worst kind of headache you can ever imagine. See - one night of PAID FRIENDSHIP with Jace Park.

This guy does. not. share.

You really don't want to bring out those sort of mushy squishy feelings from Johan and not fully reciprocate it. What's worse though, is he will not confess so you have to be observant and perceptive yourself.

Give him a definitive yes or a no.

And Eli Jang is pretty guarded with romance after Heather. He's trying to be a good father to Yenna while also taking care of Hostel or whatever the fuck this dumbdumb is upto these days so he doesn't have time for romance.

Having feelings for you brings a lot of turmoil and stress that is very much unwelcomed. Thinks about you a lot. Playing happy family in his head once all this blows over.

Eli's a very busy guy and doesn't seek you out, though will call and message quite a bit. Just to talk to you and be friendly, even though this is completely not the type of thing he does.

How a love triangle could work

The only way I would see this working is if you are not aware of their feelings for you. If you do know and keep stringing them along, they will definitely peace out asap.

Them being aware of each other's feelings won't be a dealbreaker, but during the more... difficult moments, they might just think it is more effort than it's worth with everything else happening around them.

Surprisingly little crossover between these two. There was their fights quite a while back, but Eli and Johan are very much like two ships passing. Similar arcs with being Gun's successors and being trained by Tom Lee.

Basically, you're never going to really see them together but they WILL give you a migraine.

So. Some actual headcanons

These are opposites in many ways.

Eli will try to take up your time mentally, but Johan will almost always physically be around. Trailing after you, being with you.

If you get some pings on your phone, Johan's guard would immediately go up. Who is that?? Would never outright ask, the irritation simmering below the surface and jealousy exhibiting through other actions.

Similarly, take too long to respond back to Eli then he will start having all these doubts. Less about his actual feelings for you, but more on the timing and whether seeking you out is a good idea at all.

And because there is so little interaction between these two, unfortunately you are stuck in the middle.

AND they seem like the type that would always harbour a grudge against each other for their previous run ins (especially Johan), and see each other as competition. Vying for your affection is just another way for them to butt heads.

Eli through the phone: "tell Johan I can always give him a haircut, he looks like he needs one." Johan, being so quick-witted, will probably respond with "fuck off" and give you the cold shoulder for days.

Or Johan will hide your phone or distract you so much that you forget to respond back to Eli or completely miss his call.

They're both hot and cold in different ways. Johan will be mad at his feelings for you, stay away, and then find he can't. During his sweeter moments, he will be around you a lot, something of a lost puppy. But when he's at his most childish and selfish worst, he will vanish for ages leaving you to worry.

As mentioned, Eli will just be constantly fretting about the timing of this and feeling guilty about speaking to you when his focus should be elsewhere. So he might go quiet and pull away for a bit. Eventually, you'll contact him and then he'll think hearing your voice, reading your texts, occasionally seeing your face makes it worth it though.

In summary

Good fucking luck with these two.

The best advice is to be perceptive of their feelings for you then stay in one goddamn lane.

#if youve made it this far congrats #ramblings of a madwoman #and sorry for any forgotten details #might have forgotten some huge plot points tbh #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #eli jang #eli jang x reader #johan seong #johan seong x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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punk-in-docs · 1 year

Text

🕷️ Vanilla Tobacco 🕷️

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.9k words

Summary: Based on one of my favourite Eloise songs- this pure mush but please believe me on the life of my dog, the next piece to follow this with smut is coming in so fast I may get whiplash- watch out- also

Thank-youuuu all of you for being such angels and commenting on my stuff all the time it’s honestly amazing. I know I’m a lazy bum and I need to reply to your astounding comments. But pls know I do see each one and it’s just what makes this all so worthwhile to see how much you all love Eddie X Pencils.

Your morning had been hell on wheels.

You slept through your alarm. Stubbed your toe stumbling out of bed in your rush to get dressed. Burnt your tongue on your too hot coffee. Ended up being late for home room. And now you’ve been lumped with an art essay. Perfect.

Self directed. Six thousand words on a particular art movement of your choice. Which somehow made it even harder to pick-

It’s pokey glass shards stabbing into the already festering wound in your side that was your day.

This would mean you’d be surrendering your lunchtime to this honey of a new project which was due in a week. If you got the books and notes gathered for it now, it would be a great help and a load off further down the line.

You trudge out of class, and back down to the hallway to your locker, with an armful of textbooks and sketchbook. A free period now that you’d spend the entirety of in the library.

In the absence of a certain jingly jacketed, metal head, the music you’ve got blasting through walkman headphones right now, is the only soothing thing that’s helping your scratchy mood stay buoyant.

Well. That and one other salient thing-

You can’t help but draw your thoughts back to yours and Eddie’s movie night. That memory certainly lifts and delights. Wraps up your stomach like being bound in sunny butter-yellow silk.

Being tangled up on Eddie’s terrible scratchy orange couch with wandering hands, seeking more, and so much making out it was like you were kissing each other’s lips raw. Seeing Eddie with those beautiful lips all bitten pink certainly tugged on your guts in the most horny way.

You devoured the pizza together, and he’d tasted like hoppy lite beer and salty pepperoni - licking the greasy cheese mess of it off the corner of your lips. Smiling with oily pizza grease fingers gripping your chin.

You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt. Prodded fun at the gore of his selected horror movies - awed by his taste too. Agreed on the worst and best parts of grainy black and white eerie tones of night of the living dead. The ham acting. The swelling suspense.

He’d grinned with the way you’d squirmed and jiggled and scrunched up your feet in unease at the bit in Nightmare on Elm Street. When Tina grabs Freddy’s face and the whole thing slips into her hand in a bloody rubbery landslide, revealing raw teeth and bulging eyes, scarlet black chasm of a nose.

I love this movie. But I freakin’ hate that bit.

Eddie curls around you tighter. Beaming. Chuckling dryly. Ringed fingers splaying over your hip. Nose nestled in the back of your neck.

Squeamish much, pencils?

Shut up

You both watch as Tina cups at the four claw marks in her stomach as she’s tumbled around the bed and jerked up to the ceiling. Crawling sticky blood up the flowery walls.

You hide again with an ‘Ick.’ Which prompts you to twist around and face him. You don’t do well with blood.

He very kindly lets you shield your eyes behind his hand. Rings warm on your skin.

Freddy’ll have to get through me first. Don’t you worry.

I’ll never let you sleep again, Munson. I will blast the loudest Motörhead in your ears. Okay?

Okay sweets. He winked.

You’d flown into swooning bits at the recollection of how you’d spent a great deal of time on that date, horizontal with Eddie’s warm nose buried deep in your neck. Or his tongue in your mouth. Spit wet lips, hoppy beer breath, and grinding hormones.

Later, much later, after two beers, his teeth and lips were plucking hickie’s at your collarbones and under your jaw. Mainly to distract you from Wes Cravens gore. But, funny how even when the movie ended, neither of you seemed to notice.

Too busy scrunching your hands in his messy hair and kissing him back hungrily. His hands smoothing up your back. Your legs curled open over the cradle of his skinny hips. Grinding into the clutch of yours. His hands were blazing hot on your ass where your skirt was rucked up. Fingertips slipping just-so, under the edge of your panties.

Whenever you hummed or moaned it made him smile. Made his hips jerk to yours. You were grinding on each other like this world would end soon. Entirely composed of rutting feel-good hormones for each other.

He pulled back because he was definitely popping a boner in those skinny jeans and you can’t lie either - you’re wet - you’re both very flimsy underwear barriers away from doing some very x-rated things.

He begs you that he doesn’t wanna be cumming in his pants like a ninth grader. You can’t deny with his hips grinding you like that it wouldn’t take much for your orgasm either. But, you both agreed, that for now, you’d keep it to second base.

All bets are off next time though, Pencils.

Deal. You grin back.

He sighed happily, blushed as a matter of fact, as you nudged a kiss under his ear.

You made out and ate and cracked jokes and chatted for what felt like hours. You tired the moon with your talking - and kissing. So much sparky hot kissing it stunned your lips numb.

You’d never get enough of the taste of Eddie. Smoke and beers on his tongue. Fake snap of chemical apple from his shampoo. Some distant lingering cedar and vanilla cologne that was definitely Wayne’s and had definitely been put on to impress you-

Hewalked you out to your car when time came for you to go. Leaving felt like a ripping pain. Like tearing layers of skin away. You kissed for ten minutes before you even managed to fumble blindly behind you for the door. He kissed you up against the door. Next to the door. All over you with your hands sunk and lost in his hair.

Don’t go I’m not done yet. As he cupped your face and waddled you up against the door - again.

Traffics bad this time of night, Pencils. Give it five if I were you.

I’ve heard a really bad storm is closing in.

Every time you levered apart, he was spinning you back with “Okay but how about one more, y’know, for the road…”

Then proceeded to melt you into another thought-stealing kiss.

Made you laugh into it when he palmed your car keys right out your hand whilst you were distracted by his tongue. And fully launched them over his shoulder.

They landed with a jingly thump over his shoulder on the malt brown carpet. He wrapped his arms around your waist even tighter. Muffled your protests onto the silky bed of his tongue. You moaned and curled your arms around him again.

Thinking of Eddie was definitely one part of your day that didn’t suck. That didn’t scrape rock bottom. It actually lifted you off your dragging heels a bit. Laced a spring in your step that you were careful not to let creep out too much around others.

You lose yourself to that, and into the jagged punk carnality, and let it be known Billy Idol’s sneering roar of a voice was a balm to you.

What didn’t help was that when you came to your locker, Linda was stood against it with the nuclear warhead of a mega-bitch that was Carol P.

They’re gaggled close and smirking about something. There should be a cauldron between them for the amount of shit-stirring and poison slinging they do. You’re thankful you can’t hear it. You turn up Rebel Yell just that tad louder.

Carol was the worst when it came to high school hierarchy. Not only an asshole but determined to drag that festering quality out of everything she touches. Withers the people she considers below her like dead leaves. Thought because she was giving blowjobs under the bleachers, and playing spin the bottle since seventh grade, that it somehow made her the epitome of cool.

You think that much like Linda, its just wearing a mask to cover over the craggy potholes and ultimate shallowness of their personality. They turn into mean, bullying people. Dog eat dog world of high school. Eat or be eaten and these are the pedigree girls with shiny hair, sharp teeth and bitchy smiles.

Really they’re just entirely composed of vanity and rot. Shallowness and arrogance entwined.

Linda barely acknowledges your emergence, as you open your locker and swap out an armful your books for the ones in your hands from an earlier class. You kept your headphones on, muffled the world away to rock music.

A hand shoots over your shoulder and annoyingly jerks on your headphones. Tugging them down the back of your head with a clatter. Making your heart flash fast at the jump of it.

You turn with a glare and see Tommy. H jaunt up to his girlfriend. Giving you a stupid grin. Sneering words back at you. “S’up, Pencil neck.”

Pencil Neck. Mother Mary. Those were some of the ingenious little pet names they had picked out for you.

Because you haven’t had sex and you aim for good grades, apparently this makes you worthy of freakdom in their rabid eyes.

Linda purses her lips a little. Smiles like it’s funny, them calling you that.

Carol barks out her shitty grating laughter. Tilts her head at you and those loose Farah Fawcett auburn curls dance around her snarky face. Popping neon pink gum and looking sly.

Tommy loops his arm around her neck. They stand and eye you like you’re something amusing. Freak show in town. Roll up for tickets.

“Original.” You bite back as you reach for your books.

“Ooh.” Tommy chirps at you. “Not in a friendly mood, are we.”

“My tolerance for vitriolic jackasses is limited.” You narrow your eyes at the pair of them.

You detest the way Carol scans you up and down. Judging your hand me down plaid, jeans and sneakers like you got them from a yard sale. Thinking you’re cheap trash, with a trampy single mom.

Just cause her manicured and caustic mother was the sales rep for a big cosmetic company, and she lives on the gleaming streets of Loch Nora, that it made her perfectly able to peer down her nose at the lower echelons.

She pops her gum with a snap looking at you. Then doesn’t even deign to pay you any attention. Looks towards Linda. A decided bitchy ally.

“You’re coming to the house party at Josh’s tonight, right, Martelli?” She grins as she chews loudly. Wet gummy clicks that get on your nerves. Raking an annoying knife up your spine.

You turn to your locker and ignore the bunch of cognoscenti assholes. You were ashamed to say that included your once fond friend among them.

“Sure I’ll be there.” Linda shrugs like it isn’t a golden gilded invitation handed over, direct from the Queen Bee herself.

“You’re gonna bring Jonny right?” Carol leers. Smile filthy. Like she wants to be the one sucking face with him, as opposed to her own boyfriend currently slung off her shoulder.

“If he can sneak out. His dads being a real dick at the moment.” Linda tells with a glum pouty tone.

“Sneak him out. It’ll be so fun. We got tonnes of beer. There’s bound to be some wet n’ wild fun in the pool.” She grinned all bright and naughty. Sticking her tongue out.

House party on a Tuesday night. These dicks really had nothing better to do than suck face, trash the place, or hump. Make a mess like silver back gorillas parading around in the zoo in their natural habitat.

Tommy decided to drag you back into this razor blade and lemon juice studded conversation. Oh joys.

“Probably not Pencil neck’s kinda evening.” He pouts sticking his lower lip out.

“She’s gotta be back in her convent by 9. Wimple on. Back home with her trampy mom like a good little girl.” Carol mocks in laughing. It’s shrill. Brings to mind a hyena.

Somewhere along the line, the fact your mom was mostly absent and single had become the butt of a joke to these people. Because you don’t live on Maple Street or dress like a Pat Benatar wannabe. You defend your ground in your paint spattered clothes, tatty jeans, and oversized hand-me-down plaid from Charlie, and tees from the goodwill.

It stung like acid each time they swiped and spit nasty words aimed at your mom. Needles pushed under your skin when they sniped their mockery.

You rose above it and grit your teeth. Even though it made you want to start swinging clenched fists. Real tempting to shove the wrong end of your paintbrush in carols stupid eye some days. Splat paint on her expensive jacket or jeans. Knock the books out her hands for once. The dream.

Tommy chuckles along. Carol loves pushing your buttons. It’s her defining character trait. Slamming down on them til they crack into spiderwebs like broken porcelain. It’s all she does best.

“I’m amazed you manage to walk like that what with your head being all the way up your ass.” You slam your locker and turn to talk to a very silent Linda.

“See you after third.” You offer blithely. She barely meets your eyes. Doesn’t answer. She shrinks down. Dumbly clings to her own silent cowardice. Shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at a scuff on her shiny white cavalier boots.

“Got bible studies?” Tommy jumps in quick to say.

You roll your eyes over, let his comment go unmatched. You didn’t have the energy for these two.

You heft your books into your arms and walk away. You hear their laughter and more snideness rips it’s razors at your back as you leave. More insults you don’t care to listen too.

You blast more Billy to blot them out. Forget about their stupidity as you head to the library. You hate the way they slide under your skin like it’s nothing.

You push through the doors and pad through the winding warren of the shelves. Thick carpet tiles muffled your steps. The overly harsh lighting almost buzzed above you. Students hunched hushed over tables, or scanning the stacks. A low thrum of noise and activity compared to the teaming hallways.

It’s a soothe for you. A harbour for you to switch your brain into a slow gear, push it into focusing on something else.

You find a table and set out your books and sketchbooks. Loop your bag on the back of the chair and get scouring through the arts section. You find a stack and pile it against your chest. Take them to your table and hunch over a legal pad. Madly brainstorming ideas for what you wanted to pick.

You settle and let the onslaught of your morning grow quiet. Meld as one into pages and passages. Art Nouveau with its goddesses, natural flowing forms and it’s mimicry of flowers under arched curves. The limpid neon minimalism of Dan Flavin and his light installations. Hockney and his searing blue pool paintings.

There’s so many influences crashing through your head. You skip from book to book. Unable to decide. Tapping the end of your pen against your chin. Raking hands through your lose hair.

You’re curled over a punk art book, looking at the ripped Jamie Reid images, jagged text and rude political satire sprayed and bastardised with paint drips, when something soft hits you on the side of your head, grazing by, and skittering down to your desk. Bouncing off your hand.

You twist back in your seat. Bewildered. Scanning the stacks and there’s nothing save for the usual soft footed librarians drifting around, with their glasses chains, sensible skirts, and hushed voices. The same few quiet kids sat at their tables, dotted around. Unmoved.

You frown and turn back around to the crumpled paper. You smooth it out and make out the chicken scratched words etched there. It was a note.

A love note. Etched in Violet sharpie. It sets a blaze in your chest.

Hey sweet cheeks. You look hot hitting the books. Making me jealous that they’ve got your undivided attention.

Signed it with an E with little sprouting devil horns coming off the top - as if he really needed to identify himself.

You smile when you suddenly feel the tickle of long dry hair feathering it’s tips at the back of your neck. Ringed hands drape for your shoulders. Cold rings even through your worn flannel. Smoke comes with him. Fresh too. He’d just had a cig break you’d guess. Reds curled new on cold leather and carried along with apple.

How was it the worlds nosiest metal-head with his jangly wallet chain and apparently limitless racket, could sneak up on you in absolute silence.

Materialising out of nowhere, like a suddenly gathering storm. Subtle as an earthquake. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Inhaled deep like he was trying to drag you in via his mouth alone.

“There’s my little bookworm.” He hushes. Voice all trying-to-be-low and hissing. Rumbling down on your skull. Nuzzling his nose to your hair. Coconut. That Amber and Lavender perfume of yours. Clean luminosity of honeyed notes, and the plain spice of hearty lavender that drifts off you.

It’s dizzying. Consuming. He’s missed it the way a man could miss food and water.

“You threw paper at my head.” You faked mild insult.

Eddie leans up on his sneaker tip toes to peer over your head and catch onto the book that has you so engrossed.

“You looked very invested. How else was I supposed to get your attention.” Comes a clever curl of a grin.

It makes little flecks of gold stars shine and shimmer in those inky eyes.

His hand that landed heavy with a whump on your shoulder, curled up a knuckle and played with an idle curl of your hair. Cool fingers leaving sparks where he touched the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You know this is a library don’t you.” You tease him. Rotating in your seat. Gazing up at him. “Books. Studying.”

“Mistook it for something else. Won’t make that error twice.” He tells with that signature clever grin.

“Although it does have you in here, so I automatically like it very much, indeed.” He preens.

Your smile makes his spine slope into fuzziness and tingle all warm. Where his hand is on your shoulder, you edge and curl your fingers over his own. Lacing them through.

He wasn’t gonna be a complete letch and admire the way the twist of your body gaped the buttons of that oversized green and navy plaid you wore. Teased him with the silky valley of skin running downwards from your collarbones. Sternum. Bra. Tits. Your tits.

Okay he wasn’t gonna look, but he’s certainly thinking about it.

Those sweet slips of collarbones he’d been sucking and mouthing for eons long just the other night and was that-

That’s a hickie on your neck. From him.

His stomach trips and crashes into feral frenzy knowing he’s the one to have placed it there, in a rabid fit of horny hormones. Horizontal on his couch with hands all stuffed in tops or jeans, roaming in places that felt so so good.

Tongues fat with kissing and mouths smashing together, raw. Charred bodies grinding. Your fingers edging his stiff jeans zipper. His squeezing your tits through your top. Delightful touches that burned bliss through you like biting electric bolts. The muggy heat of breath on lips.

“That big beautiful brain of yours at capacity yet?” He asks. Swaying into the back of your creaking hard chair.

“I’ve yet to hear a pinging noise indicating it’s full.” You decided. Tapping your pencil down on your book.

“Can my bookworm take a break?” Eddie asks with a conspiratorial looking grin. You tip your head back and meet his gaze.

That ‘my’ warms your belly right though like bad cheap whiskey.

“Why would that be?” You ask cheekily. All lowering your lashes and peering all coquettish.

“Cause if you’re not at capacity yet. I think there’s a little more to learn.” He teases and his smile is all dirty dimples and schoolboy cheek.

He whirls back from your chair and pauses at the walkway between two bookcases. It hooks a smile right out of you when you watch him jerk his head in that particular, enclosed, direction.

Your smile grows, crawls across your lips and you keep your butt planted in your seat. “Gee. I don’t think I know what you’re getting at.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” He asks with narrowed eyes and a wide wide grin.

You lean in said chair and cast your eyes towards the librarians. Who coincidentally have their backs turned to you. One at the desk, the other helping a freshman locate a physics book.

“I don’t know. Maybe if you could find it in book form and read it to me.” You rile. Poking him with a stick.

“Sure. Where’s that Biology section at.” He leans in and bites his lower lip and grips your sleeve. He doesn’t grip your skin with his rings. Worried they’d dig. Even when riled he’s still gentle.

Scrunching up his nose all silly as he’s yanking you out the chair. You laugh softly as you swing off the thing and slink after him.

You both pad silently down the row of bookcases. Eddie tugs you along to the end. Nestled into the crook with paper spines and a shelf digging in your back. The touch on your sleeve travels up your arm, he’s holding your forearm and then impressively smooth, he’s cupping your hip. Slings a finger in your jean belt loop - keeping you tethered to him.

“You going to reinforce a lesson for me. Munson?” You ask.

You rest your hands on his t-shirt. The almost threadbare black sabbath one that you could barely read the scratchy logo on it anymore. It’s almost flaked away. All that’s left is this beaten old black tee that hangs softly in creases off him.

“Yup.” And he pops the P. Staring at your lips. Thumb rubbing soothing circles on your worn plaid stomach. Soft aged flannel. “Gonna reinforce my brains out.” He decides.

“They say repetition is the best way to learn.” He adds. Flirty brow raised. Body flush to yours. Wrapping you in leather smoke and apples.

“And please don’t go hurting yourself on my account. I won’t allow it.” You say as you smooth a hand over the crazy hair beside his jaw. Stroking your fingers under that handsome cut of a jawbone.

You feel his nearness like a gut punch. Every damn time. Has you squirming in every single good way you can muster. This crush blazes so fiery strong. It’s swallowed you whole whilst you weren’t looking. You were too busy watching him smile.

You tip to him. Tilt to him. Up on your toes. Arms going for his neck. Circling around as his hands smooth across your belt loops and cup your hips. He rolls your bottom lip between his. Sucks you into this sloppy kiss as his hands cup you sacredly.

The moment you’ve both been longing for.

You’d never grow tired of kisses like these ones. It left a chasm when you pulled away from his lips on your date. And now again, finally, it’s like a cool clear sip of spring blue water after years of thirst.

Eddie nibbles your lower lip and it draws an unexpected squeak out of you. Plush and tongue and molten. He pulls back and his spit shiny smile liquifies your insides. Warm air puffs over your lips. “Careful pencils. Gotta keep it on the down low in here.”

You half heartedly whack at his chest with an open hand.

He sways with it. Sways into you. Barely noticed your nudge. He catches it with his own fingers, twining into yours. Through yours. Knuckles slot together. Fused. Your hand in his. He brings it up and rests your hand on his neck.

Drunk hazy eyes cast all whiskey puddle brown in yours. Soft as butter and he melts into you again. Nose brushing alongside yours. You taste like the fruity sour bite of chapstick and he’ll definitely chase some more of that fake nectar sweetness, thank you very much.

“How can I be expected to keep quiet when you kiss me like that?” You ask. Tilting in again, legs knocking into his as you press your lips to his in a slow smooch. Long, languid. Taking the kiss off his slanted mouth, honey smooth.

Your hand follows his lead. You cup his soft neck. Thumb brushing the join of his jaw. His hands rearrange themselves. Wandering to settle neatly. One bunching an arm around your waist. The other cups your head. Tilts your mouth to him so he can take and take and unleash on you more of these amazing, demanding kisses.

You should be caring how loud your making out is. Sloppy mouth sounds and little grunts he makes mixed with the thrill of your moans. It rises just a little above the din of the buzzing lights and the swipe of book pages being leafed over.

When you part again you gasp for breath and your knees are stunned into weakness. Your bodies are so close it’s pretty damn evident that soon you’ll be making noises you cannot hide in the whisper quiet library.

It didn’t help that the swelling hunger for more is prodding between your legs. As urgently as his own must be in those tight jeans. Every kiss is laced with a hunger that could proceed sex if you let it.

You really want to let it. You’re so ready to let it.

You exhale onto each other lips when you next part and take a huge pull of breath. Warm whispers sealed to mouths. Bodies tangled. Sure a book was jamming your spine, and the shelf behind you was not exactly sturdy. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered that wasn’t Eddie’s kiss bruised mouth aligned on yours.

“We should probably have another one of those date things soon. Don’t you think?” You ask. Fingers sneaking to his cheek to just touch his skin. A little stubbled.

“You reckon?” He smiles all slanted. Eyes twin honeycomb suns. You stare, stuck into them.

You’ve never seen such warmth leak out those expressively deep carob-eyes. You look at the entirely too long flick of his lashes: the raw pinkness of his cushiony lips. Entirely unfair how he was so pretty. It should be outlawed for a boy to look this pretty when kissed.

Really it was a danger to your health. Your school work would certainly suffer. Your essay sat screeching to be started from your desk.

“I really reckon.” You nod. Eddie swoops in and smooched a boyish charming peck onto your mouth almost in thanks. Pulls back from you with a wet smack.

“If you didn’t say it, I was gonna have to insist.” He teases. Stretches out the last word to almost a hiss so you know he means business.

You bite your lip. “Ok Mr. forceful. What did you have in mind?” You smile. Leaving your arms around his neck. To not touch him would be a stinging agony.

“Anything. So long as we can do this for a good 95 - 98% of the evening. I’m willing to negotiate on the exact percentage.” He asks. “But I would ask you wear that chapstick again.” He requests, no holds barred on the flirt, nudges his lips sweetly to yours.

The flick of his tongue on your lower lip makes your brain twirl and cloud. So naughty.

You kiss him quick. Yank his jacket. Pull back to speak which he pouts at you a little for.

“We could go see a Movie. Go to the arcade. Get ice cream. Go to the old quarry and 420 blaze it, and stargaze. The options are endless.” You say as your fingers find his and twist through. Knuckles stroking those worn metal rings.

“Arcade sounds good. Ice cream is a must.” He says, a little reticent. No one has ever asked him on a date. Much less delved into what he actually wanted to do on said date.

“Arcade and Ice cream it is.” You fix with a grin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Yeah but when it comes to ice cream toppings I’m very picky.” He sneaks forwards and kisses under your jaw.

You have to bite your lip cause he knows how it weakens you. Your gasp from the other night when he slipped his lips all over your jaw is etched interminably in his brain. His tongue traces a hickie he knows only all too well how it got there.

The tip of his nose brushes into anther hickie he’s just given to you. Devil boy. He knows very well what effect it has.

“Whipped cream, Cherries. Lots of cherries, sprinkles. The works.” He whispers all muggy hot into your neck.

“Gotta have cherries. Pencils.” He rasps inbetween heavy plucked kisses on your skin.

You shiver all over with the innuendo. He feels it ripple through you. The way your skin pimples with pleasure that pops, stringing along your veins.

You dig your nails into his hands cause holy shit. Every time you kiss you creep closer and closer to the idea of just slipping your hand inside those ripped jeans and going to town- that barrier of your willpower is being worn paper thin with every caress.

“All the cherries you want, pretty boy. Maybe afterwards we could take a, uh, scenic route up to skull rock and be fools, fooling around.” You smile.

It’s dizzying to him. That idea. Better than Colombia gold spreading all vibrant verdant green and dozy through his lungs.

“I’ll bring the jester hat, Mi’lady.” He flat out grins. It’s borderline Munson manic.

“Perfect evening.” You summarise. Shaking your head and eyeing his lips again.

“Perfect date.” He adds on. Biting his lower lip.

“My god. We’re corny. Even meatloaf would refuse to write a mushy ballad about us right now.” You joke. Hands still looped around his neck. Like hell would you wanna let go.

“Need some help with that essay?” He offers. Closing in for your mouth again.

“Mmhmm need all the help I can get.” You whisper. Barely a brush away from his gorgeous lips.

He kisses you again and it’s stunning. Births a wild jungle of fiery mush and kicked butterflies to rioting life in your belly.

“I promise to be such a huge help. You may not even need those books babe. Don’t you know I’m so brainy it’s unreal.” He wheedles at you.

“I never doubted your big beautiful mind even for a second.” You admit. Holding his chin as you lean in and kiss him solidly once more. Coaxing a lovely sounding whine from the back of his mouth when your tongue swipes his lip.

You drag him back out into the open. He goes - somewhat willingly.

Slips himself into the chair beside yours. Hands splayed over your books as he twirls a pen in his hand as asks you probing and philosophical musings about art.

Cubism. I’m sorry. C’mon? Those guys must’ve been on seriously good pills, man.

How about Constructivism then? You ask.

Gesundheit, pencils.

He scrawls some more devils and live hearts with your name, and leafs through another thick old book. The yellowed pages crack with age.

I got a new twisted sister tape. You should hear it.

I like watching you study. It’s freakin hot. You’re so brainy.

Hey, this chicks kinda neat. She looks like a character from Lord of the Rings or somethin’. He decided as he pawed over an Alphonse Mucha picture.

My favourite too. I love the way he uses colour. It’s dreamy.

You’re dreamy.

He laughs when you bite your lip and look bashful.

He will not stop shooting you a flirty smile as he doodles idly on your legal pad. Swirls big loopy letters of ‘I Love Eddie.’ And ‘Hellfire rulez’ and lots of demon faces, and skulls with horns. Lightning bolts and leathery bats.

His restless hands cannot be stilled. He steals a scrunchie from your bag, and it sits looped on his wrist next to his chain bracelet. Lilac borders leather. He makes no intention of giving it back. Magpie manners.

You make a face at him, asking how you’re supposed to tie your hair up for still life class after school.

“I like it loose and wild.” He says as he skims his eyes over your hair. Thumbs a piece back by your ear so sweetly.

You crook a brow. Smile tips lopsided.

He seems to realise that what he said can be taken an alternative way. “Well, no I uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

Your laugh spins his head into adoring craziness.

“Alright. Alright.” He consoles you by picking a W.A.S.P pin out his denim vest and leaning over to stud it into the collar of your plaid. Tongue bitten between his teeth as he concentrates. Fingers brushing your neck. Skin on skin contact leaving kicks and flutters that shoot stars in his wake.

You look down at it. The shiny metal gleaming in the buzzing light. “Okay, that is a worthy consolation.” You offer.

He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you spend more time leaning into him and trying not to laugh too loud over discussing movies, favourite arcade games and music, than you do actually choosing your essay topic.

When the bell rings for next period you actually detest the thought of scurrying away to your Math class. Yet, Equations and trig beckoned.

Eddie walks you out the library. Opens the door all charming, waves a hand to gesture you on through first, like a true gentleman. You thank him and glide past with your books clutched to your chest.

The hallways are bustling but emptying fast. You twist back and tell him you’ll catch him later. Maybe at lunch.

He smiles that wide trouble-stroked grin. Clutched your hand and leaned down all showy to kiss the back of it and shoot you a dirty flirty wink, before he too whirled away.

You smile and it lingers on your lips even as you part. The press of it makes your whole arm come alive. You watch him for a scant moment before walking off down the corridor the opposite way.

You both look back over your shoulders after about five meagre steps away. Eddie gives you a melting grin, you return it. All eyelashes and beaming.

That grin said a lot. Dead giveaway. The hand kiss. The lingering and swirly body movements, not ever wanting to pull apart. Spoke volumes to those who bothered enough to really look and see it.

The feminine flash of a lilac scrunchie on Munson’s wrist. The telltale purple splotches of hickies hiding just below your collar. The heavy metal pin punched through your collar all shiny. Winking like a far off star.

Far enough down the hall that neither of you paid any notice, Jonny Lopez shut his cloud-grey locker door and leaned against it. Lake blue eyes swam cold. Watching the Freak practically skip away.

He saw him kiss your hand. Saw him pull you close by the corner of your plaid, reeling you in, and all warm smiles backed in flirting familiarity. Watched you beam back, and linger to chat a moment. Your hand laid on leather lapel, brushing at his chest.

It didn’t add up. It’s coming out odd to him. You and the Freak? Close? Since when?

He frowned and tugged his backpack on his shoulder.

Strange sight, that.

“Okay. Please please please for the love of god and on all things holy, don’t get weird.” You call out to your mom as you trudge down the stairs.

Not yet coming to the bottom but you could hear her rifling around in the fridge. Billy Joel’s Anthony’s song clunking out it’s piano notes from the stereo in the kitchen that she always has on when she makes dinner

Which is a strong term for when she just scrounges and grazes stuff out of there like a jackal. When she’s so dragged by jet-lag, she only has the energy to slam some pop-tarts in the toaster and throw back a beer for an evening meal.

She was most definitely not a baked ziti or a casserole mom. She overcooks tater tots, or survived on boxed mashed potatoes and a can of limp greens with some breaded frozen chicken.

More than once she’s resorted to a bag of chips for her dinner. Now you know how she stays so trim. And it’s true what she says about your older sister Charlie being the cook in the family, cause that trait had seemed to have skipped you and her, altogether.

After long haul flights like these, she’s usually all set to scarf a meal down in dribs and drabs and grab a beer, to fall asleep with, as her TV soaps blare on. More than once you’ve had to rush in and stub a Newport gold out her dead asleep hand. More than once she’s burned holes in the couch. Covered them up with a crocheted blanket.

Right now, she’s humming and tapping her toes as she eats cool whip out the tub with a spoon. Stood there in her indigo bootcut jeans and oversized cable knit sweater that slid off one shoulder. White and fluffy.

“Alright.” She calls back slowly. Digesting your words. “Colour me intrigued…” She turns the music right down for this. For whatever this was-

You round the kitchen doorway. And it becomes obvious.

Your wearing a dress, and the oversized box-back leather jacket that once upon a time, belonged to her. With rhinestones on the back that spelled out ‘rock n roll’ with a flaming skull underneath. You’d paired it with a red dress that clung and a nipping big white leather hoop belt stretched around your middle. Sneakers and white socks on your feet. Silver wet n wild on your eyelids. Liner and mascara. Your hair all fluffed and kinked

“You’ve joined a rock band? I want front row tickets. I like the jacket. Very Joan Jett.” She grins wide. The flash of that pearly perfect smile. No whiff of how it was hers that you’d poached for the evening.

“No.” You explain.

Her eyes pin you down. Widening under her shiny bangs.

“Intrigue.” As she lopsidedly and untidily stuffs more groceries into the fridge.

“Linda is dragging you to a… club? Or another trashy house party?” She asks.

“Wrong, again.”

“Ok, connect some dots for me cause I’m lost here.” She waves her hand at you as she unloaded tubs of ice cream into the freezer. Peanut butter chocolate chip.

“Don’t get weird.” You point a finger at her. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Well, weird is my wheehouse kid. My basic operating system.”

“Mom.”

“So intense tonight.” She grumbles all chirpy.

“I actually have a date.“ You lay out.

She looks right at you as she lets the fridge door slam shut. Mouth gaping.

“A date?” She checks.

“Are you a parrot now, or what.” You tease.

“Look at you. Hiding your light under a bushel.” She beams. Hands on her hips.

“Boy or girl?” She asks, blinking.

“A boy. Mom.” You offer up. “But thank you for that.” You wave your hand at her.

“Hey. No judgement here babe. A date. My god.” She looks floored. Hand laying on her chest floored.

“Yes.” You respond. “Well. Actually to be honest, It’s kind of our second date. We had a movie night at his place last week.”

“Second date huh.” She waggles her brows at you like a dirty minded frat boy.

“Well, tell me how it goes. You can leave out all the gross- y’know.” Bringing her hand up to her face and making obscene wet kissing, slurping smacking noises. Cooing at you across the kitchen.

“You are four years old.” You narrow your eyes at her. She grins.

“Do you need me to feed you and put you to bed before I go?” You jest tiredly as you walk to the hall. Check your hair yet again in the mirror.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just be sticking my fingers in the electrical sockets and running with scissors here, totally unsupervised.” She jokes. Picking a rogue hair off the back of your jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to sit on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls on my own. Eat sad Beefaroni and be a tragic spinster mom.”

“Do so quietly.” You wave off.

When you move to get your shoes: she follows. You have a shadow, apparently.

“So this booooyyy- honey tell me about the boy.“ She grins all giddy. Leaning against the door and swaying her body like a preeny high school girl.

Like she should be twiddling pigtails with a lollipop in her mouth. Candy saccharine sweet.

“Is he on the team?” She seeks. And then gasps. “Is he gonna give you his letterman jacket if you get cold?” She clasps her hands and her voice teeters all high and romantic-like.

“Yeah. Then he’s taking me and Rizzo to the sock hop in his Studebaker and then onto some racing for pinks.” You joke with her archly.

“My god. You got your penchant for dragging sarcasm from me.” She pointed out. Unhelpfully. Shoving you half heartedly in the shoulder for being smartly rude. Beer now in her other hand as she drapes herself against the kitchen doorway.

“Not a letterman then?” She scrunches up her nose. She knew well of your distastes.

“If he was I wouldn’t be touching him even with gloves on, and ten f oot pole.” You insist as you make sure you’ve got everything in your purse.

“Less Steff McKee, more Duckie. I got it.”

You smile at the way she’s phrased it. Whatever Eddie was he was definitely way more Duckie territory.

“So he’s not a jock, alright. That narrows it down. Is Duckie atleast cute? Or am I gonna have ugly grandchildren.” She asks.

“Mom.” You hiss with skated laughter as you fluff your hair in the mirror. She winced suddenly.

“It’s not Keith from the Arcade is it? Cause he’s always been sweet on you. You went in last time and I swear he was drooling over you in your Talking Heads tee.”

“It’s not Keith.” You answer nicely. You liked Keith, but he could be sleazy, and a catty kind of mean, and had a bigger chip on his shoulder than you when it came to the preps and jocks.

Plus he would literally date any girl with a pulse that breathed his way. Besides, he was way way deep into crushing on Nancy Wheeler territory.

You exhale into the mirror. Wondering if the sweet sheen of lipgloss was too much. If you should rethink these earrings. You’re a mess. It’s all whirling around a stubborn coil of packed nervousness in your stomach. A fever twist.

“What you kiddos getting up too? Something salacious? Gonna knock off a liquor store? Go to Wild biker parties with lots of vomiting and sex?”

“We’re going to the arcade and grabbing some junk food. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time to work a teen pregnancy or a vomit sex party into the mix.”

“Now see here, Mama didn’t raise no quitters.” She salutes towards you with her beer before she swigs back a sip. You know she can’t resist delving a little more into the nitty gritty details.

“What’s he like. Your Duckie. Blonde, tall, short, fat, thin, dark, athletic. Is he in the chess club? Is he trouble? Does he have a motorcycle or a criminal record?” She’s tapping your arm with the back of her hand as she keeps thinking of more things to ask you.

“All good if relentless questions.” You temper her rambles. “You may need to cool it with the Pretty in Pink references.” You chuckle.

“Spill spill.” She encourages.

“Less chess club, more DND club.” You tell her. Fiddling with the earrings. Definitely deciding to take them out. Untangling them from your hair.

She’s gets very excitable about that prospect. “Is he nerdy hot…” She gets close and rasps at you all low.

“Yes. The orthodontic headgear from his braces, combined with his pressed slacks, Mmmm, really gets me going.” You lie.

She smiles wider. You’re all snippy sarcasm and fluffing hair and you keep peering past her at the banana yellow cat clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes in the kitchen.

“You’re nervous.” She hits the nail right on the head. Rubs your arm up and down. Cups your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath. “Correct.” You tell her.

You can’t lie to your mother. She’s a human lie detector when it comes to you. She’ll sniff it out of you like those bomb dogs at the airport. One whiff and she’s all over it.

“You must really like this mystery nerd Huh?” Shecomes over and strokes the hair spilling down the back of your neck.

You meet her gaze. You scrunch your nose with a kinda giddy smile you can’t hide bursts across your face. “I really do.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him you sneaky thing… you been holding out on me? I mean, I know my being out the country isn’t conducive to mother-daughter late night talk over a tub of ice cream… but-” She wonders. Idly playing with the bangs framing around your forehead. The soft yellow light from the cheap yellow flicks off the fine French manicure sleekly and pretty pink on her nails.

“Recent development. I haven’t been holding anything back from you. Promise. You’d root it out even if I did. Not to mention the guy turning up on the doorstep would be a big tip off.” You suppose.

“There is that.” She nods. Standing her beer down on the hallway table. Coming up behind you and idly rearranging your hair where you’d mussed it.

“Any pearls of wisdom I need to give you? Do you need the talk again of where babies come from.” She plays around.

Give her ten ways to say something serious and she’d still be clowning around.

That actually makes you laugh. You meet her solid gaze in the mirror. It’s so warm. It’s like sun skating on emeralds. The crinkled corners of the eyes that are entirely more hazel than yours.

You’d always thought she was the pretty exception. Pearly smile. Dazzling eyes. It didn’t help that Charlie got her stunning silky hair and piercing eye colour too. You got the frizz and the freckles and the big hips. The hair that more belonged on a wiry messy dog. That never laid nicely or did as it was told.

“Is my hair bad? I used too much product. It’s too frizzy. ” You wince as you ask her. Faffing with it still around your ears.

“No. Baby. It isn’t.” She tells you softly with a grin that’s circling somewhere proud and awed. She puts her hands on your shoulders.

Growing up she taught you that women didn’t need to be only pretty to get by. She’d remind you how you were stunning in your unique way and it was entirely up to you what way you made it.

When toxic high school mixed with the uncertain churning of puberty, she was there to reinforce the idea that you could be brainy, and take up space, and spit and shout, bare your teeth, and throw punches and be gritty, all that- be a fierce Amazonian of a woman. Be wonder woman. Be a sultry sizzling Marilyn. Be whomever you wanted-

“You gonna let me meet Duckie when he gets here?” She asks.

“Well, actually, I was gonna lock you in the attic.”

Her mouth gapes. Offended. “What, like I’m suddenly a Kennedy.”

“Tough choice when you’re a Kennedy. How do you even chose which one in the family to hide in the attic.” You ask dead serious.

She closes her eyes and exasperatedly makes a fist with one hand.

“Ok, kid, we’re veering off topic here. Can I meet him, please? C’mon I will only say two embarrassing things tops.” She grins. Holding her fingers up to signal the two things.

“Don’t explode all over him with questions. He’s nice.” You promise.

“Baby, he’s dating you. Of course he’s gonna be nice. I like to think I raised you with standards.”

“You did think I was dating a jock up until two minutes ago.” You level at her.

“Touché my sweet.” She holds a finger up and gives you an invisible tally mark.

“No interrogations either.” You add.

“I’ll put my interrogation lamp away. And no explosions. Promise. Internal implosions only.”

“Try not to be- y’know? Your usual level of insane?”

“Why. He’s not here to date me. I shouldn’t have to hide my eccentricity in the comfort of my own home.” She mocks, looking evil.

“Good grief.” You sigh as you double triple safety sure check you’ve got everything in your purse. Candies. Lip smacker. Money. Coin change for the arcade machines. She leans over and peers into your purse

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet by the way.” She winks before tipping back more beer.

“Right. No to that.” You snap. “Go get in the attic. Now.” You tell her with no evident humour. Snapping your fingers and pointing up the stairs.

She pokes her tongue out at you in a very mature move.

You twist to the direction of the door when you hear a clunky rumble of something that was definitely a van engine, music all shredding shriek and rock heavy, easing to a stop. And then the thump of a door.

She practically inhaled all the air in the house when Eddie does one of his fumbly music-riff knocks on your front door. Deep Purple, you reckon.

“I think your nerd hath arriveth. Mi’lady.” She beams.

Claps her fingers together in overdone excitement. Trying to gawk through the blurry glass in the front door to make out his general shape.

Fuck. Now this is all so real and your stomach is clenching, doing those gravity defying swoops like it’s trying to take off without you.

You fluff your hair one last time and step to the door across the spongey purple entryway rug. You take a deep breath. Palm clammy and slipping on the doorknob. You twist it open.

Eddie breaks into a sunshine stroked grin the other side when he sees you. It melts you. Makes something inside glow coal hot at the sight of him again.

He’s wearing his jacket with a Van Halen tour tee. Faded wings of an eagle and band name crackled on old wash grey. The usual ensemble of chains and ripped jeans. But you see the new sight of fancy polished combat boots.

Wayne had made him sit his bony butt down for five seconds and polish them before he whirled out the door to come get you.

“A man takes pride in his shoes when taking a young lady out on a date, Edward.” As he gruffly handed him a shoe brush. Gestured with a lit red in the other hand.

Full name. Serious. Scary.

“Listen I need to get going if I’m gonna make it out of the Victorian Era on time.” Eddie sassed. Elbow folded up. Checking his Casio.

Wayne pushed the brush into his hand. Slammed the silver pot down in front of him. The claggy thick smell of polish coming from the well used army tin he had sat on the counter. Face as stoic as an Easter Island head. He wasn’t taking any bull.

“Less cheek. Get buffing.”

“Child labour has been outlawed you know.”

“Not in the Victorian Era it hasn’t.”

Eddie did as his Uncle ordered. Now here he is.

Smelling like cologne, cigarettes and the unmovable sticky tinge of dark boot polish. Hair having had a briefly tangled

liaison with a comb.

He’s chewed gum the whole way here worried about his smoky acrid breath. Piece after piece shoved into his mouth. Sharp spearmint spiking the bed of his tongue. It didn’t settle the squirming worms in his stomach. Nor the tap of his newly polished shoes in fidgeting.

“Hey.” He smiles. Nervously tucking his hands in his back pocket. His jacket jangles. The chain around his hip and his bandana sways with him as he stands on your porch.

“Hey yourself. You look nice.” You beam back. There’s an undeniable allure in your pretty face. Honey gold smile skated in shiny gloss. He equates to something like pure magic.

“Ditto, Pencils.” He smirks. Veiled flirt. Not letting himself get too eager with it. His eyes flick up your dress, down your legs, and back up.

Holy shit. Good doesn’t even begin to cover how you look right now.

You also cannot ignore the lingering looming presence of your mom as she practically leaps into his eye-line behind you. She’s utterly vibrating with excitement. You can sense her just jiggling with it.

She sidles up behind you and shoves herself into the gap you’ve left in opening the door.

Whatever he was expecting of your mom, he certainly didn’t imagine this whirlwind of a woman behind you.

She’s young too. Must’ve had you in her late teens. Not stuffy. No silent husband like a fixture in an easy boy chair in the living room. Silently scathing with disapproval. She’s not sporting a beige cardigan and a constant threat of neighbourhood watch association snobbery. Sneering at Eddie on her porch like he’s a flea infected stray, yowling at her door.

There’s no way in hell anything resembling stuffy could cling to this woman.

Fierce hazel eyes traced with crows feet, shiny dark hair all free-wild and choppy. She’s old movie star kinda striking. That Colgate grin touted about in the 1950’s. One he recognises as the one that closely and genetically mirrored yours.

Boot cut jeans and a pearly smile and a big fluffy sweater and denim jeans. Entirely mad and friendly and she’s only met him two seconds ago. Some punchy shredding ZZ top blasts from the kitchen and something tells him that’s all her taste too. As well as pair of violet rhinestone cowboy boots sat by the doormat. Whacky.

He thinks how wildly accurate it is that this busy bright, kinetic energy ball of a woman, raised an unconventional and awesome girl like you. That’s no leap there.

“It is so nice to meet you. Duckie.” She out and out grins. You give her one of your looks.

Eddie chuckles. A little lost. “Duckie?” He asks.

“Her grip on sanity is loose at best.” You explain.

She elbows you in the the hip as she takes the grin down to a less terrifying notch. “Ok. Ugly grandchildren are struck off the list. He’s adorable. Look at those Bambi eyes.”

You really wish you had locked her in the attic. She’s exploding all over the poor boy.

“She’s loopy when she’s off her meds. And around new people.” You sigh to him. It gets an easy smile. Buffs the nervous look away.

“Mom this is Eddie. Eddie, I’m so sorry, this is my Mom.” You introduce. Skating a hand to the woman chomping at the bit behind her shoulder.

“Don’t you say sorry for me.” She slithers her arm through the gap you’ve left in the door. Fluffy jumper all cable knit bobbled and fuzzy. She’s a wave of zingy energy smelling like smoky Newports and designer Yves Saint Laurent perfume.

He shakes her manicured offered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. She’s told me only good things.”

“Then she’s totally been lying. Edward. A pleasure. I’m Veronica but please don’t call me that, everyone calls me Ronnie. Awesome awesome shirt by the way.” She beams as she peers around the door. Releasing his hand from hers. “Like your metal huh?” She asks.

She perched her hands on the doorframe and stuck her head into this pick up between the two of you.

“Only with my oxygen, food and water.” He jokes. A little of his truer wide smile comes sneaking out. Now he knows there’s no need to stand on awkward shuffly doormat ceremony with your parent.

Because he knows he isn’t a meet the parents kinda guy.

He’s the guy parents ring Principal Higgins about. With distaste sour, and judgement nastily spewing off their tongues. He’s tatted, he’s a cheap weed seller, he’s crazy and scraggy weird, and he lives in a trailer park. Stamp mark of future-convict hovered heavy and eternal over his head.

He’s a jump out the window, hide in the closet kinda guy. No one would ever bring him home all hair combed and sparkly clean, pressed button down, to mom and pop, for a meatloaf dinner. Cause he’s no one to be proud of.

Yet here? Perhaps in the eyes of the most unconventional mom in all of Hawkins, something has shifted.

Something feels like it’s been spun off its axis and set down wrong, cause this bubbly woman is smiling at him and excitedly prodding her daughter out the door to go on their date. And maybe she is insane. As you said.

Talk about falling down the rabbit hole. Punctured through the splintered looking glass. He’s not high, but he could swear on seeing white rabbits and mad hatters right about now. It’s fucking nice. He’d never have expected this funky curveball in coming to pick you up.

“Edward? Eddie?” She asks.

“Eddie is fine.” He offers. Nodding, as he slips his hands into his pockets. Self conscious move, even though he didn’t need to be.

She widens her smile. “Where abouts you from? I know DND club and the fact you’re a white male in high school. Other than that I’m out. She’s been stingy with details.” She jerks her thumb at you.

His tongue shrivels up. She’s tolerated him so far. Maybe this is the sour turning point that will tip the introduction on its head.

“I live in Forest Hill’s with my Uncle. My folks, uh aren’t around.” He tells with a tone she can tell is used to receiving nasty scratchy criticism. Eyebrows raise and moods change when he’s said that before.

She nods. Her smile doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even drop.

“Honey. I grew up in paradise trails mobile park in Sloan Nevada. Don’t sweat it. Doesn’t make us lepers.” She shrugs.

Like it didn’t just wash a whole wave of unease aside in his chest.

“People in this town seem negatively charged when I tell them that’s where I live.” He admits with a big clown smile. Your heart bleeds at the true reverence in his tone.

“People in this town, are snooty assholes.” She chuckles wisely.

Debbie Harry is throatily singing one way or another from the stereo in the kitchen now.

“You done grilling my date?” You ask her with a sickly smile.

“If you stick around, there will be a follow up round where I fetch your baby pictures. And invite him in for a beer.” She threatens. Eyes widening. Kubrick crazy.

“Bye Mom.” You say as you step out the door to join him on the porch. She catches it where you’ve left it open. Calls out as you stand in the clear night listening to the cicadas hum and the street lights buzz and blink into sleepy orange. You leave her chuckling.

“Wise move. Now scram before I dust off my pipe, And my old ‘what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-daughter’ queue cards.” Your mom winks at you.

“Enjoy your night, crazy lady. Go feed the cats.” You answer, calling back over your shoulder as you sling your hand into Eddie’s lapel and pull him across the lawn.

“Let’s get away from this house of lunacy.” You tell him.

He stumbles after you waving a goodbye to your mother. Almost tripping over his boots.

“Home by midnight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. No 420ing it without me.” She calls out to you.

Eddie chuckles as you bring him down your front lawn. Sneakers brushing the grass alongside the gentle thuds of his foot falls. Your hand migrated to holding his.

“That’s your mom.” He states. Sounding dumbfounded.

“I know. I should’ve warned you. She’s a whole new spin on the word eccentric.” You offer.

“She didn’t bark at me to get off her porch like I’m some stray, Pencils. That’s a hell of an improvement versus the reaction I thought I’d get.” He says as he looks down.

Avoiding stepping on the dandelions that are scattered across your lawn all yellow and happy. Just trying to grow upwards and peep at the sun.

You slope your fingers through his. He looks up and gazes at you as you fall in step.

“As insane and untethered to planet earth as she is, she’s really not like other moms around here. She likes you already, probably on sight of the Van Halen tee.” You tell him with smiling weight to your meaning.

His grin lopes across his face.

“She’s cool y’know. No stuffiness. No essence of church on Sunday is the law and green bean casseroles.” He nods. He likes it. He really does.

“She had my sister Charlie when she was a teenager. Me a couple years later. Possibly too young for the likings of the pissy bible study moms in this town. She dropped out of Berkeley. Parents chucked her out. She worked three crappy jobs whilst raising us and coping with my deadbeat dad, always hoping for a little better and, being, well, as you saw, entirely unhinged.” You gestured to your house.

“And…” You add. “She’s not a green bean casserole person. She stinks at cooking even by her own admission. Thankfully, we have Charlie for that. She’s the domestic one.”

Eddie smirks. His smile is pure warmth. “You guys are close, though. Tight knit. It’s cute.”

“I love that she’s not a run of the mill mom. Growing up, others didn’t tend to be as kind about it. They see a single parent, they immediately go to trashy, trampy, drunk, who doesn’t give a shit.” You roll your eyes.

Genuine hurt backs your voice though. “They set her and me aside cause we’ve always been different. We don’t have tonnes of money or a fancy house.”

And who knows that better than Hawkins own freak?

He squeezes your fingers. Warm rings all marking their usual grooves in your skin. A thorough loving squeeze that makes your heart go pattering all soppy in your chest.

“People are assholes. So I’m reliably told.” He parrots as he brings to you both to the passenger side of his van. Rings clack on the handle as he gets the door for you.

You stand and smile. “People are assholes. Look at the unfair bad rep they give you.” You point out.

He shrugs. Smirking. “What can I say? My handsome face and awesome personality protects me from total infamy.” He grins all

cheesy.

Yanking open the van door with a hand and turning his palm up to you.

“Here now, I was prepared for a little infamy. Munson. Are you telling me I’m gonna be disappointed?” You smirk as you step up close.

Eddie’s poor little rabbit heart flashes fast with the way your dress is kinda, pretty well low cut. And skimming and squeezing every beautiful curve. When you step close he can smell perfume and cherry gloss and all things sexy sweet.

You’re looking at him directly. Eyes smouldering under your eyeliner and wet n’ wild silver glitter. Angling for a kiss that he’s happy to give you til his lips damn well fall off.

He leaves the van door open. Steps you back just a little. Nudged your hips back to the body of it.

“Think I’m flirting with bad company here.” He smiles. Traces his nose along yours.

“Doubtlessly. Wanna back out now?” You ask in a husky whisper against his mouth. Hearts racing. Pulses whipping fast. Lust stirs.

His chest may implode but he’d be fine with that. Atleast he’d die kissing you. What a way to go-

“Yeah. I’m running for the hills here.” He teases. Cupping your neck and gingerly laying his fingers over your hip. You stroke hours through his long black vines of soft tousled hair.

Then he’s leaning all the way in to kiss you properly, so firmly and urgently on the mouth. Languid spearmint tongue tasting sharp and delicious, playing with your lower lip. You tug him in by his leather collar. Loving the way his body leans against yours. You moan softly.

Maybe you should’ve taken the freakin condoms after all?

Beyond the kissing, you barely hear your front door whine as it’s cracked open. Your mom hollers across the lawn with her beer in hand, and makes the dog down the street bark it’s damn head off.

“Gross. Get a room!”

You pull apart and he can’t help bursting into a smile.

“Let’s leave here. Please.” You ask of him. He can’t contain his blushy laughter.

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r

#punkwrites #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x pencils #Pencils and Eddie ride again #i would die for this man #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie my boy #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #stranger things 4 #stranger things s4

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glorified-red · 1 year

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Autopilot (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home, you were left at the mercy of your own memories. All the usual tactics Damian knew weren't helping. It's a good thing he had a little helper.

word count: 4,070~

warnings: flashback during a panic attack, disassociation and driving through it, reference to past physical abuse (not specified from who or if it's domestic, it's very vague. But is heavily implied to be from a male), depictions of physical abuse in terms of verbs (punch, kick, hands on body, etc. Nothing more. Aka no bodily harm, just the feeling), and reference to passing out from a panic attack in the past.

Nothing quite like real world events to jerk me out of a writer's block, aye? This is based on a personal experience from just a few days ago so if there is a complaint with this story being too specific, I will ignore it. This fic means a lot to me so please be kind to it. Dont hesitate to let me know what you think of it! For those wondering, yes, I did finish writing that essay. Have not submitted it because I would love to read it and edit it at not 1 am, so that's a task for tomorrow while I dye my hair.

Autopilot — acting or functioning without conscious thought, as a result of routine or habit.

That was one way to describe what was happening.

From the second you put your helmet back on to the moment your hand closed the front door, you couldn’t pinpoint a single frame in between. The entire world around you was a blur, even as you zipped through Gotham traffic on a busy afternoon.

Distantly, you knew you should be aware of the wind hitting your skin, especially as it assaulted your jacket with its wispy breath. Each red light and your boots hit asphalt. You should’ve been able to register that feeling shoot up each of your legs, maybe feel the way your body shifted into an upright position.

But instead, your eyes were blank behind the tinted lens of a bike helmet.

You didn’t even try to fix it, not yet anyway. Not when there were cars blocking you in from every angle; not when one wrong move—one stuttered breath—could mean your bike jerking into a freefall.

So you didn’t even try to fight for awareness. If you did, maybe your hands would be gripping the handlebars a little tighter, maybe even twisting the kevlar of your gloves into the grooves until you felt something. You would’ve rubbed your hands down your thighs, dragging the fabric along your skin just enough to force your body into consciousness.

But you didn’t.

You just let yourself run on autopilot.

It was safer that way anyway. Safer than having the worst panic attack of your life while driving at least. You didn’t even want to think about how Damian was going to react when he found out you were driving this far down into your subconscious—on your motorcycle no less.

He really was going to murder you one of these days. But then again, you had countless retorts ingrained into your repertoire, countless callbacks to days where it wasn’t you in the driver's seat doing this, but the hypocrite himself.

So you didn’t worry enough about it. You gave it maybe two seconds of thought before you put your helmet on and rolled out of the parking lot. Should you call Damian? Wouldn’t it just be easier for him to pick you up and worry about the bike later?

Your brain sighed, maybe your body did on instinct, if it did, you wouldn't have known. He was at home—which was barely fifteen minutes away, you could survive that long—waiting for you, it’d worry him too much to get a phone call two hours after you were supposed to be home.

Somewhere between hues of gray, your legs guided you through the maze of a familiar home. There was a buzz in your ears, like the poor organs were trying desperately to comprehend the noise around you but fell short every time. They were filled with water then dried with cotton only for it to dissipate with water once more: a ferocious cycle that left you a stranger to the greeting happening right before you.

You shouldered passed . . . something? It didn’t matter. If it did, surely your brain would let you know later . . . right? Then came the mechanical routine of finding a place to bring yourself back. But when every wall looked the same and your boots trudged against the carpet—Damian was so gonna gripe about shoes in the house later—it felt like a losing game.

So you stuttered to a stop, somewhere. Arguably the worst place because the only tether you had to the outside world was the ground under your boots, which you couldn’t even feel because there was at least an inch of rubber tread between your reality and everyone else's.

The same buzz hit your ears. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could blame the disconnect on the inner padding of the helmet stuffed against your head. It’s worked before, it’s not like it’s easy to hear with this thing on, let alone when your brain didn’t even want you to.

You could start to feel the autopilot wearing thin, the remnants of it dissolving with each passing second you remained idle. You tried to tap each of your fingers against your thumb one at a time to cling to what little autopilot was left. All you got from your body was a single twitch in your thumb.

A tap, a click, and a slide. All sounds you saw rather than felt or heard yourself. The tinted panel in front of your eyes lifted slowly until your grays turned into greens. You could get lost in that green for eternity and your soul would find contentment. You could find that green from memory, even when your eyes were filled with grays or your body turned blind to it. That green was one you would never lose.

It came naturally, locking your eyes into his. You could almost laugh at the fact that the last wisp of autopilot was used connecting yourself to him, as if your body had formed a habit you didn’t even know about until now.

You knew those eyes better than he did himself, even if he’d spent years staring at them before you. It was an easy victory when you traced them in your memories. So you knew each crease of worry that outlined the narrowness they had at the moment, the subtle squint as he tried to reach you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he succeeded.

Your next breath came right before your lungs were punched by reality. The sheer weight of it was enough for you to struggle for air. It was like you were trapped as Atlas once was. But instead of holding the weight on your shoulders, you were crushed underneath all the rubble, having failed to keep everything upright.

You choked out a sob, hating the way your own breath ricocheted off the helmet back into your skin. You were suffocating. Your hands shot to the offending metal and clawed at each of the safety latches built in. Shaky fingers didn’t have enough dexterity to succeed which only made you gasp harder.

In an instant, there were skilled hands overtaking your own, practiced enough to succeed where you had failed.

“—eathe, I’ve got y—”

Newfound peripherals blindsighted you, they were both a blessing and a curse. While the new vision made it easier to protect yourself, the responsibility of having to do so was far too heavy a burden. You wanted to keep living in your tunnel vision and pretending it was safe there.

You were still suffocating. Air was scarce to come by and when it did travel through you, it scorched your lungs until you considered if air was truly worth the fight if it hurt so much. The same shaky hands grasped for the collar of your jacket, suddenly far too tight against your neck. It was as if the fabric itself was choking you and not Reality. Thready hands were better to imagine than calloused ones.

You didn’t notice your feet tripping backwards until your back collided with a wall, you didn’t even care, you just wanted this stupid jacket off. Agile hands swifty unlatched everything, unclasping safety mechanics and helped shrug the leather bind off of your skin.

“—ok, it’s off. Brea—”

The wall was solid; the wall was good; the wall was safe. You let yourself slide all the way down until you hit the floor, your green easily followed. You coughed on an exhale, your inhale having hurt far too badly to finish.

Your hands settled together behind your neck, fighting to grab at something, might as well protect your pulse points.

“—off?”

Your gaze struggled to lift up to him without staggering. When it settled back into his calming hue, you choked out a response: “What?”

Realistically, you exhaled far too much on the word when you received another kick to the chest but you figured he would get the gist. He’s smart.

“Do you want your boots off?” His hands floated in the space between you both, where your bent legs ended and his crouch began.

With a tilted comprehension, it took a few breaths—albeit pretty quick ones—for the words to sink in. When they did, you jerked out a nod. Without hesitation, he made quick work of velcro, buckles, and zippers, forcing you to trudge through heightened awareness alone.

Awareness was always worse than letting your mind shift into sand to pass through fingers with ease, free from the pain those fingers always left. Especially when Reality was combing through sand with a sharp comb, breaking each particle down to the atom. Water couldn’t wash away atoms the same way it could sand.

Your lungs convulsed again just as your socked feet felt the bite of cold tile, boots long since forgotten.

“Breathe,” he said simply, telegraphing his movements slowly. “Can I take off your gloves?”

You liked the safety of where your hands were, but feeling a leather mesh on your neck wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling.

You jerked your hands out slowly, seeing for yourself just how much you were shaking compared to his steady hands. His movements were slow and deliberate, testing the waters to see how you reacted to his touch on your skin. The second both hands felt air instead of fabric, they retreated back to safety.

“You need to breathe.”

You shook your head, feeling the muscles under your hands twist along with the motion. “I—” you choked, “I can’t”

“Yes you can.” Damian shifted from his crouch to sit before you. “You’ve been through this before and you always come out of it, don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help somewhat. Another kick to the chest and you were back to scrambling.

“ ‘t hurts,” you whined.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” You opened your eyes to look at him through the blur of watery tears.

That was a mistake.

Reality was finicky at best. It shifted like the waves in its fluidity, morphing into new forms and combining within itself. Your fingers twitched against your neck.

Focus on the green.

But then his hands slowly laid atop your knees, a familiar trick he did every time. Innocent touch, a tethered connection between you two to bring you back to him. The further the attack would go, the more weight he’d put into his palms until your legs unbent without your knowledge. It was an easy way to open your chest cavity to make breathing a little bit easier while making it seem like nothing is changing, especially when your brain is occupied with other things.

But this time, his hands felt bigger, they felt more calloused, and held more weight in them. You jerked in an inhale. “Sto—stop touching me.”

Immediately his hands lifted off of you. “Okay, I won’t touch you.” His palms raised in the air so you could see them, an emphasis to his word. “But we’re going to breathe together.”

Damian waited a single moment for you to register his words, for your eyes to shift from his hands to his eyes, then finally, to his chest.

“Breathe in.” He exaggerated his chest visually for you to replace touch. Usually there would be some comfort in the way your hand was guided to his sternum, fingers spread out to feel the fabric of his shirt and the way his chest rose with each inhalation, only to fall when he exhaled. Yet this time, his chest would’ve felt different and that thought alone was enough for your breath to stutter.

“And out.” You envied the way he released his breath so slowly and with so much control where yours was rushed and clunky.

He praised you all the same. “Good. Again. In,” he breathed in, you followed shortly after, “and out.”

You fell out of the inhale before he did, your lungs quivering under an invisible hand. Your head hit the wall with a whine. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he stressed. “I know you can. Try again.”

You wheezed where he inhaled, you coughed where he exhaled. Your hands sunk from your neck to your chest, gripping on tight to the kevlar.

“That’s it,” he said, just before another set of breaths. You hated this part the most. You could live with the shakiness afterwards, the pain and the burn of your lungs once they finally settled down. You could ignore the feeling of being on edge for hours after, the feeling of fragility, like someone could blow and you’d wither away with the feeble wind.

But the feeling of true hopelessness that came from this part was always the worst. You couldn’t fathom succeeding at this simple human task, a task that comes mechanically—completely on autopilot. Yet for some reason, it was a monumental task for you.

Before Damian—and a little bit during—you let yourself get consumed by the darkness. You let the hands squeeze your lungs until your brain fizzled out, the consequences to be dealt with once you woke up. It was far easier than fighting for consciousness, especially when said consciousness was so painful.

He didn’t like that very much.

So here you were, clamoring your way through a breathing exercise as if it wasn’t the most painful thing in the world. As if your lungs weren’t burning with rage and your muscles weren’t aching with tension.

As if you couldn’t feel hands all over your body with each step back into awareness.

As if you couldn’t hear and see things just passed Damian’s silhouette.

“This isn’t working,” you bite out. Your head had sunk down to face the floor at some point. The carpet was a darker shade of beige than it was a moment ago. Maybe it was your shadow affecting it, but considering everything, you didn’t think so. “I need—” you choked.

You saw the way Damian’s hands twitched against his pants, fighting to do something to help you. “Tell me what you need.” He tried searching your eyes like before, that tether was one that could bring up to him from just about anywhere. But you were studying the carpet as if it had wronged you on a visceral level.

You closed your eyes, trying to think past the echoes of an old voice and the remnants of old touch. You were stuck in limbo, caught between two realities that somehow merged in a single moment. Another kick to the chest and your body caved inwards—the same way it had before.

You could feel your grip on Damian’s reality fading. It was the one you’d prefer any day and it was the one you should be in. Not this one. Yet here you were, taking the hits of hands long in the past.

But . . .

Damian.

“When did we meet?” you demanded more so than asked, the words coming in and out with your breaths.

Despite his shock—and extreme confusion—he didn’t hesitate to answer with a number of years that have passed you by. Questioning you, especially your needs, at this moment wasn’t going to help.

You shook your head, your legs twitching together and back apart, the muscles contracting at random. “What year?” you said, trying to keep your oxygen inside for just a second longer.

He responded simply, your ears catching the sound with ease. The outside chatter cut down to a buzz. You breathed out a little slower.

“How?” you breathed in, your inflection cut off just slightly.

Damian didn’t waver. “We met in high school. I transferred in late and you were assigned as my peer guide to the Academy. You gave me a tour around campus to help figure out my schedule,” he paused, gauging your reaction before adding on just a bit more. “We ended up having a few classes together that year.”

“How old—” you breathed in, “How old were we?”

Damian blinked, his eyes shifting to the side as he recalled, probably doing some kind of mental math in his brain. “I started school when I was fourteen. You were probably fourteen or fifteen at the time.”

You blinked your eyes open, your lungs expanding happily at the information. Realities were disconnecting slowly, each question cutting a strand of fate that had sewed them together. Since neither could coexist, this new information was proof that the voices were just that, the past. Damian didn’t exist in the same era of these voices—these hands—him being here was a testament in it of itself.

The carpet was tinted just so, but it was enough to make it lighter.

“What about now?” you asked.

“What about now?” Damian echoed you, his confusion still prevalent in his voice. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed down the fire. “What year is it?”

For someone so intelligent, he really was not catching on to what was happening. Knowing him, he was probably scanning your head for a concussion right about now. But he didn’t show it outwardly. As much as he was confused and incredibly concerned, this was helping. So even if he didn’t sign up for trivia night, he’d play along—and he was sure as hell gonna win.

He responded factually. The math not only aligned, but since it was late into the year, it wasn’t exactly hard to remember. The buzz got even softer than before. You were able to breath out shakily, the intake was sharp in return but the progress was showing.

“And the date?”

Your eyes had closed softly, a sense of calm starting to breach through the anxiety.

Damian’s response immediately shrouded that progress. Suddenly the voice was right next to your ear and a foot was on your chest, constructing any airflow from ever hoping to come to your lips. The same date. A stupid number that just so happened to align, an anniversary, was enough to derail everything.

Damian’s voice turned to nothing but a buzz, a low rumble with a worried inflection.

He had asked a question. That much you knew. But your eyes had opened to a shade of dark beige and dreary grays, completely at the mercy of a dissociative state.

Even your hands lay limp from where they were resting between your knees, your wrists balanced atop the bony joints. You let it happen. You let your breath get squished underneath calloused hands along the back of your neck and a knee to the spine. You let your fingers go numb and your skin go cold as the room around you soured.

Suddenly it was a different time and a different place entirely.

Just dark beige and dreary grays.

The thuds of footsteps were easily drowned out until it was a simple buzz, just a low static rumbling beneath your skin.

But then your hands lifted at the feeling of fur underneath them. It was soft to the touch, the small fibers splitting away underneath your fingers. The fur shifted, it nosed in-between your pointer and middle finger before sliding down your palm, leaving a slight trail of warmth along your skin.

Your fingers twitched, the ice around them thawing slowly with each press of warmth until you could interact with it yourself. The fur morphed from a body to a small head that could fit just along your palm. Whiskers pressed into your hand as it was used as a scratching post. A head bump and your palm raised with it, only to slide down the back automatically as if your hand had done it a thousand times before.

Just along the back and up to the tip of the tail, just for the head to return for more scratches. You felt the tail wrap loosely around your ankle, shifting and swishing, but always remaining against you.

You scratched at the chin, your chest feeling lighter when the gentle creature tilted their head back to accept more. Reality itself couldn’t deny the creature’s existence, even if they truly wanted your reality to morph into the past.

Yet here it was, defying Reality, with nothing to say aside from a purr. Your hands touched black and your fingers graced white until you could make out the cat yourself, perched contently between your legs.

“Alfie,” you sighed out, half out of astonishment and half out of relief.

“I always seem to find you two together after a hard time,” came Damian’s voice, cutting straight through the static with his deep timbre. “He can help you where I can’t.”

There was still a shake in your breath, your chest still rising and falling with great difficulty, more than Damian liked. He looked up at you briefly before looking back down at the precious cat, one that only seemed to like a few people on this earth. Even if he liked Damian, it was a hell of a taming. But with you, you two clicked instantly.

Damian would never forget the day he found you holding Alfred, hugging him close and the content kitten doing nothing but hugging back with its smaller limbs. Alfred’s little head perched on your shoulder, eyes closed in pure bliss. You were swaying slowly, humming in harmony with the soft purrs omitting from the shorthair.

You were waiting on him, that much he remembered. It was years after you two had met, just shortly after high school graduation and just before Damian started college. That was the blissful moment of limbo where it was just you two hanging out for the summer and getting his apartment together.

That was the day Damian Wayne fell in love with you.

So here you were, years later, yet all the same.

“Alfred gave him to me my senior year,” Damian started. He knew you already knew Alfred’s origin, you were there. But for some reason, exact details of dates were helping you, so he was happy to recall a core memory. “He called it a graduation gift even though the meeting was pure happenstance. He didn’t want to admit the cat reminded him of me, but I knew.”

You glanced up at Damian and he glanced back.

He stated the year easily, the fricative consonants adding to his timbre. “That was the year I fell in love with you. I was nineteen. It started with prom night, I should have known what that feeling was by then. But it wasn’t until late summer that I finally realized I could see no other future than one that was beside you.”

He pointed down at the fuzz ball that was now laying across your crossed legs. “It’s all because of him.”

Your hands pressed into the fur and massaged the skin underneath gently until the final strand of fate was snapped. You looked into the green, seeing each shade of bright emerald and late spring, eucalyptus and summer leaves.

You found your voice and it was among his, miles ahead of the distant voices of the past. You said the same year, finding that your consonants blended with his after being around him for so long. Your voices intertwined in some ways and diverged in others.

“That was the year I fell in love with you.” You responded. “We got bored and decided to paint your bedroom a different color.” You found yourself smiling at the memory, not even thinking twice about how your voice became steady against the mechanics of breath. “We were trying to figure out how to use the paint rollers and you learned the hard way that too much paint was in fact, not, more efficient. You had paint all in your hair after just one swipe.”

You laughed and Damian found himself smiling at the sound. “I managed to get some on your cheeks,” he recalled.

You nodded. “You did,” a slight chuckle shaking your shoulders. “I got you back though.”

“Please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “you were covered in far more paint than I was at the end of the night.”

“Was not!”

Damian hummed in absolute confidence. “As I recall, Alfred gave you a far more disproving look than he gave me.”

“Because he found me first!”

Sometime in the near future, you would retell the events that led you to this moment. From witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home to the police report that followed, you’d tell him everything.

But for now, you were happy just enjoying the moment with him.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

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