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edensrose · 9 months

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╰₊ 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒂𝒏-𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 ˖ ࣪˳ ꒰ 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒐'𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂 ꒱◞ ₊˚:

. ˚◞♡ 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒆-𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅! 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓◞ ₊˚﹕your beloved boyfriend goes behind your back and tampers with a thrown-out experiment of yours. you quickly discover that the symbiote might not be so bad after all.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 )﹕fembod! ꒷꒦꒷ angst ꒷꒦ explicit content ꒷꒦꒷ violence ꒷꒦ mentions of possessiveness ꒷꒦꒷ 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ꒷꒦ overstimulation ꒷꒦꒷ rough fucking ꒷꒦ elongated tongue fucking ꒷꒦꒷ tentacle fucking. . . 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 ꒷꒦ penetrative sex ꒷꒦꒷ multiple orgasms ꒷꒦ 3.1k ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕can't believe my first spiderverse writing is gonna be monsterfucking but oh well, hi I'm a down bad bitch for this walking red flag. <3 I use spanish dict for translations, please correct me if necessary! ꒱

꒰ links﹕guidelines ꒷꒦ masterlist ꒷꒦꒷ miguel characterisation ꒱

˚◞❀˳ In an effort to find a way to control the powers that he found more of a curse than a blessing, the scientist part of him urged him to tamper with things he probably shouldn’t have. Miguel knew first-hand what a symbiote was capable of. If not for his own personal experiences with the slimy bastards, then from observing the canon events of other Spider-People.

˚◞❀˳ But he was desperate. Especially when you, one of his most trusted scientists, started tampering with the alien creature yourself. However, after you threw out the project and deemed it ‘far too dangerous’, he collected the data behind your back along with the samples and set to work.

˚◞❀˳ You had started to notice Miguel growing increasingly tired. While he wasn’t the most energetic in personality, he seemed far more exhausted than usual. Also far more busy. Yet whenever you, being the wonderful lover that you were, expressed your concern to him, he’d immediately shut you down. Now, you were accustomed to Miguel’s mood swings, but this felt different. Very different.

“You don’t look fine.’’

“Then stop looking.’’

His little snap clenches your heart and while his irritation grew with every second into this useless bicker, he took notice. With an exhale his tense, built shoulders roll back before he murmurs with a softer tone.

“Amor, what else can I do to convince you? You’ve clearly made your own deduction.’’

“Well it’s just —”

His annoyed sigh bleeding into the already tense air of the room stops you dead in your tracks, so you press your lips together and straighten your spine. Clipboard full of notes and ongoing projects pulled to your chest as your gaze lands on the man who barely spares you a glance. His back is to you, his front illuminated by the yellow and orange pouring from the screens that surround him daily. His towering form casts a shadow over your stiff body and suddenly — you feel tiny in the obvious presence of his exasperation.

“. . . I’m just worried, Mig,’’ your attempt is met with a crimson stare over his broad shoulder, followed by a few grumbles in his mother-tongue, before he turns back to the virtual screens. “Well,’’ he starts with a sigh. “That’s an issue on your part. I’m fine.’’

The last thing you anticipated was the cold shoulder. Alas, he gave you nothing else and simply excused you from his office. You knew that your boyfriend was cold, but what the hell was that?

˚◞❀˳ It should be harmless, is what he thinks. He’s strong-willed enough, he tells himself. Days turn into weeks of tampering with the symbiote, and just when he thinks he’s cracked the code. Tamed the monster. He is quickly reminded that the true beast is his own ambition.

˚◞❀˳ Bonding with the symbiote was an experience, to say the least. Turns out that Miguel’s tinkering with the alien didn’t put it in the best of moods. But when it was all over? He felt something that he hadn’t felt in awhile in regards to himself. . . control.

˚◞❀˳ Symbiotes feed on adrenaline — and with Miguel’s day-to-day life? It’s needless to say that the alien got more than its full. More than enough to keep it satisfied.

˚◞❀˳ It definitely took some getting used to. With this newfound power and not to mention the second voice beside his conscience. Hiding this new change from you was the hardest part. Nevertheless, he was certain that he had tamed the creature. For the most part, it heeded his command and backed down — but there was just one thing. A blaring hole in his supposed ‘perfect plan.’ Anger.

˚◞❀˳ While yes the symbiote did get its fill with his constant intake of adrenaline, Miguel’s anger was something that particularly stimulated it. This made the rage he so desperately tried to control only grow worse as the days went on. He was more irritable, snappy, and not to mention prone to going off at the smallest of things. Something that you immediately picked up on.

˚◞❀˳ In fact, the odd behaviour of your boyfriend is something that you have been noting and recording for weeks. He’s growing distant. Taking up more missions than usual, barely coming home. And above all; when he did find himself in your presence, you had taken notice of the newfound possessiveness that plagued him. All you did was give a polite, obviously awkward smile towards a waiter flirting with you on one of your rare dates — and it was enough to set him off. An argument in the car that led back to your apartment. One that resulted in him sleeping on the couch.

˚◞❀˳ While you have dealt with a jealous Miguel on more than one occasion, those situations were more amusing than anything else. This? This was abnormal. Something was wrong — and you didn’t care how much he attempted to tell you otherwise. You needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

˚◞❀˳ Yet similarly to last time, Miguel denies that there is a problem to begin with. Every one of your advances was met with indifference, the cold shoulder and sometimes even a bit of an irritated snap on his end. It felt as though your relationship with your once beloved boyfriend was dwindling. Threatening to break with one wrong move.

˚◞❀˳ Lying to you was something that tore Miguel up from the inside out. With his new friend at the back of his mind and stimulating every ounce of annoyance, he felt as though he himself was walking on eggshells. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this from you — the growing distance was killing him. He tried to tell you, is what he reasons with. Numerous times. But the man who usually teamed with pride and confidence backed away at every chance he had. In time, he tells himself. He’d tell you in time.

˚◞❀˳ Unfortunately for him, the day when everything would be revealed came sooner rather than later when an attack on your lab drove Miguel into a fight-or-flight state. The last thing on his mind was keeping the symbiote hidden, not when your life was on the line.

If your eyes weren’t brimming with fear before, they were pouring with terror now. You have always felt safe in the strong arms of your beloved, but right now? You lay petrified.

The sight of blackened tendrils protruding from the blue and red nanotech of his suit, shooting out in multiple directions to throw goons away from the two of you. . . it was an image that you wish you could pry out of your very eyes.

Typically clawed hands now donned smears of ebony. Making them sharper, deadlier — and yet one of those hands still cradled your head to his chest with such tenderness. While the other had disappeared into darkness. An arm extended to shoot out a myriad of dark tendrils. Something that you could only describe as a horror show.

His breathing heavy. His eyes clouded over with crimson, no pupils nor irises in sight. For a moment you even considered the possibility that you were trapped in a nightmare — but when he looked down at you? When those abnormal, terrifying eyes softened into something only you could recognise? Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

“Amor. . .’’

There it is.

“I —’’ His voice is thick and the crimson bleeds out into white as his gaze takes on a more humane form. One that you know and love.

“M-Miguel,’’ the choke of his name on your lips could break his heart, if not for the look of fear plastered on your face. Yet all is eased when, despite your shaky hands, you reach out and touch his face half-stained with the monstrous creature. A delicate touch that stutters his breathing as he leans into your palm.

“What. . . have you done to yourself?”

˚◞❀˳ Needless to say you were the furthest thing from pleased upon discovering the reason for Miguel’s new parasite — or Thorn, as it keeps insisting. The mere fact that he went behind your back and picked up the project you threw out after explicitly telling him that it was dangerous. . . it was a breach of trust that he would certainly have to earn back.

˚◞❀˳ Furthermore, while you wouldn’t say it to his face: a part of you was frigheted by this change in him. Both of you were well aware of the dangers that this creature can bring. You’ve seen first-hand how it amplified Miguel’s anger. What worried you was the possibility of this thing putting a strain on your already dwindling relationship — something that he assured you he would not allow to happen as he worked tirelessly through the coming months to control this mind-bonding alien. But he pulled through and impressed you, as he always has and always will.

˚◞❀˳ You actually grew to quite like Thorn. It didn’t talk much like other symbiotes and honestly? With Miguel feeding it its much-needed adrenaline in ample amounts, it wasn’t one to throw a fit in a hurry. If anything, it aided your boyfriend in numerous ways: on the battlefield, in everyday life. . . fucking your poor little cunt sore.

˚◞❀˳ What? After Miguel established a decent control over the creature he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of pleasuring you with his new. . . additions. He loves the way that you lay there, sprawled out for him as he pulls your thighs apart by two thick tendrils while another pair holds your wrists down. How you arch and thrash as his cock pounds you full, unable to squirm or writhe away from him. Being made to lie there and take it as he uses his new limbs to caress, touch and grope whatever he can. All that is his.

˚◞❀˳ Overstimulation becomes a staple for you. While Miguel was wild before the symbiote and often left you breathless, now he has all the means to absolutely ruin you. He’s a man who likes control, especially in the bedroom. And to see you all helpless while you babble out his name, whine for him, plead for him. It’s a rush he’ll never get over.

“Dios, look at you.’’

You try to muster a whimper of his name but are cut off by another firm thrust against that sensitive bundle of nerves. All that falls from your lips are babbles followed by the straining of your limbs against dark tendrils. Your back arches, tits jutting out with a sudden jerk of your body — which motivates smaller appendages to circle around your perked nipples. Pinching and tweaking at the sensitive flesh. Another joins to tend to your clit, eager to have you clenching and cumming all over him for the umpteenth time.

“M-Miguel —’’ a desperate wheeze couples with teary eyes. “Too much baby, pl-please. . .” Another slap of his hips to the back of your thighs leaves you gasping, especially when a rough hand encircles your jaw and pushes your head back into a pillow.

If it was not the towering form of boyfriend perfectly caging and forcing you into the mattress then it was the slew of brutal thrusts he delivered to your poor, throbbing cunt. Fucking out more slick that he had once pumped you full of. It trickles down your slit straining around his cock, dripping into a messy puddle below. In response you squirm, attempting to push your thighs together on instinct.

“Creo que no, mi vida. You’re gonna give me one more.”

Tentacle-like structures tighten and yank your thighs apart. Your punishment comes in the form of Miguel slamming his hips forward and dishing out shallow, quick thrusts that insinuated the wet, lewd noises of your sopping heat. As you splutter and whine for him, he brings his lips to your ear. “This pretty pussy’s all mine, don’t keep it from me.’’ His voice thick with grunts and groans of pleasure murmurs against your ear as his fingers tighten around your jaw.

He parts to press a wet kiss to your lips. Swallowing your moans with every feverish buck of his hips. “Eyes on me, hermosa,’’ his hand retracts in exchange for another tendril that so perfectly wraps around your jaw, pulling you to face him as he fucks you into the mattress. He purposefully fucks into that darling spot that has you spluttering and crying until you finally draw your teary, puffy-eyed gaze to him. Pretty red marks litter the backs of your thighs and his large hand joins the mix, grabbing onto the supple flesh and squeezing it between his rough fingers.

“There we go. Eyes on me while I stuff you full. . . mm, that’s it pretty,’’ you’re met with his face directly over yours. Thick brows furrowed, jaw tense and lips parting in small moans as he drives into you at an angle and pace that leaves both of your knees weak. “Eyes on me while you — fuck mm. . . — cum all pretty f’me again.’’

˚◞❀˳ Do you know what else changed about him after his bonding with the symbiote? His tongue. Miguel’s able to elongate it at will, and while it was initially a quirk he didn’t exactly fancy — the moment he had the idea of using it in the bedroom he folded.

˚◞❀˳ He already loved getting between your legs and eating you out until you were clinging to his hair, bucking into his face and whining out his name so prettily. He could stay down there for hours if it meant feeling your pretty cunt fluttering against him. Or the way you couldn’t decide between pressing him closer or pushing him away. Now that he had an extra appendage to make your eyes practically roll back into your head, there was no way he wasn’t going to abuse it.

˚◞❀˳ He’d hold you down with those strong arms of his as he normally would. Forcing you to take everything that he gives you. As he fucks you on his tongue and makes you cream yourself until you’re breathless. He could reach the spots that drove you wild. Milking orgasm after orgasm while you lay there helpless.

Calloused fingers press down into your soft thighs, massaging the blushing flesh from his once-in-awhile spanks. Face pressed between your legs. Lewd noises pouring from both your cunt and his lips as he feasts on you like a man starved.

With a hand in his curls and another clinging to the sheets, your teary eyes fix onto the ceiling. Your chest rises and falls in shaky intervals, fingers coiling further into his hair every time his mouth clamps down and hastily sucks on your little clit. “Mig —’’ you whine, palm pushing his face closer to the mess of cum and slick pouring between your thighs. He gladly accepts the invitation with arms hooking around your thighs and flushing them against the mattress. “M-Mig — Miggy, please,’’ you splutter after feeling a knot quickly tightening in your abdomen.

“Gon’ cum for me again, baby?” He slurs against your puffy clit. A crimson gaze swipes up and he looks upon you through hooded eyes and thick lashes. “Haven’t y’creamed on. . . m’ tongue enough? Fuckin’ slut.”

You barely have the means to respond before your spine’s arching and you’re scrambling for his hair. A pathetic moan splutters as you crumble to the feeling of his tongue. Elongated and skilled as he pushes it past your sopping folds without a care — his eyes fluttering from your sweet taste as he fucks you on it. Messily, carelessly, and most of all, unafraid to release his deep, pussy-drunk groans as his lips lock around your slit. Nose flushed against your clit. Breathing heavy against your cunt.

The feel of his tongue thrusting, curling and nudging against every perfect spot has you seeing stars. And every time you attempt to squirm away or beg for a break, Miguel merely flexes his strong arms against your thighs, shoves them down and buries his face deeper. All with a warning, fucked-out look in that deep red gaze of his.

He’d nearly roll his own eyes back when you clench and cream yourself on his unrelenting tongue. His hips mimicking your weak bucks with his own pathetic grinds into the edge of the bed. All while he rides out your third, fourth — fifth orgasm. Pulling away only to suckle on your needy little clit and watch as you push and claw at his head. Muttering out his name. Spluttering quiet Miggy please‘s and baby s’too much’s.

His tongue, now far longer and abnormal, coats in your slick. Dripping both your arousal and his own saliva onto the sheets. He greedily sucks it back into his mouth, savouring your addictive taste with a quiet: “So fucking sweet, pretty.’’ Before he’s diving in to make you squirm again. Eager to fuck out as many orgasms as he can with that devilish tongue of his.

˚◞❀˳ And of course, what could would all those new tentacles be if he couldn’t fuck you with them? Between tying you down, restraining every one of your limbs and spreading you out with them, he also loves watching the way you stretch and squirm on one of his tendrils.

˚◞❀˳ He will absolutely consume each and every one of your senses. Overstimulate you with finer tentacles against your clit and nipples. Pry your vision away with one creating a makeshift blindfold over your eyes. And most of all — get you using that pretty little voice of yours with one pounding relentlessly into your weeping cunt.

˚◞❀˳ He would typically use these methods if you’re being particularly bratty. It’s a wonderful way to get some of his work done and tend to you at the same time. Especially when he threatens to deny your release if you make too much noise while he ‘has to focus.’

˚◞❀˳ Double penetration is another fan favourite of Miguel’s. Whether it be fucking you from behind and allowing a tentacle to tend to your cunt or vice versa — he loves stuffing you full of him. Loves how he can drive you to a state of utter bliss. Where all you can do is mutter out broken syllables of his name and whine for a break.

˚◞❀˳ At the end of the day, while this symbiote also provides great benefits to him out on the battlefield; it also gave him new means to reduce you to a cum-dripping, mind-numbed slut for him. What better use of his new powers and abilities than to enhance his favourite indulgence with you? Overstimulation.

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕◞ ₊˚﹕wanna join the taglist? fill out this form◞ @bluezenzennie @batsyforyou @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @miguelious

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 )﹕you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please consider doing so <3 ꒱

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eddies-house · 1 month

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.

A senseless daydream.

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it. Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape. This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place. It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt. Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life. And last week he was suddenly dead. It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie. All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor. Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s. Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste. Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.

Whatever you wanted.

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke. His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you. He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him. He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place. Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick. He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible. Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible. And for what? For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions. Pathetic, he knew. But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man. Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything. He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come. A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind. And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver. The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him. He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better. It was a lie. He never had the flu. He didn’t feel better. He wanted to die. And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive. Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon. His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones. There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did. A flaw in the system. And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?

Several.

He thought to himself.

You could have gone to school, shown up.

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no. So. Many. Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death. He couldn’t stop making excuses. Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse. For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together. Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had. It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision. He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid. Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed. And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues. Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies. Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum. Dancing in the living room. Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees. Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin. Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense. Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer. That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised. Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights. Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in. Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home. Only he rarely did. Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time. Years and years of push back. A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.

“My dad has a ton of jobs.” He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.

The kids would snicker. Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness. And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day. Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them. Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature. At least that’s how dad described it. It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse. They called his dad a drunk. They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged. “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie. Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time. Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt. And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up. Closure in some kind of fucked up way. Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with. Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes. Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability. No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door. He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it. This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions. He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana. A life he’d always longed for anyway.

Be careful what you wish for.

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away. “One slip up…” They had said. It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him. Literally anyone. As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.

Cause he was nothing if not a problem. First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.

“Eddie?!”

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry. The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.” His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime. “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear. Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made. You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” You soothe.

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose. A wordless commitment. Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere. You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure. Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had. Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at. He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house. Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred. If either spoke it would make it real. Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him. There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind. Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip. It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him. In the standard of fight or flight, he froze. Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together. His croaking voice made that hard. But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability. And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime. Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him. Maybe that was dare you even think it, love. But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions. Conclusions you backtracked on immediately. It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–” A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.” His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior. “I shouldn’t–” There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath. “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn. Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet. Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.

“How’d you know?” He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.

“Wayne called me.” You sigh. “Said he got my number from Steve. Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?” At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it. “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in. Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.” You assure, taking care to relax your features. “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out. He wanted me to check in. I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.” You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again. You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick. The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor. There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better. You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again. It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage. In his eyes.

“But I will be. Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses. Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble. A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.” You demand.

“No, Bambi. Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key. Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself. And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses. His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness. Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in. He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!” Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow. “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down. I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it. My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.” Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze. A plea. “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in. I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal. It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him. The room turned colder, more vacant. Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart? His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall. The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended. Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness. Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what? Stormed off? Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat. He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other. And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness. The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut. An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.” You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth. “And I did. You didn’t say how long or—or where to go. But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake. Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips. Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you. Your boy.

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense. Bambi and Eddie. There is not one without the other, not anymore. Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”

It just fell from his tongue. A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious? Is that what you’re gonna ask?” He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping. Not because you’re afraid, no, never. You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts. “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.

“Bad.” He reiterates. “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.” Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip. “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it. And I’ll run with it. Far. Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.”

“I’m a pathetic man. Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.” You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.” He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow! Jesus fuck.” Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek. “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of. Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.

“Can you…can you do that again?” He whispers. Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck. His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest wet dreams.

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail. And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.

“Like that, baby?” You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.” A whisper that tells you everything. “I-I never—no one’s ever—“ He tries to warn you.

“What?” You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe. “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”

“Just my hand.” Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap. Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his. Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.

“We can stop.” You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.” His voice shakes, chest heaving. “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him. But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable. Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.” You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles. You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you. His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far. His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.” You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.” He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria. “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.

“Please, baby. Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.

“You bought condoms? Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!” You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back. You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?” You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care. Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed. You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you. Purely Eddie. Woodsy and minty. A tad smoky. And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room. And then it plays. A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love. A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.

“Well alright, cowboy.” You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.

“Shut up.” He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.

“C’mere.” You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you. “Wanna see you.”

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach. Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago. The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined. While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side. Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him. Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants. Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet. But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side. His eyes grow, lips parted in awe. And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control. And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval. That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it. Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red. Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.” While grinding into nothing, poor boy. “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands. You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth. Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps. Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair.

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot. Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned. Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone. The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom. The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm. Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting. The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds. Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what. Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime. Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm. His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted. You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark. All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you. He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless. Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit. Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”. That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close. Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart. Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.

It could help though. And that’s all that mattered. If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing. If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree. Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar. Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works. Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did. Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste. Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes. While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet. Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity. Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips. A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth. It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?” He laughs, voice husky with sleep.

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created. Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow. He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”

Eddie just stared.

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!” You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you. When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse. I just didn’t. I’m sorry.” His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck. And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you. I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.” You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table. Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you. Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute. He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing.

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I. Love. You.” You enunciate each word with a peck. “Point blank. No exceptions. You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man? We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records. A huge stack of them. All genres. Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal. It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling. That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?” You scoff. “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school. You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach. He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.

And he was blushing.

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me. I picked some out that I knew you’d like. Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them. Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him. Like Pandora’s box or something. Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper. A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold. His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper. It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture. At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said.

“No fucking way.” He smiles, half laughs. Then repeats himself. Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around. Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table. The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other. Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between. His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three. Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled. Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere. You miss it. But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything. Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi. Makes small talk with mom and grandma. Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day. No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her. He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang. Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual. Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background. Something about a broken sled. Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either. This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on. Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default. She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially. Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house. Beautiful in the summertime. Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays. One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson series #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic

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mousy-nona · 1 month

Note

I feel like a fic potentially focusing on Lucifer’s depression would be really interesting! That is, like.. Alastor can’t let the hotel be seen with a king (who’s a sniffling whiny bitch). Its sadly more beneficial to have him revered in this particular instance, so he’s determined to “fix” it? Idk how in character that prompt is, but I figured sending it to you wouldn’t hurt!!

TW: heavy stuff halfway through -- depression; angst.

There were some days Lucifer couldn’t get out of bed.

There was nothing particularly wrong with him. Which made it all the more embarrassing, which made it harder to explain, which made it easier to stay in bed and hide from the world, and so on and so forth…

Get up, the Stern Lucifer in his head said, sternly. You have the Assembly today. What’ll the Sins think if you don’t show up?

“Don’ wanna,” he groaned and tossed the covers over his head. The darkness was soothing. He let his eyes slip closed. Just one more minute…

“People are beginning to talk.”

He bolted upright, his eyes growing so wide he was worried they might actually pop out of his skull.

“Alastor? What the Hell are you doing on my bed?”

Because he was. On the far edge. Sitting with his legs crossed. As casually as if this was the kind of thing regular people did every day: break into the King of Hell’s room and sit on his bed.

(Not that Lucifer hadn’t thought about the demon in his bed before, but usually it was in the damn thing and with a lot less clothes and what the actual Hell was he thinking right now?)

“People are beginning to talk.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Yes. Because I don’t think you heard me the first time.” Alastor eyed him, clearly unimpressed by what he saw. It had the odd effect of making Lucifer want to punch the demon in the nose and pull the covers over his head at the same time. “If you don’t get up in the next five minutes, you’ll be late for the meeting.”

“Oh, who cares?” Lucifer sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m there or not. They’ll squabble and Ozzie will flirt and Beezlebub will try to get everyone drunk and Mammon will drive everyone up the wall with new pyramid schemes.”

Alastor tilted his head almost a full 45 degrees. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Was the man half-owl? A mean gleam shimmered just below the surface, turning his eyes into bloody rubies. “If you hate ruling so much, why not just give up the crown? Let someone better take it.”

“Oh?” Lucifer snorted. “Sounds like you have someone in mind.”

Alastor sighed, as melodramatic as a soap opera. “Alas, I would – but I doubt the six Sins would listen to lil’ ol’ me.” His accent slipped from transatlantic to all New Orleans, and Lucifer found himself hanging on every word. Southern suited the demon, was just as much Alastor as the color red and his old fashioned suits.

He shook himself out of it, snorting. “Please. Try the humble pie act somewhere else. You’ve never thought of yourself as little even once in your life.”

“Caught in the act!” The demon sang.

There was a long moment of silence as Lucifer hugged his blankets to himself and Alastor hummed some blues under his breath.

“How do you do it?” Lucifer said suddenly, and blushed, ducking his head back into his knees.

“Do what?”

If Alastor had looked even the tiniest bit mocking, or teasing, or annoyed, Lucifer would have dove into his blankets and that would have been that. No meeting, no big Assembly, the entirety of Hell could go to…well, Hell, for all he cared.

But Alastor seemed honestly curious. Not soft, never that, but he was looking at Lucifer as if he actually cared what he had to say.

“How do you keep going every day?”

With anyone else, he would have apologized immediately for worrying them. Charlie would have started crying and immediately urging him to go see someone about his problem. Lilith would have listened, but a part of her would have been writing up her list of to-dos for the day. And anyone else – well.

He didn’t have anyone else.

That was part of the problem though, wasn’t it?

But because Alastor was a cold, callous bastard, he didn’t have to apologize. He could just be honest. Already he was starting to feel some of the weight fall off his shoulders, as if carrying the words around had been half the battle.

Alastor tapped his cane on the ground. “Because I have half a doe in the fridge, plans with Rosie next Tuesday, and in a few months I fully intend to rule Hell.”

The last one caught Lucifer completely by surprise. He half-snorted, half-coughed into the crook of his arm. “Excuse me?” He squeaked. “Should I be alarmed?”

“Absolutely not, my dear.” When Alastor grinned, there was something remarkably predator about it. “Didn’t you hear me say the Sins would never listen to me? I couldn't do it alone.”

“But then how do you intend…” Lucifer stopped, and his cheeks turned an absolutely brilliant shade of scarlet. “You– you– you don’t mean?”

“Ah, there we go,” Alastor said. “Took you long enough. It’s a good thing you’ve got a pretty face, hmm?”

“I’m married!”

Alastor leaned forward. For one brief second Lucifer thought he was going to kiss him – but instead, he pat him on the head, as if he was an overgrown toddler. “My dear…one wedding ring does not a marriage make.”

Lucifer scrambled out of bed and tumbled to the floor in his hurry to get away from the complete and utter madman.

“Ah, good! You’re up!” Alastor snapped to attention, bustling about as he got Lucifer’s outfit prepared for the day with the grace and ease of a seasoned valet.

Lucifer took the proffered outfit, gaping up at the demon looming above him like – a nightmare? A dream? You could never tell which was which when it came to the Radio Demon. “Were you trying to get me out of bed this entire time?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“No!” He spluttered, his cheeks once against stained wine-red. “So all that stuff about – wanting to rule Hell was…?” He would absolutely explode if he had to complete the sentence.

“Perhaps if you get up in the next–” Alastor checked his bare wrist, no watch in sight. “Two minutes, I’ll let you know.”

The man is absolutely bonkers, Lucifer thought, but he did pick himself up off the ground and start getting ready. For some reason, it wasn’t nearly as hard as it had been earlier this morning – not when Alastor was there to confuse, entice, confuse, ridicule him.

Alastor walked jauntily towards the door, but paused with his hand on the knob.

“One step at a time,” he said suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

Alastor graced him with his patented I have been saddled with an idiot look. “You asked me how I keep going. I take it one step at a time.”

Then he was gone. Lucifer stared at the outfit he’d left for him -- it was his favorite suit, with gold accents and ruby highlights. When had Alastor bothered to notice?

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

One step at a time, huh? He could do that.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #duckiedeer #hazbin hotel lucifer #alastor x lucifer #radioapple #prompts #umm sorry to burst back out with a heavy one #it was the PROMPT OK

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99zurins · 1 year

Text

summary: wonwoo knows a lot, especially how your thoughts get into your head. when he knows you had a bad week, he wants to shower you with the gentle love you always give him when his thoughts get into his head.

note: god its been ages since i posted but alas!! this was a request for a friend of mine, and it helped me get out of my writing slump. enjoy <3

pair: f!reader x jeon wonwoo

tags: soft bf!wonwoo, SMUT (minors dni), communication during sex, kink exploration, spit, slight choking, dirty talk, slight degradation, multiple positions (sorta), safe sex, oral (both m. and f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), orgasm denial, edging, pet names (wonwoo calls reader baby, sweetheart, good girl, princess), soft dom!wonwoo, reader goes into subspace, wonwoo takes care of reader, reader works at a clinic

word count: 6.9k

[ wonu : babe

wonu: how are you feeling? ]

like shit, you want to text him. i’m not ok. so much, too much, is happening all at once your brain doesn’t know what to process first. it’s been like this from monday morning: you were short-staffed because three co-workers got sick, people kept complaining about the wait times, what could you do, you just work here. tuesday to thursday was absolute hell: how does someone mess up inventory TWICE? your co-worker doesn’t know shit. how did she get hired anyway! you don’t want to even think about friday’s disaster. you called in sick today, because fuck the clinic, and made sure you swapped your closing shift at the bookstore with someone else. your head is in chaos, all while managing a terrible migraine.

from the tylenol, the long naps, to the drops of essential oil on your pillow– none of it isn’t even helping.

you haven’t spoken to your boyfriend for a few days, there’s the i love yous, occasional memes or cat pics he sends, but it’s been quiet. he’s been busy too, he got hired by a better design company, meaning better schedules and much well-deserved salary, and has been finishing up his last few shifts on his secondary job at a milk tea shop. but since he’s one of the long time workers at the shop, he’s been busy training newbies to replace him, hence why he’s been awake earlier than you, and comes home so late. you know he’s home when he quietly slips into bed after a shower, snuggling you from behind, holding your small frame. but you miss the cuddles when you play games together, the shared silence with him, looking at dumb cat videos. everything about him, really, you miss. even though you live with him now.

[wonu: are you at your bookstore job tonight?]

you first tell a truth: you called in sick for both of your jobs. then, you lie, saying your friend-slash-coworker is coming over to talk about stuff.

[wonu: don’t lie to me

wonu: babe

wonu: i know you had a bad week]

it was just busy, you respond. you’re busy, baby. you’re probably tired too. we can talk about this later.

[wonu: i’m not ever tired when it comes to you

wonu: i’m gonna leave work right now

wonu: idc]

you feel tears well up. you not replying back is all he needs to know.

wonwoo shows up in twenty minutes, holding a bag of takeout, bubbletea, and a cute stuffed animal. you wondered how on earth did he get here so fast, considering it takes him about thirty-five minutes to get to back home, but you’re too tired to say anything. all he does is give you a hug, plant a soft kiss on your head, and you try really hard not to cry. he does the thing where he scratches softly under your chin, like how he usually would greet a cat, while your head leans into his chest.

“hi baby,” wonwoo finally speaks, giving you a soft smile. it fades when his cold fingertips linger around your cheekbones, and stops below your dark circles. “long week?”

“mm.” you try to pretend everything is okay. he knows you aren’t. he places more gentle kisses between your eyes and on the bridge of your nose.

“was hoping you would tell me, actually.” wonwoo quietly locks the front door, takes off his shoes, and you quickly scramble to find him some house sandals that would fit him. “baby, it’s okay, I don’t need slippers. none of them fit me, remember?”

wonwoo doesn’t wear the house slippers because the five house pairs are all yours. you insist on getting him a pair, he always refuses. you cough out a laugh, and you hear wonwoo giggle.

“right, i forgot, sorry,” you mumble. “what food did you get?”

“i got you your favourite,” pho from the restaurant where you had your first date with him in. it’s his favourite, too, “i got us a matcha cake slice and a strawberry one to share, too.” cakes from the cafe on the third date.

you nod quietly, and you watch him leave the takeout on the table. he pulls out a container (which is most likely the cakes), and grabs the two plastic forks.

“wonwoo, i’m not…” hungry, you trail off, you weren’t in the mood to eat, but wonwoo looks over at you, with such tenderness. his black turtleneck hugs his torso nicely, square glasses makes him look like a nerd, when did he get a haircut? and he looks over at you, attentive and with endearment. sometimes you wonder how you deserved him. “i’m…”

wonwoo finishes putting the takeout on the table, and approaches you with quiet steps. he cocks his head to the side, a motion to tell you come here, love, and you take a few steps closer, fiddling with the sleeves of the navy oversized sweatshirt (which belongs to wonwoo).

“how can i be here for you, baby?” he pulls you closer, rubbing small circles on your scalp with his thumb. you don’t really respond, but all you do is plant your face straight to his chest, wrapping your arms around his frame. you feel a low chuckle erupt from his chest. “baby, i’m not sure how my chest is… supportive enough.”

“well, they’re bigger than mine! it’s comfy!” you whine quietly, and wonwoo laughs at your answer. he embraces you, slightly moving side to side.

“i do want an answer, if you’re able to tell me.”

“um,” you hum, looking up to him, while he still scratches your head. “i kind of just want to cuddle… tell me about your new hires, or show me dumb videos of mingyu and seungkwan being stupid again, i really don’t wanna think about what this shitty week has done to me.”

“okay, we can do that.” he hums, and scoops you up, holding you like a sack of rice.

“why are you holding me like this.”

“i wanna open the door.”

“i…” you suddenly remember the bowl of pho sitting on the table. “wait, wonwoo, the pho–”

“we have a microwave.”

“i can walk to put it away first!”

“i wanna spoil you, princess. you deserve something good. no need to think about anything.”

you feel your brain go sideways.

“… okay.” you mumble, kissing the side of his head, ignoring the heat flushing in your cheeks, and the faded pink tint in wonwoo’s ears.

wonwoo puts you on the bed, and wraps you in a blanket burrito after a little cute protest and some kisses, telling you to wait while he quickly freshens up. you feel like you’re gonna fall off the bed, why did your boyfriend put you by the edge of the bed? idiot. after showering, he changes to a comfortable black muscle tee (gifted by soonyoung) and gray sweatpants. when he returns to the bedroom, he turns on the lampshade before shutting off the main light in the bedroom. he goes back by the bed, and unrolls you out from the blanket burrito, giggling as you find yourself rolling towards the middle of the bed.

“wonwoo, what the fuck,” you find it so silly, you’re trying to contain your laughter but it’s not working. you feel wonwoo climb up on the bed, and wonwoo seems like he’s having fun removing (more like unrolling) you out of the blanket. wonwoo starts pressing a few of your pressure points gently, making you giggle even more. “what are you, FUCK, that tickles, STOP THAT!”

“noooo,” wonwoo sounds like a child, and pushes off the final part of the blanket off your body. you’re laughing loudly on the bed, as wonwoo carefully pulls you up but you feel limp from laughing. he helps you sit up in front of him, and you think he’s finished with his confusing act, but he grabs the blanket, wraps you both in it, proceeds to embrace you close, and accidentally manhandles you, him hitting the bed while you’re on top of him. “oh, this wasn’t what i planned to do.”

“what?” you ask him. “manhandle me?”

“yeah, i got too excited, i’m sorry, baby.”

“well, if it makes you feel better,” you trace shapes on his cheekbones with your finger. “i liked it. had no thought in my head, just vibes.”

“mm,” wonwoo just hums, lightly patting your butt. a hand rests behind his own head, inadvertently flexing, and you mindlessly trace the healed floral ink that wraps around his bicep. “one of the new hires likes fruits basket, it reminded me of you.”

“WHAAAAAT?” you look at him with excitement gleaming in your eyes. you slap his chest lightly. “tell me more, tell me more!”

“well, she has a tattoo of kyo’s bracelet and named her pet hamster after yuki.” wonwoo says, playing with your hair. wonwoo started watching the series for you, although he hasn’t finished yet. “although she likes kuroo?”

“oh! kureno.”

“is he a bad person?” he likes to know what’s he in for at times, so some spoilers are okay.

“he falls in love with a minor.”

“oh.”

“yeah, it’s gross,” you sigh as you feel wonwoo massage your scalp. “oh that’s nice, by the way, did your manager allow you to take the cat apron?”

“i can’t. jihoon sucks.”

“boooo! he sucks.”

“my baby can always embroider me one, right?”

“i crochet, not embroider!”

“same idea!”

“no its not!” you pinch his nose. his nose scrunches up, and he tries to playfully bite your fingers. you pinch him even harder, and you giggle over his over exaggerated expression of pain. “i should really finish making that cat hat for you.”

“take your time, baby,” he kisses the tip of your fingers. “don’t stress on it. oh, speaking of which, jihoon sent me footage of seungkwan and mingyu tripping during close yesterday. i don’t know why you find it amusing to see them struggle.”

“because they’re so funny together,” you laugh, as wonwoo uses a free hand to grab his phone on the nightstand. he opens it and scrolls, looking for the video. you turn your head, listening to his steady heartbeat. the scent of his lavender bodywash is faint. it lingers. “besides, mingyu complains about his antics with seungkwan to me at the clinic sometimes.”

“ah, not surprised.”

wonwoo opens the video, and since it is security footage, it’s muted. the quality is grainy. it’s a bit blurry. as wonwoo lightly taps a tune on the small of your back, you watch with curious eyes. seungkwan is mopping, while mingyu is seen refilling the containers with straws and wooden utensils. it doesn’t look much, but you see seungkwan tell mingyu something, but his footing is awkward, causing him to slip on the wet floor. seungkwan doesn’t fall on the ground, and mingyu is laughing at him, throwing his head back in amusement. mingyu suddenly slips backwards, falling on his side, and a bunch of straws fall on the floor. seungkwan looks like he’s gonna cry so much from laughing too hard. someone else (it looks like vernon) appears from the corner and stares at mingyu, whose still on the floor. he leaves. you and wonwoo snort loudly, you shutting your eyes hard because it’s too funny. he locks his phone and puts it back on the nightstand, stroking your head while you continue to laugh.

“god, they’re so stupid,” you shake your head. “how does jihoon deal with them?”

“he tries not to.” wonwoo halfly jokes, scrunching up his nose. you snicker. “at least they get the job done, and jihoon will be less stressed.”

“hopefully the new hires don’t fuck up.”

“i made sure they won’t.” wonwoo says, looking at you with endearment. you can’t help but move up, and kiss him. he smiles into the kiss, even taking a hold of your face as you pepper him with soft kisses. “you’re being more adorable today.”

“well, i feel like i miss you a lot more lately,” you lightly push his glasses up. “even though i see you everyday, i don’t know, it’s different this time.”

“how so?”

you still don’t want to think about the disaster the week has been. but you want your heart to be open. steady.

“sometimes, i forget i’m not alone,” you tell him. his attentive gaze never leaves your face. “and that i don’t have to… i don’t have to burden everything all at once. and i’m sorry if i feel like i’m not relying on you.”

“baby,” wonwoo cups your face and squishes your cheeks. you inadvertently let out a laugh. “don’t be sorry. please don’t ever be.”

“i know, but i…”

“you’re very important to me.” he strokes your cheekbone. “i am always here. i’m sorry if i appeared… distant lately. you don’t deserve that.”

“it’s okay, woo. i’m just overthinking.”

“it’s not…” he whispers, face softening. “you had a bad week, and me being busy isn’t an excuse to make sure my baby is okay. like i said, you’re very important to me, and the love you give me makes me so happy. i love you so much.”

“i love you so much too, wonwoo… how did i deserve you?” you feel your heart swell, and the urge to cry comes. “sometimes i wonder about that.”

“you deserve everything. and i’ll make sure i can give everything to you.”

“then…” you trail off, going quiet for a moment. wonwoo watches you, and you raise yourself up, adjusting yourself to almost straddle his lap. “can you…”

“hm?”

“can you take care of me?” you whisper, tugging the hem of his shirt. you swallow the embarrassment down, reminding yourself that it’s okay. “please?”

it seems like a desperation from you, but wonwoo knows you best. you know that he’ll always and will take care of you with utmost tenderness and gentle love. but sometimes, just barely, or just too often, you question yourself how (and why) you deserve him. you already thought the shared kiss under the stars a few years ago was something he’d forget easily. but the nerd he is, he’ll plant constellations upon constellations of kisses across your body, (as if you’re the universe herself), and ask you to guess which constellation it is. on your anniversary, he’ll always kiss the libra constellation on you because that’s the one you both saw under that fated starry night. (although, he loves kissing the pisces constellation on your body. a lot).

wonwoo gazes upon you, eyes brimming with gentleness, and he carefully sits up, motioning you to move closer to him. his hands rest on your hips, his right thumb stroking your hip. your arms reach out to him, as they wrap slowly around his neck.

“how would like me to take care of you?” he whispers so low, leaning in close, his lips brushing against yours, his right hand going up to play with your sweatshirt, sending a chill down your spine.

“however you want.”

wonwoo pulls you in for a kiss, holding the back of your neck, while his left hand slips under your shorts, lightly caressing the back of your thigh. his tongue teases the roof of your mouth, causing you to let out a small whine, as his left hand takes a hold of your ass, occasionally squishing it.

“do you want me to continue?” wonwoo breathlessly says in between wet kisses. while he fiddles with the hem of your sweatshirt, you nod in response. “words, baby.”

“yes, please.”

“what do you want?”

you and wonwoo are no stranger to sex, but compared to your friends, you and him are considerably on the more… calmer side of things. and thats okay, it’s normal! everyone is different. tonight, however, feels different. even with his constant reassurance, little kisses of i’m here for you, and delicate whispers, you want wonwoo to…

“if you could help me not overthink, that’ll be great,” you feel yourself flush red, looking down at the end of his shirt, fiddling with it. “if you, uh, know what i mean.”

“oh.” wonwoo sighs when your fingers slip under his shirt and ghost over his chest. he’s figured what you meant. “are you sure?”

“as long as you fuck me, make me feel good,” you mumble, feeling yourself grind against him, kissing him wetly. “i could care less how you do it.”

wonwoo hisses at the pressure, and stares at you, a glint of lust and admiration starting to shine through, all while playing with the band of your shorts. he brings up a hand near your face, and pulls you in for another kiss, tongue toying with yours, and when you whine, he sucks the tip of your tongue.

“remember our safe word, baby?”

“kohyangi,” you breathe out, thinking about the cute cat cafe you both went to last year, while wonwoo kisses red blooms on your neck.

“how far do you want me to…”

“how we usually are, but i wanna see you try,” you stop wonwoo from kissing your neck, and you bring him to your face, letting him kiss you more. “you can be a little rougher tonight.”

“fuck, you’re gonna be the end of me.” he gently flips you over, carefully laying you down on the bed, lips never leaving yours until he briefly parts to remove his glasses. putting them on the nightstand clumsily, he comes back for your lips, and you melt against him. through his relentless teasing and his tender touches against you make your head spin. he kisses a little harder, a little more desperate, hands starting to roam around your frame, arms caging you– an underlying message that he isn’t going anywhere, and that he belongs to you, you are his, and that you are deserving of everything. a curious hand slips under your shirt, feeling your bare chest. his other hand toys with the band of your shorts, mumbling if it’s okay to take them off, and he swiftly removes them when you give him a ‘yes’.

“oh, this is pretty,” wonwoo compliments your underwear. it’s a baby blue thong. he takes off his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. “they new?”

“um, uh, yes? they were on sale… good deal, too…” you suddenly feel yourself shrink, turning red. you stare at his toned muscles, and you see a satisfied smirk on wonwoo’s face, eyes turning lustful. he pushes the sweatshirt high enough for your chest to be exposed to the air, never breaking eye contact until he swoops down, and starts planting kisses, tongue teasing your nipple, and occasionally biting at some places. “i bought a bunch since… kinda wanted to try wearing these… for you.”

you see wonwoo’s ears turn pink, and feel yourself crawling into a hole.

“aw, cute, my princess wants to treat me.” your brain screams. wonwoo kisses over the healed ink near your hip.“they look great on you, makes your tattoo here even sexier.”

“are.. are you doing the andromeda constellation?” you breathe out, trying to divert his (horny) attention somewhere else. “or is it something else?”

“mmhmm, correct, that’s my good girl,” wonwoo teases and you feel yourself choke on your own spit. he starts toying with the band of your underwear, and bites a mark on the hip bone. you didn’t even realize he’s already settled in between your legs until you feel him breathe. he tongues over the bite mark, soothing it. damn, ain’t this one nice way to go out. “you’re learning so well.”

“shit,” you shyly say between your teeth.

“keep the sweatshirt on, i wanna fuck you in it.”

“good, that was the intention.” you try to counter wonwoo, and you feel yourself twitch when wonwoo presses his thumb over your clothed clit. “does it make you possessive?”

“baby, you have no idea.” he responds, hooking a finger in the band of your thong.“may i?”

you nod at him, and he slowly peels off your underwear. as you slightly raise your hips so he can easily pull them off, he’s awkward with it, making you remove it instead. wonwoo clicks his tongue in slight annoyance. all you do is just smile at him, slipping them off with ease. you sit up (just a bit) to toss them somewhere on the bed or floor, and you don’t realize wonwoo is incredibly close to your pussy until you adjust your positioning. your breath hitches when he breathes.

“hm?” he starts to tease, kissing around the area and the lower stomach, but doesn’t do anything. “you’re pretty down here.”

“babe, please,” you try to sound exasperated but he plants the softest kiss on your clit and you almost collapse your arms. “just nervous, that’s all, even though we’ve done this a lot…”

“it’s okay, baby, i don’t blame you, i get nervous too,”wonwoo murmurs, and he can’t help it but he finds himself licking his lips. “may i eat you out?”

“yes, please.”

he first lightly swipes his tongue from the entrance to the clit, and he does it again, and again, and again, as you let out a soft noise the more he does it. he kisses your clit, and licks it, tongue flicking it a few times, doing a circular motion, and you sigh out a moan, hand resting on the crown of his head. he briefly pauses to use his thumbs to spread you out a little more, and opens his mouth, letting drool drip down on your pussy, watching it drip down, and he goes back in with his tongue. he increases the pressure, and you whine, almost hitting your head against the headboard. he keeps up the pace, moaning against your folds whenever you do, tongue slipping inside you occasionally. he starts to get even more sloppy, messy– making wet noises the more he eats you out.

“my princess is being so so good, so wet,” he mumbles lowly against your folds, hearing how wet he made you, briefly pulling away to kiss your inner thighs. you whine how his finger is teasing your hole, and his lips come back to suck on your clit again. “so needy, all for me.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine breathlessly, feeling wonwoo’s hand grip your thigh a little harder. he looks up, eyes never breaking away from yours, while his tongue slowly licks up from the entrance to your clit. he closes his eyes, relishing in the taste of you. you are sure your thigh is going to bruise, but his head is in between your legs, so it’ll be worth the bruising. “wonwoo, fuck, oh my god,”

“mm, fuck, so sweet,” he mumbles against your pussy. a finger slips inside you, slowly moving back and forth. the bed slightly shakes, and you see that he’s lightly grinding against the sheets, in desperation for some relief. you sigh at the sight, trying to stifle a moan as he puts more pressure with his tongue. “baby, go ahead, be louder.”

“its, fuck, embarrassing! holy shit,” you respond back a little louder, body arching when wonwoo adds another finger and grazes that sweet spot inside. you feel wonwoo pin down your hips with his other hand. “so, fuck, so, so good.”

“good,” wonwoo coos. “how bad do you wanna come?”

“so bad, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” your brain feels dizzy. “please wonwoo, please.”

wonwoo hums, continuing to suck your clit with wet noises and fingering you good. you find yourself mumbling incoherent sentences, and you find yourself feeling a wave of relief and pleasure overtake your body, trying to breathe. you clench around his fingers, hearing wonwoo coax you through your orgasm, leaving little kisses on you of you’re doing so well for me, and my baby, baby, all mine.

“can i spit in your mouth?” wonwoo removes his mouth from you, but his fingers have slowed their movement.

“yes.” you whine at the brief loss.

“open up.” he demands softly, a wet thumb pressing against your bottom lip. you oblige, and he leans in, letting drool drip down from his mouth into yours, his fingers busy with your hole, and uses his tongue to push it in your mouth. you shut your eyes, moaning while wonwoo’s tongue meets with yours.“good girl. was that okay?”

“y-yes,” you say in between wet kisses. another finger slips inside you, making it three, while you both make out, tasting yourself against his tongue. “it was good.”

“do you want me to do it again tonight?” wonwoo slightly rolls on his side, all while fingering you and peppering your neck with more kisses.

“it was really hot but,” you moan, trying to reach the band of his sweatpants. you can see how hard he is, and how much relief he desperately needs. “i don’t know if i wanna do it again. not again tonight, if that’s okay.”

“it’s always okay, baby, thank you,” wonwoo smiles against your neck, and you really wonder how you feel horny and soft all at once. he feels your fingers tease the band of his sweatpants, almost tracing the dent against it.“oh, baby, no need to worry about me.”

“but i want to make you feel good, too,” you say softly, breaths staggering while he fingers you long and slow. “don’t want—fuck— to be the only one.”

“well,” wonwoo gazes at you, eyes half-lidded with a slight fucked out look on his face. “does my girl want to make me feel good? words, baby, i need to hear them.”

“i want to make you feel good, please.”

“how badly?”

“s-so bad,” you whine when wonwoo removes his fingers from you. rolling on top of him, you press your body against his, your fingers holding the band of his sweats. “i want to suck you off.”

“wanna show me how with my fingers?” he brings up his fingers covered in your wetness close to your lips. “how will my baby suck me off?”

“only if you let me jerk you off, too.”

“i’d love that, fuuck,” wonwoo groans when you pull down his sweats and your hand wraps over his hard dick. he’s so fucking hard. your thumb teases the tip, playing with the precum and letting your hand coat itself in it. wonwoo’s fingers slowly go in your mouth, and you swirl your tongue around them. “baby, fuck, you’re such a slut.”

“y-you’re the bigger slut,” you shyly whisper against his fingers. you help wonwoo get out from his sweatpants, leaving him naked, and you start grinding your cunt against his bare thigh. he hisses, feeling how wet you are down there, and his free hand grabs a hold of your hip. “you made me like this.”

“you’re so wet, baby,” wonwoo sighs, pulling you in for a kiss, sighing when you jerk him off slowly. as you slightly pick up the pace, thumbing the slit, wonwoo’s hand reaches from behind to play with your hole. you quickly pull away to let a trail of spit go down his cock for some lubrication, and wonwoo throws his head back, groaning, when you jerk him off faster. “fuck, that’s my girl, go ahead, suck me off.”

“and you’re calling me the slut,” you mumble. you hear wonwoo laugh against your lips, until you feel his hand lightly slap your ass. you sigh at the pain, wonwoo rubbing the reddenning spot. “wow, kinky, are we?”

“you’re cute.”

“you like it.”

“you’re so– oh, fuck,” wonwoo feels his breathing stagger when you slide down, your tongue teasing the tip. you look up, trying hard to maintain eye contact, all while holding his thick cock with your hand (you forget how thick he is, you can barely wrap your hand around it completely) and giving it kittenish licks, before wrapping your lip around the tip. you make a few wet sucking noises, before spitting down on his cock for more lubrication. “fuck, baby, can you take all of me?”

“i haven’t even done anything yet,” you continue to trail your tongue along the veins and stroke him at the girth, and he moans— you feel yourself clench around nothing, wanting to hear more of it. “wanna tell me what should i do?”

“d-do as you please.” he groans out your name, cursing under his breath, and strokes your head as you continue to suck him off. not only does he love it when he ensures you’re vocal about what you want, he loves it when you ask him what he wants. being communicative is something he prioritizes so much (in general, obviously). and during times like these, communication is so so sexy.

you look at him, eyes signaling am i doing good for you?, and wonwoo bites his lip, enthralled by the sight. he really, really, can’t wait to ravish you.

“oh, holy fuck,” his thoughts get slightly interrupted when he feels his cock almost hit the back of your throat. feelings mixed with surprise and arousal that overwhelm him, he bites his lip to avoid a moan slipping out, wrapping his own hand around the base and presses it, edging himself. “oh, fuck, baby, you don’t have to take everything in.”

“b-but,” you remove your mouth from him, a slick pop sound coming out, as a trail of spit and come stick on your mouth. you still use your hands to jerk him off, looking at him with glossed eyes. “i wanna make you feel good.”

“you already are, baby,” wonwoo hitches his breath when you put your mouth back on his cock, a finger trailing your jaw. “but i’m the one who was suppose to fuck you til you can’t think, right? do you still want that, sweetheart?”

“uh-huh,” you mumble. “i-i do.”

“come here, then,” wonwoo encourages you to come up, licking your mouth. he runs a tongue on the roof of your mouth, as you moan while his hand plays with your hole again. “i taste good, don’t i?”

“mmhmm,” you reply against his lips, and wonwoo easily slips two fingers inside you again. he sucks on your bottom lip, fingering you faster, and you find yourself instinctively riding his fingers, moans getting more desperate as his other hand takes a hold of your hip and helps you ride his fingers. “fuck, fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum again, oh my god, your fingers are so good, woo.”

“that’s it, baby,” wonwoo says, adding in a third finger. you feel his thumb press again your clit. “come for me again, sweetheart.”

you ride out your second orgasm of the night. although it’s not as intense as the first, it feels more of like a softer wave holding you close. wonwoo kisses your neck and collarbones, whispering you praises and love notes as he helps you finish.

“please fuck me already,” you whine into the kiss, and wonwoo starts playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. “wonwoo, please, i want you…”

“patience, baby,” wonwoo whisper in your ear, and you feel his hand go up and down your back. “i’ll take care of you as long as you like me to. can you go on your hands and knees for me, baby?”

“can we kiss first?”

“of course, baby.”

you’ll never get sick of kissing wonwoo, ever. you find how you melt into each other’s warmth, comfort, and love— and how he feels like home, the hugs on rainy days, the shared smiles— you adore how his kisses are reminders of i’m always here and love letters, how much he loves you- all of you—

wonwoo shifts when you move onto the position, him moving his hand down your back. he asks if its okay if he can lift up your hips a little higher, and says good girl when you follow his instruction.

“can i…?” wonwoo asks, raising your hips up, so your ass is sticking up in the air. “can i fuck you holding one of your arms behind your back?”

“holy fuck,” you whisper, looking at him, a part of your face squished by the pillow. you and wonwoo aren’t that experimental, but this… is something. “if that will help you fuck me so hard til i can’t think, then okay.”

wonwoo slows his movements, and stares at you.

oh.

oh, fuck, that’s hot.

“well, if you say so,” he leans over, tilts your head to give you a kiss, before opening the drawer to grab a condom. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“at least fuck me first.” you joke, and wonwoo chuckles at that, pushing up your sweatshirt to expose your back. he kisses down your spine, and you hear the rustle of the condom wrapper. wonwoo adjusts your body, and you almost feel like a cramp coming on, but it’s okay—

“ready, baby?” wonwoo asks lowly. you nod against the pillow. “words, sweetheart. may i have your hand?”

“mm, yeah, i’m ready, are you?” you put your hand around your back, and you feel wonwoo’s hand wrap around your wrist.

“yeah, i’m putting it in,” wonwoo says, and you feel the tip prod against your entrance, and you bite back a moan before he slowly inserts himself in. you squeeze your eyes shut, gasping against the pillow, remembering to take deep breaths. you need a moment to adjust, but the stretch alone feels wonderful. “you okay?”

“y-yes,” you exhale. “fuck, i feel all of you, so, so much.”

“fuck, you’re so tight.” wonwoo groans, slowly bottoming out. “need a moment?”

“yeah.” you let yourself adjust to his cock, as wonwoo rubs your back (his way of helping you relax). a minute passes, and you start to feel good, inadvertently moving your hips back to his. wonwoo moans, and it encourages you to move faster against him. “f-fuck, oh my god, please fuck me, you’re so big—”

wonwoo finds himself moving his hips fast, a hand gripping your hip, the other pinning your wrist behind your back, as you gasp on how loud, wet, and hard he’s going. as hard and fast-paced his thrusts are, it remains concise and controlled. you hear him groan the more he thrusts into you, and you briefly look back at him, seeing him fling his head back in pleasure. god, it feels so good, the sounds of skin slapping grow louder, breathing out of sync, you feel so full, so fucking full, your head is starting to get dizzy—

your senses come back when wonwoo slows his pace, and you whine, tightening around him as a means to get him to move.

“nuh-uh, don’t come just yet,” wonwoo tuts, shallowly thrusting in you. “i’m not done with you.”

“w-what, fuck! oh my god, please go harder,” you tell him, feeling drool come out from your mouth, and wonwoo lets go of your hand, gently placing it above your head.

“so, so, impatient,” wonwoo slaps your ass, watching you fuck yourself on him. he continues to let you fuck yourself on him, his frame swooping down so he can whisper. “so needy for my cock, hm? didn’t know my baby is such a needy, little slut. look at you fucking yourself on me. i haven’t even fucked you stupid yet, and look at you being so needy for me. my baby is such a cute little whore.”

“wonwoo, please move,” you breathe, looking at him with glossy eyes. wonwoo continues to stare at you with lust and endearment, all while shallowly fucking into you. “i want you so much, ahhhh fuck, please, please.”

“hm? what was that?” wonwoo coos, and you whine even more. you feel like crying. wonwoo rubs his hands down your side. “oh, baby, it’s okay, i’ll give you want you want. wanna tell me what you want?”

“y-you, please.”

“just me?”

“want you to fuck me til i can’t think.”

“that’s it?”

“wanna be y-your cute little whore for you.”

and that’s all it takes for wonwoo to remove himself out from you. you wince at the loss of him, as you feel tears in your eyes, but he steadily grabs you, flipping you on your back. he pumps himself, spitting on his fingers and they go down to your pussy, playing with your clit with his thumb and wraps your legs around his waist.

“keep your legs wrapped for me, okay?” he says, using his long fingers to play with you. “can you do that for me?”

“yes,” you nod, and wonwoo peppers soft kisses around your neck and face. “wonwoo?”

“mm, baby?”

“can you spit in my mouth again?”

“oh, fuck, yes,” it catches wonwoo off guard and you find it cute how flustered he got. “i can, yeah.”

“good,” you nudge his back with your leg, telling him to start moving.

“ready?”

“mmhm- ah, fuck!” you nod, but wonwoo slips inside easily, holding onto your hips hard, fucking you at a hard, controlled pace. “oh my god, fuuuck, fuck!”

wonwoo smiles, watching your expressions change accordingly. he takes in all of your noises, expressions, all of you, how you ask to go faster, how you’re trying to fuck back too, how you’re willing to make it good for both of you. wonwoo takes a hold of your hand, putting it above your head. he gets caught off guard when you put your other hand up, and wraps his hand around your wrists, pinning them against the sheets.

“fuck, baby, you’re so tight, your pretty pussy loves taking me in, hm?” wonwoo whispers, and his free hand creeps up on your neck, but doesn’t add pressure on it. “open up.”

you oblige, and you feel him twitch. you tighten in instinct, as he lets spit drip down from his mouth to yours, and sticks his tongue in your mouth to push it in again. you moan at that, eyes going shut, all while wonwoo fucks harder and harder and harder. you feel nothing running in your brain, it feels numbing, feels exhilarating, you just feel yourself get lost into the pleasure and the praise wonwoo kisses on your skin. you numbingly hear him say words and words of i love you, can’t believe you are all mine, fuck you’re too good for me, come for me, your senses get blurred out, like your feeling everything all at once, and you don’t know when but you feel yourself unravel, coming undone as wonwoo finishes too, hips stuttering.

“baby…” wonwoo sighs against your lips, hands cautiously rubbing your sides, while putting his body weight against yours. “come back to me.”

“mmrgh?” you make a weird noise, feeling warm and a little light-headed. you hear wonwoo telling you to take deep breaths, and you use your hands to hold onto his shoulders. kisses and kisses and kisses of you did so well scatter across your skin like a cluster of stars, as wonwoo strokes your head with a comforting touch. “wonwoo?”

“m’ here baby, i’m right here,” he says, carefully slipping out from inside you after he softens. “i’m here, are you here?”

“yeah, sorry,” you finally collect yourself together, staring at the ceiling. wonwoo shifts on the bed, rolling over next to you to discard the condom, and plops next to you, an arm wrapping around your waist. you look over at him, lost in his bright eyes, and fucked out glow. “you did it.”

“wha?”

“you fucked me stupid, i don’t remember thinking at all.” you laugh. wonwoo’s face turns more pink, and he grumbles into your neck, kissing a spot or two.

“was that all okay?” he asks, stroking your head with one hand, playing with your hands with the other. “we did a little experimenting tonight.”

“it was good, yes, thank you,” you tell him, stroking his cheek fondly. “kinda wanna do more of it, you know.”

“oh.”

“oh my god, don’t act like a shy boy when you fucked me with your big dick.”

“i’m…” wonwoo get even more shy, and you laugh, kissing his nose and his cheeks. “just wasn’t expecting that, that’s all.”

“is it a lot for you?”

“no, i’m glad you trust me, and that i’m able to trust you.” wonwoo says, rubbing your stomach. “we should clean up.”

“eh, i kinda wanna lay here.” you say, sort of sprawling out on the bed. you stretch your arm a little weird so it ends up across wonwoo’s body. “too tired.”

“baby, you work in healthcare. didn’t they teach you to pee after sex?”

“i work in an eye clinic!”

“well yeah! same idea! it’s still healthcare! i’m getting you to clean up.” wonwoo says, slipping out of bed and grab his sweatpants. he slips it on, and goes over to your side, but you start rolling away, not wanting to get out of bed. “baby, don’t do that.”

“i want to cuddle first,” you say, not bothering to fight back when wonwoo grabs your body to carry you to the bathroom. “i feel like jelly.”

“good, that’s what i intended,” wonwoo kisses your face when you wrap your arms around his neck. “we can cuddle after. what do you want for breakfast?”

“eggs. toast, if we have bread. do we have bread?” wonwoo shrugs . “uh, coffee? oh! and maybe fried rice.”

“you work tomorrow?” he asks. you shake your head. “good, we’ll sleep in, eat breakfast, you wanna go play stardew valley together?”

you grin, giving him a kiss.

god, you love him so fucking much.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #seventeen smut #svthub #svt x reader #zu writes #svt #seventeen fic #GOD IM BACKSJDJDJ

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enassbraid · 8 months

Text

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇!

-> in a desperate attempt to convince your boyfriend you can watch a horror movie without getting scared, you end up proving his point

Cw’s ) none really, references to fear and gore (nothing graphic it’s just depicting a horror movie)

I’M BACK!!! And i am coming back with a fluffy nagi drabble for @nian-7 halloween/spooktober event! Did i procrastinate? Yes. But did i finish it?? Yes!! however this one is still a bit shorter than anything else I usually write due to life circumstances atm… but nonetheless I hope you enjoy!

“Are you scared?”

“N-No!”

Just as you finished denying your boyfriend’s accusation, another jump scare appeared on screen. While Nagi saw it coming from a mile away, it was all too sudden for you, causing yet another scream to rip through your throat.

“What happened to not being scared?” Nagi teased, although the monotone tone he always kept made him seem more serious than he actually was.

“That was just- AH!”

At some point in the evening, you had suggested binging a bunch of horror movies. Nagi shut that idea down at first, knowing it would end up like this- with you screaming from every little scare in the movie as he remains uninterested. However, you were persistent. With great logic such as “It’s October!” and “I won’t get scared this time, I swear!”, Nagi really didn’t have any other choice but to give in.

Of course, only one of those statements turned out to be false.

Truth be told, Nagi found the movie to be more funny than scary. It was clearly low budget, with not so great actors and poorly executed effects. Really, the makeup on the actors that are meant to be scary is really the only thing the movie has going for it.

But on your end, you couldn’t care less about any of the bad acting and stupid effects. As long as it looks scary, it is scary.

Hence why you’ve been screaming at a TV screen for the last 25 minutes.

“I think that’s enough for tonight… it’s almost 2am anyways.”

“Wait! I swear I can finish the rest without getting scared again!”

The snowy haired boy only deadpanned at your claim. If that was the first time you said that, he might have believed you. But since it was your 3rd time saying that tonight? Yeah, no. You were both better off going to bed at this point.

“You know you’re wrong, right?” He asked tiresomely.

Your brows furrowed for a moment, desperately wanting to prove Nagi wrong. But alas, this wouldn’t be the first time you were incapable of doing so.

“Yeah…”

“And you know you’re not gonna sleep if you finish the movie, right?”

“Alright, alright. I get it. Can we go to bed now?” Your shift in attitude compared to a few moments ago pulled a small chuckle out the tall male, something quite rare.

“Come on.” He said, helping you up off the couch as you kept the thick blanket wrapped around your frame. “Just promise me you won’t keep me up because you’re scared of something in that cheap movie coming to life…”

“Oh I’m not promising anything.” You said honestly.

Despite sparking you not to keep him up, the truth is Nagi wouldn’t mind staying up a bit longer as long as it was with you. He may complain in the morning when he’s even more tired, but he would never regret spending more time basking in your presence.

However, that’s only if you don’t spend the entire time blabbering in worry over something in a horror movie being real.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #nagi seishiro #nagi #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x you #nagi x you #dor writes

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amaya-writes · 8 months

Note

Hi Amaya!

I don't know if you've already gotten. One of my previous requests but I'd like to send another one in, if you don't mind.

Could you write a one shot with Kiyotaka Ayanokouji, from Classroom of the elite?

I'd really appreciate it if the reader could be kept fem! And the one shot was fluff/angst, but it's ultimately up to you.

Have a nice day/night/afternoon!

Notes: I haven't written for Ayanokouji in forever omg so I just had to do this!

Warnings: slight angst, reader doesn't realise she's being used

Characters involved: Kiyotaka Ayanokouji

Fem reader, you/yours

He tried ignoring your advances, Kiyotaka really did.

At first it was easy to simply drop a small peck or two on the crown of your head as you shifted impossibly closer to him. But you were just so needy.

"Kiyotakaaa."

The way you whined his name made the boy in question sigh as he felt you shift beside him, but he still mustered the energy to lock eyes with you.

"You're behaving weird today."

Your proximity made it easy for him to feel your skin heat up at his words, but your sudden embarrassment unfortunately did nothing to trump your neediness.

Instead, you shifted your hands from their previous position on his chest to cup his cheeks as you planted one peck after the other across his face.

"I miss you."

"I'm right here."

Your nose wrinkled in annoyance at the reply. You tried to hide it, but Kiyotaka could see the way your mannerisms shifted from playfulness to a sudden sense of discomfort.

You were getting offended. And that was never a good thing.

A soft hum left his lips as Kiyotaka shut the laptop that had been resting on his lap for the past hour, allowing it to fall onto the mattress as his hands shifted from the keyboard to the nape of your neck.

"You have me now. So, what did you want?"

Your lips morphed into a wide smile as you winded your arms around his neck. Your nimble fingers trailed through his hair, no doubt ruining his style, but Kiyotaka couldn't have voiced his annoyance even if he wanted to, for your lips were on his a moment later.

You weren't a bad kisser.

In fact, most would probably consider you a very good one.

Your lips moulded against his almost perfectly and the way you occasionally tugged on his bottom lip would have probably arose others.

You knew how to use your hands too, and carded your fingers through his hair in a calming manner that would have Kiyotaka melting in your grasp if he actually liked you.

But he didn't. And he wasn't one to lust either. Which was why your perfect kisses were nothing but a nuisance to him.

As you pulled away for air and trailed soft kisses down his neck it was clear you couldn't catch on to his true feelings. After all, if you were smart enough to read people Kiyotaka would have never picked you over the other Class A girls.

He felt almost robotic as Kiyotaka dropped one of his hands to circle your waist, the other shifting from your neck to cheek as he planted a kiss of his own on your lips.

It was chaste and lacked the arousal staining your every touch, but the gesture was enough to make a stupid smile tug on your lips.

You were buying his lies. Perfect.

"Don't you have a study session to get to?"

Your eyes comically widened at his question. The sight made Kiyotaka let out a small scoff as he watched you reach for your phone and mutter soft curses when you noticed time.

"Shit you're right. Bye hun."

You shifted to drop one last peck on his cheek before collecting your things and hurriedly racing out of his bedroom.

A soft sigh tumbled from his lips as Kiyotaka watched the door slip shut behind you.

He was free. Finally.

Kiyotaka's slight smile shifted to display his real annoyance as he turned towards the discarded laptop.

If he knew pretending to be romantically invested with you would be this tiring Kiyotaka would have opted for other methods to draw information from you.

But alas, there were only so many ways to best Class A, and none of them could be accomplished without insider intel.

He needed you. The realisation drew yet another sigh from him.

"Only a few weeks."

Kiyotaka clicked his tongue as he muttered the words, watching his laptop hum to life to display the recording app he had set up in your phone.

If circumstances hadn't forced him to be apathetic, perhaps Kiyotaka could come to actually love you. But for now you were nothing but a pawn dressed up in his queen's garbs.

And Kiyotaka couldn't wait to get rid of you.

#classroom of the elite #mastermind kiyotaka #kiyotaka ayanokouji #ayanokouji kiyotaka #ayanokouji x you #kiyotaka x reader #kiyotaka x you #classroom of the elite kiyotaka #kiyotaka fluff #ayanokoji x you #ayanokoji x reader #ayanokoji kiyotaka #ayanokoji x fem reader #ayanokoji hcs #classroom of the elite x you #classroom of the elite x reader #ayanokoji oneshot #classroom of the elite oneshot #classroom of the elite fanfic

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light-yaers · 11 months

Text

Take Care: Chapter Eight

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: sorry about how long this took i am busy and tired and also didn't want to write all this sad shit but alas, i did it. we are officially done with season one! i will be taking a small hiatus before i get to posting the next chapters for season two, but i cannot wait to continue this for you all. mwah mwah mwah

Word count: 8.8k

Chapter Eight

As your final week at the Dogtrack began, you found yourself already getting nostalgic. You wandered the lower levels gently, strolling in and out of every room, before you ascended the steps to the upper levels. You slalomed through the concessions, waving hello to the bar workers, cleaners, and others who were getting ready for the final game of the season that Saturday. You ascended another level to reach Rebecca’s office, and when her door loomed before you, you knocked upon it.

Rebecca shot you a look of understanding when you entered her office, almost sullenly. You tried to keep your spirits up, but she could see right through you about this– the same way everyone else could when you gently popped your head around the locker room door that morning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rebecca said, opening her arms warmly as you clicked the door shut behind you.

You allowed her to encase you in a hug, one where you couldn’t help but imagine her as the Virgin Mary and you as her tiny baby Jesus. Rebecca’s bosom was just that comforting that you couldn’t liken it to anything else, but you would never tell her that. Not in a million years.

“Are you okay?” she asked, as she removed her calming grip from you.

You nodded once. “Yeah,” you said, but your voice cracked involuntarily. “Maybe,” you added, and it only made Rebecca laugh sympathetically.

“Did you submit your final assignment?” she asked.

“Yes, thank fuck,” you breathed out, before you flopped yourself onto the sofa. “Every last thing I needed to do has been done, so now I just… wait, I guess.”

Rebecca dropped herself beside you and crossed her legs. “Waiting isn’t so bad of a thing, I suppose. I waited to see the Spice Girls live for over a year, and it turned out brilliant.”

“I think waiting for a concert is vastly different than this, Rebecca,” you let out. You spread yourself out on her sofa, starfish style. She reached out and grabbed your knee affectionately. “I’m not waiting for a once in a lifetime performance, I’m waiting for the inevitable end of coming to this place every fucking day.” You lifted your head up quickly, and shot a wild gaze her way. “What if they all forget about me?”

“That’s not fucking possible,” she said strongly. “And if you go off the radar then you can count on Keeley and I coming to batter down your damn door, or someone else.”

“Someone else?” you questioned, and your mind immediately went to Lasso. “I don’t think Ted would do that. He’s far too soft and squishy to break down a door, don’t you think?” you rattled off.

“I didn’t mean Ted,” Rebecca said, squeezing your knee gently. You inhaled when she looked at you knowingly, before you dropped your head back down to stare at the ceiling. She didn’t need to say a name for you to know that she meant Roy.

Roy Kent would definitely batter down doors, you thought, but whether or not yours would come into that equation was a mystery. He hadn’t battered down your door before, only knocked and begged to come inside…

Was that the same thing?

“They’re going to bench him,” you said plainly.

“I know,” Rebecca said.

“I think he knows it, too,” you said.

“I think you’re right,” Rebecca said, before she retracted her grip from you. She stood up strongly, and peered down at you like a giant. “No more moping, come on,” she said, as you allowed her to hoist you from the sofa.

“If I can’t mope, what the fuck am I supposed to do for the next five days?”

Rebecca smiled. “Enjoy it,” she said. “Before it’s all over, enjoy it.”

On Tuesday, you grabbed a coffee from the cafe in the morning like normal. You scuffed your feet on the concrete as you headed to your office afterwards, but got immediately side tracked when you heard a ruckus from the locker room. Without dropping off your belongings, you headed there first to check out what was wrong.

You entered the uncharacteristically quiet locker room, only to discover Ted, Nate, Higgins and Rebecca.

“Why so hostile, Nathan?” Rebecca said, as a mischievous smile graced her face.

“Wait… you know my name?” Nate asked, as you slowed to an almost comically paced slow walk. You held your breath, not wanting to interrupt the four of them.

“I needed to know it for when I wrote your contract,” she said, before she sent a look your way. She winked at you, and you were reminded of a text from Roy a few weeks prior– Nate was due to get promoted, but for the past month he’d been afraid he was going to get fired.

You had to admit it, but the look on his face was fucking hilarious.

Ted smacked a hand down on Nate’s shoulder. “You’re not getting fired, buddy, you’re getting promoted!”

All of a sudden, the closed blinds of the manager’s office revealed the screaming team of AFC Richmond behind. They yelled and cheered, and Colin let off a confetti cannon as he burst through the door and into the main locker room. Nate’s shock and fear dissipated immediately, turning into excitement and appreciation, as soon as he locked eyes with Rebecca again.

She handed him his contract, and the word coach at the top made him want to cry. This was what he’d wanted for so long, but what he’d never dared to think about achieving. Seeing his name on this contract, however, made everything change. He’d made it. He’d really fucking made it. The guys gathered like a swarm of bugs, picking Nate easily off the floor and gently swinging him in the air triumphantly. You laughed at their joy, their excitement, as you peered up at him atop Isaac’s and Sam’s shoulders.

Roy gently approached you from behind. He skidded his knuckles across your lower back, alerting you to his presence. You crossed your arms and leaned back into him without even thinking. Your upper back thumped against his chest gently, as the two of you kept your eyes on an overjoyed Nathan.

You twisted yourself around and looked up at the smile on Roy’s face. You jabbed him in the abdomen gently, as he peered down at you. “You’ve gone soft,” you said, just loud enough for him to hear.

Roy sniffed, trying to puff out his chest to counteract your words. “No I fucking haven’t,” he said, but it was clear that you were right.

Without hesitation, you raised your hand to his face and gently prodded his cheek. “I think I just felt a tear,” you joked, before you prodded again. You widened your eyes in false shock. “No, I definitely did. You’re on the brink of crying, aren’t you?”

Roy’s attempt at staying stoic went out the window upon your second prod. He swiftly pushed your hand away and guided your shoulders around to face the rest of the room, before he playfully wrapped his arms over your shoulders and chest. You leaned further into him, bringing your hands to grab hold of his forearms strongly. He was so close to resting his chin on the top of your head, and part of him wanted to, but he didn’t. You refrained from tilting your head back from fear that he’d pull away.

Instead, the two of you swayed from side to side gently, smiling, laughing, peering out at the joyous scene before you. Neither of you dared to question the position you were in, whether mental or physical. You simply held on for dear life, and chose not to focus on the fact this would all be over in a matter of days.

On Wednesday, you took your laptop outside to the stands. You sat there for most of the day, tapping upon your keyboard, until the late afternoon sun shone against the blue and red plastic seats of the Dogtrack. You only went inside to piss, or eat, or drink, but even those times were sparse. Even by the time practice had been and gone, you were still outside, soaking up the sun.

The echo of footsteps on the opposite side of the stadium hit you, and when you looked up you were surprised to see the small outline of Roy. He headed to one of the blue seats in the stands, hands in his leather jacket pockets. You gently went to close your laptop, thinking about joining him, but you stopped when you saw another figure emerge. Ted walked up the stairs of the stands, before he slotted himself beside Roy in the sea of blue.

Innately, you knew what they were going to talk about. Pulling off the bandaid. Quickly and without fuss, you grabbed your belongings and headed back inside. The guys were packing up to head home after a long day. You bumped into Sam in the corridor, and strolled to the car park together.

“Do you need a lift? I can drop you home,” he offered, as you approached his car. Further down the car park, you saw Roy’s Jeep.

You shook your head gently. “Thank you, but I’m good,” you said. Sam followed your eyes to Roy’s Jeep, and when he looked back at you, there was an understanding look on his face.

“See you tomorrow?” he questioned.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you replied, beaming.

Sam drove off a moment later. When you were alone, you strolled towards Roy’s Jeep and leaned against the passenger side door gently. The Spring sun shone off the hood, casting an orange glow over the entire car park. This reminded you of before, the first time he’d ever driven you home from the stadium. The sun was the same colour, and it was so vibrant that his pitch black car had erupted with a volcanic glow.

Secretly, you thought the colour orange suited Roy.

You crossed your arms and looked at the ground, waiting for the inevitable moment that Roy appeared. You didn’t want him to be alone, not for this– not ever, really– so you planted yourself on the concrete, content with waiting for him to finally leave for home.

Roy stormed through the stadium, gym bag in one hand and his car keys in the other. He huffed through his nose painfully as he opened the doors to the car park, and was ready to scream at the top of his fucking lungs– until he saw you. You leaned against his Jeep, head down to the point where your hair covered the obviously sleepy expression on your face. Your arms were crossed over your chest, and your knees were slightly bent from tiredness.

He slowed his pace as he approached you, and unlocked his car with his keys. You felt the car vibrate behind you, and noticed the flash of lights as it unlocked. When you looked up, Roy was no more than a metre away from you, and still fast approaching. You sucked in a gentle breath as he tugged open the passenger side door for you.

“Jump in,” was all he said, and you didn’t have to be told twice. He shut the door behind you after you were settled and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, leaving the car park as fast as he possibly could.

The drive was silent. Roy didn’t turn on the radio, nor did you ask him to, either. When he turned down your street, he pulled onto the curb outside your building. He cut the engine, and the interior went utterly silent. Gently, you looked at him. He looked back, and his stare was enough to make you melt.

You sucked in a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

Roy’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. His entire body tensed. “No,” he said plainly.

“Okay,” you said gently, shooting him a small smile in understanding. “If you want to, you know where I am.”

Roy nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah,” he said, but it came out forcefully, like he didn’t want to show what he was truly feeling. You didn’t press him, but instead grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked, as you laid your hand on the door handle.

“Yeah,” Roy said again, hiding behind the pain in his chest.

You got out of his Jeep, and slammed the door shut behind you. You sent him a small wave from the pavement, and before you could even reach your door, he’d switched on the ignition and veered off down the road.

On Thursday, Roy didn’t come to the stadium. His absence was felt by everyone, especially the team. Ted was quiet for most of the day, trying to keep up his commonplace enthusiasm, but it was clear that he felt guilty. No one blamed him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he’d done the unthinkable.

You grabbed lunch with Keeley, but the quiet and sombre feeling from the stadium had rubbed off on you, too. You swirled your fork in your plate of pasta, and had hardly touched your glass of wine. Keeley cleared her throat opposite you, before she leaned forward gently.

“Babe,” she started, as you met her eye. “It’ll be alright,” she said, trying to keep things light.

“Sorry, I’m being such a fucking downer, aren’t I?” you breathed out, before attempting to perk yourself up.

“It’s understandable. Change is scary,” she said.

“It’s like, even though I try not to, I’m counting down the minutes until it’s all over. At five o’clock tomorrow evening, I’ll be done at Richmond.” Saying it outloud had you getting choked up. You swallowed quickly to stop your throat from closing up.

The cogs in Keeley’s brain started whirring. “You sound just like Roy, you know? In your article, when he talked about not knowing what to do after he retired.” You listened to her intently, thankful for her kindness. “There will always be opportunities beyond the now, especially for talented fuckers like you and him,” she said, and you huffed at her bluntness. “You must have had employers in touch after the article, surely?”

You nodded at her, and thought about your inbox full of job offers. “I’ve had a few, yeah. That’s not what I’m worried about, though. I could work anywhere, I think it’s just… everything else, that’s getting me down.”

The end of the season. The threat of relegation. Saying goodbye. Every-fucking-thing.

“You’ve got time,” Keeley reassured you. “Your lease at the flat doesn’t end until July, you’ve got job offers left right and fucking centre, and, well– you’ve got Roy.”

You furrowed your brows quizzically, but that was counteracted by the small smile that curled onto your lips. “Got Roy for what?”

Keeley sent you an amused look. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” she said, as she shoved another mouthful of pasta in her gob. “I see the way you two are when you’re together.”

You huffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here.”

Keeley dropped her fork and pointed at you abruptly. “You’re in denial, babes.”

“I am not–”

“Yes, you fucking are! You’ve been around a whole bunch of sexy footballers for months now, one of which has gone out of his way for you, your degree and your future, not to mention he showed up at your door with an apology fit for a fucking queen. All I’m saying is, if I was in your shoes, I would have had him at least three times by now–”

“Keeley,” you warned her, through a wave of amusement.

“What? Not even a fucking kiss? What a bloody waste,” she said, before she grinned at you with her teeth mischievously.

“The last thing Roy needs right now is me scuttling around him.” You took a sip of your wine. “He’s got enough on his plate as it is, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Do you hear yourself, babes?” Keeley said, her eyes wide. “You’re exactly what he fucking needs right now.”

You scoffed at that, reminded of yesterday in his car. “No, I’m not. Even at the best of times, Roy has the emotional output of a fucking teacup, but yesterday…” you trailed off, taking another sip– more like a gulp– of wine.

“Was it bad?” Keeley asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, it was bad.”

Keeley leant across the table and grabbed your hand quickly. Her touch had superpowers, you thought. You always felt infinitely better when she found a soft way to reassure you. “His feelings aren’t your problem to fix, babes. You’ve let him know you’re there to support him, which is all any of us can do.”

You nodded, and let out a pent up breath. “Yeah,” you said, smiling at her. “You’re right, it’ll be fine.”

“All you need to focus on is enjoying the last days of your placement, alright?”

You chuckled at her. “I can do that. For you, I can do that.”

Keeley squeezed your hand harder, and you let her. The two of you clinked your glasses together, as you enjoyed the final lunch break meal of your placement at AFC Richmond.

On Friday, you started clearing out your office. You shoved all your supplies, books, post-its from Sam and the like, into a cardboard box that you could walk home with at the end of the day. You sat at your desk in the morning for the last time, and opened up your laptop despite having no fucking work to do. You skimmed through your emails, and added interview dates in your calendar, but you had to stop and hold your breath when you saw a new email fly into your inbox.

It was from Pluto Press, the publisher that you’d meant to have your original placement with. They reached out after reading your article in the Independent, and had asked to set up a meeting for a possible job opening. Just like that, cogs had started flying into place.

If you got a job there, you’d be able to stay in Richmond. In your flat, around your friends, around the boys, and around the club. You emailed back immediately, letting them your availability for an interview, and started curating a portfolio of your work before and during your time at AFC Richmond. Keeley was right— change was scary, but it was also exciting.

You just had to let yourself believe it all.

By lunch, you’d cleared out your entire office. It looked too bare, too empty. You swiped your hands over the cinder block walls— walls that you’d become so familiar with that it seemed painful to know you’d be leaving them behind in a matter of hours.

Behind you, Sam knocked at your door. You turned and met his eye, and sent him a saddened smile.

“All packed up?” he asked, looking at the emptiness of it all.

You nodded, letting out a huff. “It feels so weird. I feel like I haven’t been here nearly long enough, but also for years at the same time.”

He strolled further into your office. You felt calm when he was near. “This place will do that to you. Make you settled and comfortable, but that is when time passes you by without realising.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledged him gently, before sighing. “Are you on your second workout already?” Sam nodded. You stepped forward, and could see the other guys headed to the gym together through the door. A question danced in your mind. “No Roy today?”

Sam shook his head. “We think he switched off his mobile. We’ve tried to reach out, but—,” He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“I tried on Wednesday,” you said, as you leaned against your empty desk. “It was the same. Like he was feeling everything and nothing at the same time.”

“That has always been Roy’s way, I think,” Sam said. “He will come back if he wants to, and he knows we will be here if he does. No one is to blame for this.”

“I know,” you breathed out shakily. “But, that’s just it, isn’t it?” You peered up at Sam’s soft and welcoming face, and you knew then that he understood you wholeheartedly. It felt good to be known. “It’s out of our control— but that’s when I want to fix things even more. It’s gutting to know we can’t do anything.”

“That is because you are kind,” Sam said, and stepped towards you once more. “Too kind for your own good, sometimes. You want to fix everything all of the time, and feel responsible for other people’s feelings far too much, might I add.”

You huffed, feeling vulnerable. “Come off it.”

“See!” Sam exclaimed. “You just proved my point for me.”

You waved him off playfully. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” you trailed off.

Sam settled comfortably. “I am going to miss this.”

This. Your chats. Your moments of shared clarity. Sharing a space with one another every day of the week.

You ignored the strain you felt when your throat closed suddenly. You swallowed away the urge to cry. “Me too.”

He headed towards your door then, smiling knowingly as he left. “I will see you after?” he asked, lingering on the doorway.

You nodded strongly, despite the rapid way your eyes were welling up. “I’ll be here.”

You finished up some final emails in your bare office, before you sat in the cafe with a cup of tea for the remainder of the day. When the clock hit 4:30pm, you left sullenly. You felt a strange sense of peace as you navigated the empty corridors of the lower level, and were surprised to find the gym and locker room utterly empty.

The guys were nowhere to be seen, and Ted and Beard’s office was quiet of all Americans and Brits alike, too. You sighed to yourself, as you looked up at the yellow believe poster above the manager’s doorway.

You couldn’t believe this was it. Your last day. You’d spent nine months strolling up and down these corridors and rooms, sharing smiles and commiserations with the team, a joke with Ted, a look at Roy. When you thought back to the September before, you’d been so annoyed to be in this position, but now?

You wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.

It didn’t feel right, though. It didn’t feel like closure, because you knew that someone was missing. Roy wasn’t here. He wasn’t here on your final day to roll his eyes, or boom profanity, or offer to drive you home just to spend a few more moments with you. He wouldn’t be starting on the pitch tomorrow, or may not even show up at all, as you sat in the stands for your last game under contract at the club.

It was almost too much to bear. You’d started your journey here with Roy, and it seemed only right to end it with him— but that wasn’t an option anymore.

You let the last of your composure fall away as you finally let go. Your eyes welled past the point of staying dry, as tears crept down your cheeks, tracking shining lines down your face. You peered around the room as you held yourself, taking in the red and blue everywhere, the numbers and names on the cubbies, and fluorescent lights overhead. You’d never expected for it all to feel so sad. Leaving, saying goodbye, moving onto other things.

You realised then that, if you had the option, you’d stay at Richmond in a heartbeat. Fuck publishing. Fuck your book. You wanted the comfort of the cinder block walls and the laughter trickling from every room.

You wanted to stay.

“Is it really the end already?” Ted said from the doorway. You jumped from the surprise, and turned to him quickly.

You wiped your tears away frantically, trying to hide your face, but when his soft and knowing smile hit you, it only increased your sadness. He strolled towards you gently, hands in his pockets.

You sucked in a shaking breath before forcing yourself

to speak. “Give or take twenty minutes, but… yeah,” you let out, sputtering out embarrassed chuckles as you did so.

Ted peered down at you. Him and his moustache smiled at you. “Come here,” he said gently, before he encased you in a hug.

You let him hold you, as you laid your head on his shoulder and sniffed away the last of your tears.

“I might be joining you on the goodbye train out of here, too, y’know?” he said, as you pulled away from his embrace. “Oh! You should come and visit Kansas!” You chuckled at the ease in his change of tone. “We’ve got great barbeque, and none of that brown watered monstrosity that you call tea.”

“I love tea,” you croaked, as your voice levelled out and away from a wobbling mess.

“I just don’t get it! Roy said the same thing last night,” Ted whittled on. Your gut lurched at the mention of Roy’s name.

“You saw Roy?” you asked.

“I sure did. He stopped me from getting hit by one of those taxis— sorry, black cabs— last night. And we had a little chat afterwards at my place.”

“How is he?” you asked, trying to keep the desperation from your voice, if that was even possible.

Even just a few days without Roy had you feeling fucking crazy, especially after your drive home earlier in the week.

“He’s doing alright,” Ted’s voice settled. “About tomorrow’s match though, well… we’ll see.”

You nodded in understanding. At the end of the day, it was Roy’s decision whether he wanted to show up or not. You prayed he would, prayed he’d be there to hear you scream your lungs out in the owner’s box for the last time during your placement.

“I’ve got something for you,” Ted said suddenly, before he pulled out something from his pocket. You hovered your hand out for him, and he placed a small, green army man in your palm. “For protection. Just a little goodbye present,” he added, and your heart swelled.

You held it in your fingers, and felt a finality surge through you. You peered up at Ted thankfully. “I’ll miss you,” you said.

“You, too.” Ted smiled. “Now, come on! The guys have something planned for you.”

You followed Ted out of the locker room, sniffing away the last of your tears as you did so. He zoomed ahead as you tried to keep up with him, and turned to the left towards the tunnel towards the pitch. You emerged into the late afternoon light behind Ted, and what met your gaze had your heart in your throat immediately.

The boys stood on the pitch, holding individual signs with letters upon them that spelled out the words– write about us.

Starting from Isaac, all the way to Sam at the other end, those twelve letters burned themselves into your retinas. Behind those boys, the rest of the team cheered. As your last day at AFC Richmond came to its end, you felt more known than you ever had before. Each of these players, and coaches, and crew, knew you so wholeheartedly that you could hardly believe it. Your impact had spread around the stadium off Nelson Road like wildfire.

It only cemented the love you felt for them all. Even if you wanted to, they wouldn’t let you remove yourself from their team after this. You were Richmond till you died, and you had never been happier about something being set in stone.

As the group dispersed, Sam, Colin and Isaac approached you quickly. You let them encase you immediately, ignoring the slight suffocation of knotted limbs and laughing bellies that surrounded all of you. You would have let them smother you to death in a heartbeat. What a wonderful way to die that would be.

“When you go out tonight, you better have enough drinks for all of us, bruv,” Isaac said, as the four of you gently parted.

“I’d be downing a pint with you if it weren’t for Man City tomorrow,” Colin said. “It’s best we get an early night and keep up our strength for the game instead, you know?”

You smiled in understanding. “Don’t worry about me. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll be drinking in the pub after the game, anyway.”

Sam placed his hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “I am already looking forward to it.”

You sent a look at each of them in turn, trying to portray just how much you appreciated them, how much you loved them, but you felt like it had to be said in words. You sucked in a deep breath. “I will,” you started, but noticed their confused faces. “Write about you, I mean. There’s already too much of you all within me that I’ll have to get it out on paper sooner or later.”

Colin and Sam smiled like the sun. Isaac’s face scrunched up painfully, until it was clear he was holding back tears in his eyes.

You walked home in the dwindling Spring sun. Down Nelson Road, across Richmond green, past Mae’s pub, and the like– you knew Richmond like the back of your hand now, and had no desire to leave. Lucky for you, you had a feeling you’d land a position at Pluto Press soon, which meant you wouldn’t have to uproot yourself again. You could stay in your flat, stay close to the guys, stay close to Roy–

You cleared your throat abruptly at the thought of the Richmond captain. You hadn’t heard from him in two days, and didn’t know if he was going to show at the game tomorrow. It was none of your business, either, but you still felt a craving to let him know that you were there for him; through thick or thin, despite all the shit between you in the past, and even now. Roy Kent deserved to know how much you loved him, and your time at the stadium that day had only made you all the more nostalgic and emotional.

When you got back to your flat, you quickly opened your laptop and printed out what you had in mind. You were practically jumping by your printer as the ink cascaded over the once blank page, and were bounding out of your door before the words had even dried.

You rushed down your road towards Roy’s house, not even thinking about what you’d do or say if he was at home or opened his door. As the sun began to fully set over your small neighbourhood in Richmond, the fancy houses that you passed seemed to almost loom over you. They cast shadows upon the pavements and empty roads, but you didn’t hesitate as you approached Roy’s driveway.

Gently, you folded up the small piece of paper you’d printed, and placed it on his welcome mat by the front door. Inside, the lights were off, but you still knocked quickly before you turned on your heels and left. You weren’t about to wait around, or call in on him out of the blue– not after his long week. So, you left as soon as your knuckles were done wrapping on his door, and rounded his driveway before he could’ve opened his door and caught you.

Roy saw you leave. Through the windows in his porch, and the large panes of glass that showed off his living room, he saw you approach his home and leave immediately after knocking. Before he could reach his door, you’d already turned the corner of his drive, back towards your building.

The urge was there to shout out, to run after you and acknowledge how today was your final day at the club, but he held himself back. He hadn’t seen you since he’d driven you home, since he’d been feeling everything and nothing at the same time. He didn’t want to face you while he still felt the repercussions of it all, and especially not before the game.

It was selfish, he knew, but you would have stuck around if you’d wanted to see him, too. As he looked out at his driveway, he wondered why you’d even bothered to knock upon his door and leave straight away– until he looked down. On his welcome mat was a small, folded piece of paper. Roy bent down and grabbed it, before he retreated inside, back to the dark.

He didn’t like turning on his lights a lot of the time. It angered him that he had to pay to put on the lights in his home, and it felt even stupider that he needed them when he mostly looked at his phone screen, or the television. They were pointless, most of the time, but as he sat at his dining table, he turned on a lamp to the side of him.

He unfurled the note you’d left him, and as his eyes traced the printed ink– alongside some of your own writing– he found himself smiling.

It was the email from your lecturer, when he’d told you about Roy’s impromptu visit to your university, all those months ago. It felt like it’d been five years, not a little over nine months. Beneath the email, you’d written something short and heartfelt– A reminder of the time that we became friends. Thank you for everything during my time at the club. Whether you play or not tomorrow, I’ll be yelling from the owner’s box for you.

Roy sat back and inhaled deeply. “Fuuuuck,” he whispered. It cemented his decision for tomorrow in a millisecond; he would go, even if he was on the bench. He would go for you.

As you walked to Nelson Road the next day, nerves bubbled in your gut incessantly. This was it, the final hurrah. Richmond’s threat of relegation was imminent, and it was only a matter of time before them and all the fans would witness their downfall. You didn’t even want to think about it, it felt blasphemous, but it was almost impossible not to understand how much this game meant.

Even more so when you thought about Jamie Tartt. This was the first time in a while that he’d been back at Man City, and against his former teammates as a consequence. You knew that Jamie wouldn’t care– he’d go out there and play like he normally did, to an annoyingly good level despite his ego, and wouldn’t think twice about dominating against his old team.

But the guys– they would feel every sting, they would take every hit, and they would be heading outside onto the pitch for an all out battle. You knew it well.

Against your wishes, you chose not to go to the locker room and greet the guys before this game. Instead, you headed for the owner’s box immediately, and found yourself sitting there alone for the first twenty minutes before the pre-game started. You knew that Keeley and Rebecca would be around, but you were almost glad that you got some time to yourself. Just to breathe, to soak it all in, before you got ready to yell for your life.

As the stadium started to fill up, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, and when your eyes traced over the message, the butterflies in your stomach seemed to mellow out. It was from Roy.

Still in the owner’s box?

You smiled as you typed your reply, and sent it without any hesitation.

Of course. Still not the caretaker?

Roy smiled at his phone in the locker room, sitting quietly as everyone prepared for the game. He’d just handed off his Captain armband to Isaac McAdoo, and didn’t fully know what he was feeling. Knowing you’d be outside when he stepped upon the pitch was enough at this moment.

Not yet. I’ve still got game in me, even if I am on the fucking bench for this.

It’s too bad. I was hoping to see you rightfully start on Jamie, but this time you’d be on the opposing team. All the more dramatic.

Roy huffed to himself. It was impossible not to feel the comedy in your words as you sent them his way, both over text and in person.

Don’t tempt me. I’ll still fucking do it if I get the chance.

Looking forward to it.

“Alright, fellas!” Ted clapped his hands together. Roy sent one last message, before he put his phone in his bag and out of the way. The boys settled into their pre-match pep talk, and that was that.

You read Roy’s final reply, feeling a warmth that you’d never be able to describe.

See you out there.

Keeley, Rebecca and Higgins joined you soon after. As the minutes whittled down before kick-off, you tried and failed to place yourself in some kind of zen mode. The air was almost too thick, and coupled with the upset you felt about leaving Richmond, you spent the majority of the time until the players emerged trying not to fucking cry.

The atmosphere shifted as soon as the players ran out of the tunnel. You held your breath as they lined up for the anthem, and leaned over the edge of the box so you could see them all better. The unmistakable look of a Captain band was on Isaac’s arm, over Roy’s, and you felt proud of them both. It mustn’t have been an easy decision for Roy to make, but he’d still done it. Isaac must have been feeling nerves ten times what he was used to, but he wore the band with pride.

After the anthem, the teams split up on each side of the pitch. When Roy would usually head to his starting position, he exited off to the sides and headed towards Richmond’s bench. He slipped on a long-sleeve thermal, before he took a few moments to peer around the stadium stands. Richmond’s bench and coaches were right beneath the owner’s box; you had a full view of all the second string players and Ted and Beard alike. Seeing Roy there was like an entirely different feeling– he was closer to you, which you didn’t mind in the slightest.

As Roy peered around the entire stadium, he twisted himself around to land his gaze upon the owner’s box. His eyes found you in seconds, and yours glued onto his in response. You leaned further over the lip of the box, and rested your chin on your knuckles as you looked at him. You smiled. He smiled back. Quickly, you shuffled your hand from beneath your chin and made a simple OK sign with your fingers. Roy chuckled to himself unavoidably, before he gently sent you an OK sign back.

You glanced quickly at the pitch, and the match was about to begin. You stood abruptly, with Roy’s eyes still on you from below. Sucking in a deep breath, you exhaled it alongside your loudest Come on, Richmond! imaginable.

Roy had to turn away to hide his smile. It was colossal as he headed towards the bench and sat down. It didn’t go away until the whistle blew and the game began. He waa going to miss seeing you everyday, but he knew that you would still go to games at the Dogtrack. That should have given him some comfort, but it didn’t. He knew his time was up.

The game started, and you didn’t sit down for the first half in its entirety. Dani scored halfway through the first half, and you erupted when he did. You hugged Rebecca and Keeley like there was no tomorrow, and that early had the team in great spirits for the rest of the half– until it was fucked. A sneak attack had Man City emerge into the box, and with two minutes to go until the whistle blew for halftime, they equalised. You let out a heartfelt “Fuck!” when they did so, and found yourself dropping back into your seat glumly. They’d been so close, but they simply had to hold it together now. You watched silently as the team scuttled back to the locker room for the interval.

Ted had a plan up his sleeve. He had the power of Beard and Nate on his side, and they had the advantage of knowing City’s star player through and through– Jamie Tartt. If he was still the same after he left, then there was a chance that the guys knew how to get to him and mess up his game. It was a longshot, but it was a good place to start.

They needed speed, that was for sure. When Jamie got the ball, it instilled the fear of man into every single person on the opposing team. He was unstoppable, and almost impossible to tackle when he got going. That was the goal– keep the ball as far away from Jamie fucking Tartt as they could.

“We’re so close, guys,” Isaac spoke up suddenly. “Another goal, and we clinch the win. We just have to hold our defence together, you get me?”

“Keep that ball away from Jamie,” Richard said, and nods of agreement rounded the room.

“Exactly right, boys,” Ted joined in. “If we get out there, if we believe, we can do this!” The energy shifted tenfold, and the priorly defeated guys were pumped up once more. “Roy, you’re starting in the next half. I want you back on that pitch,” Ted added finally, before players started trickling out of the locker room.

Roy glanced over at Isaac. Isaac gave him back his Captain armband without a second glance, smacking a hand on Roy’s shoulder warmly before they headed back to the pitch.

Your heart jolted when Roy started in the second half. You knew Ted well enough to know that he wouldn’t bench Roy for the entire game, but it was a surprise when he swapped him out after halftime. It was true that Richmond needed fast players to keep up defensively, and despite Roy being slow now, you knew that he held more in terms of power.

Players were scared of him. He had an anger that always came out on the pitch, one that left players, referees and coaches alike with a similar mindset– do not get on Roy Kent’s bad side, because he will make you pay.

As the second half proceeded, it was anxiety inducing how little things happened. It was a full back and forth, with hardly any opportunities for Richmond or Man City to go for a goal. Both teams had put their defences up tenfold, and neither wanted to risk that and fuck up the rest of their game. It was almost like a stalemate, like a disaster waiting to happen.

As full time approached, you could hardly fucking breathe. You clutched Keeley’s hand tightly as the guys kept up with each other, and simply tried to get through this shit. Jamie hadn’t yet found an opportunity to break through, until there were less than five minutes in it. When he snuck through, you shot up from your seat and screamed.

“Tartt’s going for the box!” you screeched at the top of your lungs, clutching your hand over your heart and crunkling the Richmond shirt that you donned fondly.

The home fans in the crowd rose intensely, as they noticed a player creeping up behind Jamie. Even Arlo and Chris in the commentator box could hardly believe it– Roy was going for Tartt, running at speeds that hadn’t been seen from him for a matter of years. He was stealthy, pumping his arms in perfect harmony with his legs, until he launched himself into a perfect sliding tackle.

You raised your hands to your mouth as he did so, and the ball was knocked from Jamie’s orbit as the two of them dropped to the grass harshly. The cheers for Roy were impossible to block out, and you joined in as soon as you recognised the familiar tune.

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where! Roy Kent! Roy Kent!

You rejoiced with Keeley and Higgins in turn, pumping your arms triumphantly within the owner’s box, until the clock restarted– but that moment didn’t come. Instead, as you laid your eyes back out onto the pitch, Jamie reluctantly stood and shook himself off after that tackle, but Roy…

“He’s not getting up,” Keeley said, confused. “Why isn’t he getting up?”

Your eyes burned as you took in the image of Roy, sprawled on the ground, clutching his kneecap. Something was wrong, and that was plain to see. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. This couldn’t be it, surely. This couldn’t be the time he wasn’t able to get up and keep playing. Not now.

Sam and Isaac approached him quickly, and huddled around him. The physio was on stand-by, and Ted and Beard were practically chewing off their fingernails in anticipation. Sam helped Roy up slowly, dragging him up from the pitch as he took in the chant that he’d become so accustomed too. It had echoed throughout the Premier League for more than a decade, almost two. He was a household name, respected by footballers, pundits, coaches– you.

Roy limped off the pitch, waving to the crowd in good nature. He would never be wheeled off, or walked off with help, you knew that. Before he fully left for the tunnel, he quickly pulled the Captain band off his arm and passed it to Isaac. The two shared a moment that had your heart bombarding into your throat–

This was it. The moment that Roy had been talking about before. His last day of playing football. With an injury that bad, that had been settling for years and damaged further by overuse of his joints, you didn’t have to be a rheumatologist to know that he was done for. That final tackle had fully fucked his knee.

As he hobbled out of view, you couldn’t bear it any longer. You abruptly stood, and left the owner’s box without a word. Keeley and Rebecca saw you go, but said nothing to stop you. Instead, they shared a look with each other that said a thousand words– you were exactly what Roy needed.

You fast-walked along the corridors of the Dogtrack, descending to the lower levels until you hit the familiar grey concrete floors. You passed by the full size pictures of players on the walls, and ignored the uncomfortable beat of your heart, until you stumbled around the corner to the locker room.

You lingered by the door, and swallowed painfully, before you emerged into the doorway. Roy sat by his cubby. He’d shrugged off his shirt and thrown it on the floor unceremoniously. His right knee was red and already bruising, as he attempted to make himself comfortable. It was no use, though, not alongside the tears in his eyes that were welled so full it was a miracle they hadn’t already dropped down his face.

You stepped into the room gently, and Roy jumped when he saw you. “No one’s allowed back here during a game,” he said bluntly, but the wobble of his words was enough to make your heart subtly crack.

“I won’t tell,” you said gently, trying to diffuse the tension as best as you could. Roy knew you weren’t going to leave, but when goosebumps hit his skin, he flinched further away from you.

“I told you, you have to get out,” he tried again. You only kept up your slow pace towards him. You weren’t going to back away from this, not when he needed you most.

Roy’s aversions to being social, to being emotional, to being vulnerable, scattered all over the floor before you. You ignored them, and continued placing one foot in front of the other, until his attempts to deter you heightened even further.

“I mean it– stay the fuck away from me!”

You stopped when he said that, but still stayed in place. Peering down at Roy softly, you flicked your gaze over his face gently. He looked wounded, in more ways than one. You knew this day would fucking suck for him, and wanted to be there for him desperately. As much as he’d yelled at you to leave, you knew that was the opposite of what he needed.

Slowly, you closed the gap between you. Instead of sitting beside him on the bench, you knelt to the floor before him. At this level, you were practically face to face, and Roy could easily see your intentions. Gently, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. Your fingers skimmed his jaw on the way, and his eyes stuttered shut at your touch. He leaned into it, and brought his hand up to cover your own softly.

You shuffled closer to him, placing yourself between his legs, as you leant upon his healthy leg. He let you, and urged you to do so, as he leant further down towards you. Roy’s breaths were shaking as he inhaled and exhaled, and a few tears fell from his closed eyes and splattered upon the concrete floor.

“I don’t know what to fucking say,” Roy croaked painfully, as he opened his eyes and landed his stare upon you.

You peered up at him thoughtfully, and swiped your thumb across his damp cheek, mopping up a few tears unintentionally. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Roy exhaled shakily once more, before he gently dropped his forehead onto your own. They bonked together almost clumsily, but you held each other in place for dear life. “Okay,” he said, trying to calm down. For a moment, he removed his forehead from yours and replaced it with a chaste kiss, just for a second. You shut your eyes as every hair on your body stood up on end, before he replaced his forehead back onto your own. “Thank you,” he said.

As roars sounded from outside, neither of you knew which direction the match had gone in. All you knew was that the other was breathing, and this was something new for both of you. After all this time, being close to Roy didn’t feel shocking, or abrupt, or anything of the sort– it felt normal. The two of you stayed close until his heart had calmed down, and the adrenaline in his body had disappeared enough for his knee to start fucking killing him.

You found an ice pack from the training room, and rushed back to his aid as soon as you could. Then, you sat next to him on the bench silently. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, and you draped your arm around him to fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck. Roy’s fingers traced your knuckles distractedly, and the two of you stayed like that until the unmistakable echoes of his teammates emerged from the corridor. You didn’t want to move away, neither did he.

As the season and your placement drew to a close, you knew that new things were out there. For you, for Roy, for the rest. Roy knew it too, as he contemplated his options after this injury, and this loss. All he had the energy to rationalise in those moments after the result were you related– would you still be near, would you still give him your time, would you still hold him this close?

As much as he felt your warmth, radiating from every pore and crevice and fingertip and the like, invigorating his flesh and bones and blood and everything that made him, him– he couldn’t help but wonder… would all of this fade alongside this change?

As you laughed alongside his teammates, after their relegation, and his fucked up knee, and Ted’s possible resignation, he found himself smiling about all the good you offered every single person in that room. But, it wasn’t entirely truthful. Roy was afraid. But, he put on a happy face. He held your hand when it felt right, and he let you lean into him during Ted’s post-match talk. He smelled your perfume in wafts and held himself back from looking you directly in the eye, from fear that he’d do something stupid and place his lips upon yours.

Roy Kent had often held himself back, but he didn’t want to do it with you. Not now, not after all the shit that had happened over the past nine months, and the fact that he’d become so used to your presence. But as he sat there, laughing through the pain with his team, and his coach, and you– he knew that want and circumstance were different things.

Sometimes you couldn’t help the way things turned out– and not even you, or Roy, or AFC Richmond, were immune to those sullen twists of fate.

CHAPTER NINE

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#roy kent x reader #ted lasso #roy kent x you #lightyaers #ff #fanfiction #brett goldstein #roy kent #x reader #second person #writeblr #take care fic #ao3 #angst and fluff #enemies to friends to lovers #romance #slow burn #reader insert #wattpad

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duchess-kyuupid · 1 year

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Can you do one where the twst boys are walking with Fem!reader to class or something and reader trips but instead of getting up they just lie there contemplating life and acting like everything is falling apart but they as just being dramatic for the hell of it-

Crack and fluff basically lol

It doesn't matter who just whoever you like writing the most! Thank you ❤️

Of course! I'm going to do three characters who I thought would fit the scenario the best <3 Thank you for being my first request dearie!

Ik it says fem!reader, but I didn't use any pronouns or anything so it can be read as gender neutral :)

~ Twst Men with an overdramatic Reader Falling Down~

[Ft. Rook, Idia, and Sebek]

Rook

- In a moment of weakness on your part, you had asked Rook to help tutor you in the basics of etiquette in this world. Namely, you were just curious about the differences between your world and theirs- for example you mentioned once in a passing comment that it was common curtesy to open doors for people, even strangers, if they were going to be coming in after you. You've even done so when you were walking into class with some people behind you, but all that resulted in was weird looks from your classmates. And not even a thank you! And I mean, it's not like you were expecting to get a thank you, but at the very least, those people could try acting a little more polite! You recounted this story to Rook and he laughed, saying that such a courtesy is not only seen as a lowly servant's job, but it's also the fact that everyone at NRC are mages, so most people will just open the door with magic. - Anyway, so that's how you ended up here, receiving a lecture from Rook about etiquette and the importance of being elegant and beautiful- even more than you already are, at least. - You've been here for hours now, and your initial curiosity has basically evaporated into boredom with a strong longing to just go back to Ramshackle and relax. But you knew there was no way you were going to be able to escape, not with a hunter like Rook keeping his eyes on you like a hawk. - "Ah, mon coeur, it appears as though you've stopped listening! Non, non, mon beauté, this simply mustn't do! Why don't we practice something a little bit more engaging? Some dance lessons shall do just fine, allez!" - And then suddenly you were dragged out of your comfy chair as Rook leads you to the middle of the room to start his lesson with you. He's clearly been enjoying this, with the big smile that hasn't left his face since you've walked in. - So, despite how tired you feel, you accept his proposal to dance. I mean, how could you say no to his face which smiles so brightly that it puts even the sun to shame? - But of course, you also didn't really have the heart to tell Rook that you've never danced before- at least not like this. This formal type of dancing, with Rook's hand settled on your waist and gently holding your other as you two sway to the non-existent music- you don't have very much experience with it, not at all. - So it was only natural that you got stuck staring at Rook's face, again not paying attention to the words that he was speaking about how to waltz elegantly. Your body followed his movements and words on instinct, like you were stuck in a trace just so that you could focus on the one thing that was most important right now: him. - Alas, all good things must come to an end. While you were busy shamelessly staring at Rook as he led your dance, you tripped over your feet and landed face first on the floor. ....Why are we here, just to suffer? - You made no movements to get up, if only to hide the embarrassment ridden on your face. - "Rook, I think this is the end for me...Tell my wife I love her," you made a fake coughing noise, "And delete my search history." - God, how did you even get here? Falling to the floor is literally the last thing you want your crush to see you doing, and yet here you were- your only salvation is to joke about it and hope that Rook doesn't think of you any less for your terrible dancing skills. - But as you were wallowing, Rook simply smiles and picks you up off of the floor with a chuckle. You stare at him in surprise at his strength, as he literally just treated you as if you were as light as a stick. -"Oh là, là, mon beauté! Your dancing skills are truly magnifique! Especially for a first time, I must say you glided through the floor like you were the epitome of dance!" He says as he inspects you for any injuries, making sure to dust off and straighten your clothes in the process. "Vraiment élégante! S'il te plaît, mon coeur, dance with me again!" - Honestly, if your face could get any redder, it would. This man is going to kill you one day if you don't get your pounding heart under control.

Idia

- It was one of those rare days in which Idia was forced to go to class in person, and the two of you were literally watching the clock and counting down the time for the lunch bell to ring. - As it so happens, there was a new, special event that was only going to go live for 24 hours, but the gacha pool only had a limited amount of units that were going to be released per server. - If you two didn't hurry, then everyone else was going to snag this thing and you two would be left with nothing! Nothing but crushed hopes and dreams after months of saving specifically for this day. - Of course, Idia lost his chance to get it in class when Professor took his phone and chewed him out for using it during his lecture, and you didn't have the game downloaded on your phone yet (you really only played it when you were hanging out with Idia in his dorm room, after all). But you were both determined to get it. - When the clock strikes 12, the two of you were going to bolt out of there and make a break for his dorm room to hopefully make it in time. Idia would have to get his phone back later, right now the surest bet would be at his dorm, where he keeps several different computers so that you can try to get the thing too. - 11:58.....11:59.... 12:00!!! - The bell rings and the race to his room begins! - Alas, neither of you could really straight up run there, because if you got stopped by a hall monitor or a teacher, then that would be the end. So you two decided that the best way to go about it was to speed-walk there. - Oh, but you had almost forgotten about how enormously tall Idia is. His version of a "speed-walk" is basically your sprinting pace. You'd never notice because most of the time he's slouching, but this man stands at (183 cm/6'), and his legs are just so ridiculously long that you couldn't help but to fall behind simply because you weren't running. - And Idia notices this too, so in an attempt to help you, he decides to pinch at a loose piece of your clothing (this was already going out of his comfort zone, so don't expect him to just outright initiate physical contact without asking) and drag you forward to meet his pace. - Unfortunately, he failed to think his plan entirely through, as his grip on your clothes were not very tight and you were not expecting to be dragged like that. To make matters worse, the halls were also getting crowded as people were making their way to the cafeteria. - Long story short, Idia lost his grip, and you tripped over, getting lost within the crowd of people at the same time. Idia stops to look behind him in surprise to see you getting swallowed into the mob with a terror-stricken face. - "Go, Idia! This is your chance!" you cry out with fake tears escaping your eyes, "You're gonna have to leave me behind, but don't worry, I'll catch up with you. I won't die here...." You give him a tearful thumbs up as the surrounding students calmly walk around you. - He salutes you with tears in his own eyes, "Your sacrifice will not be forgotten." And he turns around to start full-on sprinting towards his destination. - And you stay there on the floor for another second before chuckling when you come to a certain realization: - "I have now both literally and figuratively fallen for him now, haven't I?"

Sebek

- Sebek, being the gentleman that he is, has decided to walk you back to Ramshackle after learning about Malleus' fondness towards the human who calls him 'Hornton.' - Of course, this has become a regular occurrence for the two of you now. Sebek still walks with you under the guise of making sure that you're not a threat to Malleus, but that's only because he doesn't know how to admit that he's become fond of you too. - The two of you were joking around, generally enjoying each other's company on your walk back home, when all of a sudden you find yourself falling to the ground. - You honestly have no idea what had happened to get you here, but what you do know is that following the few seconds after, Sebek is already yelling at the top of his lungs and interrogating the surrounding students who were unlucky enough to have seen you fall over. - "YOU! DID YOU TRIP THEM ON PURPOSE?" - So you just stayed on the floor, pitying the poor people he began to yell at for basically no reason as you began debating with yourself on the purpose of life. - For the most part though, you were just waiting to see how long it would take Sebek to stop for a moment to realize that you were still on the floor. - Ironically enough, it was when he started interrogating some other people when the ones who he just chewed out came over to you to ask if you were alright and if you needed help standing back up. - "WHAT ARE YOU DOING SO CLOSE TO THEM?? BACK AWAY THIS INSTANT, HUMAN!" Sebek yells (when is he not yelling?), this time actually scaring off the people he was just accusing of tripping you. - "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" - "No, I think I must've broken my back falling for you." - "I'LL TAKE YOU TO THE INFIRMARY THIS INSTANT, AND THE ONES WHO DID THIS WILL NOT GET OFF LIGHTLY!" and just like that, your pick-up line is ignored as Sebek picks you up and begins to run over to the infirmary. Literally the only thing that you could think of now is the fact that, even if you weren't joking and you had actually broken your back, Sebek would probably have made it worse because this is definitely not the correct way to carry someone who's broken their back. In fact, you think, I don't think you're even supposed to pick them up in the first place. - Well, you wanted to tell Sebek that you were fine, that you were just messing with him when you said that. But at the same time, you kinda liked the feeling of having Sebek carrying you like this. It was rather comfy. - "Sebek, I have a first aid kit at Ramshackle that has some things that could help. It's closer than the infirmary, so let's just go there," you say, adjusting yourself so that you were more comfortable leaning against him. - He looks down at you and notices your peaceful-looking face- a face that does not say "help me I've just broken my back and I am in immense pain," and he finally takes a moment to think back on what you said earlier when he asked if you were alright. - With a dramatic gasp, his face flushes pink as he realizes what you had actually meant to say, and in his surprise, he accidentally lets you go too. - "Hey! Was that really necessary?" you pout as you fall to the ground, again, for the second time today. You look up from the ground to see his flustered face and you catch on that he finally figured out what you told him earlier. - "Sorry! You just caught me by surprise," Sebek states, his voice sounding quite meek in comparison to how it was earlier. - "You're going to have to make it up to me for dropping me like that, you know," you say, standing up and dusting yourself off lightly, "And my price is that you carry me back the rest of the way. That's the only way to make things even." - With a flushed face, Sebek nods and picks you up again, this time he became much more aware of how close he was holding you, but he noticed that, strangely enough, he didn't have any problems with it.

Just thinking about how many seagulls it would take to drown out the sound of Sebek's voice lol I'm thinking around 78, honestly

~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for being a little late with your ask! I was hoping to post this for Valentine's day but then work and college decided to drag me through the mud for a bit </3 Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

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