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ghostaholics · 8 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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laxxarian · 2 months

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Danny as a background npc of Tucker's and Sam's stream

It all started with Tucker and Sam having an idea to go live streaming to promote their beliefs like Sam with her eco-friendly stuff and her defense technique tidbits and Tucker's meat importance and also some tech tidbits.

Both streams were getting views, a whole lot to a point where the two were so popular that some haters would try and expose them, even tried to hack but is shamefully failed because for some reason, each time they tried to search about this Amity Park, their screens would glitch and the like. It's like the firewall is protecting all residents from the outside world which got the viewers questioning but Tucker and Sam didn't know anything about that, not even Danny who suddenly popped in on their stream.

slam12kki: WHOS THAT???

dragonobsessed_coffee: ....someone needs some explaining to do...just in case.

animalkingdom123: No

Bruce_W: Hey, the kid's look a lot like...

animalkingdom123: NO

blueM0nk3y: YES

Llupex0x: only one things that needs to check out

While the chat was booming, Sam and Tucker is in a collab this time and is in Danny's house when Danny first popped in and so is Jack and Maddie with some snacks, and seeing Jack's features and personality the chat went wild.

Llupex0x: lmao, nvm

viviran76: we're gonna hav to weyt

OPrtx: wats wrong wit u??

Everyone is thinking that Jack may be a cousin or something but the thing is, the Fentons are in no way related to Bruce at all. Sam and Tucker was confused but shrugged it off.

Anyways, continuing on, another collab was set again and this time, Danny popped in casually with an angry look, not noticing that Sam and Tucker was still live but the two didn't mind and had their focus shifted to Danny and Danny started complaining about ecto-acts and how he can't go a day without getting shot and hunted down by Skulker who wants his pelt.

The Batfam who watches this got concerned.

Then another collab was set outside and Danny was seen in the background with a strange belt on and he looks like he's being chased and beaten up, Danny wasn't just running, he was also fighting back and all. The one who is fighting him is Vlad who also has a strange belt on and is now using an ecto gun, but nobody knows that, what they do know is that the man is carrying a gun and is actively shooting it at Danny and Danny also has a gun with him and a bat.

Vlad and Danny exchanges blows, the JL are now concerned.

Sam and Tucker are just continuing their live cuz they thought it would be perfect if they could ask for help with this type of proof (they can't seem to find anyone to come help in their aid and was dismissed as kids prank)

Another collab was set up once more, and this time, Sam and Tucker wasn't shown. What it did show was Maddie and Jack trying to fight the men in white while Jazz tries to get Danny out of.... chains?? and Danny is also inside of a cage??? looks beaten up and bleeding.

Sam and Tucker was sending proof.

But that was in 1990's and the heroes and the viewers saw the video in 2020's already

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lesbaurinkos · 10 months

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its literally so sad that so many people in this world dont understand that riverdale is the show of all time ever. because cheryl blossom is the Most character of all fucking time and everyone in the entire universe should know about her and cherish her. shes clinically insane. she experiences female hysteria like no other. she is the most seen ive ever felt by a lesbian in television because she is just off her fucking rocker at all times and thats the best representation i could ask for. she constantly talks like shes possessed by a victorian ghost. she once WAS possessed by a victorian ghost (her ancestor, also a lesbian, because lesbianism is genetic like being a serial killer is). she was also haunted by the ghost of a triplet she thought she absorbed but didnt actually absorb in the womb possessing a porcelain doll and then when they went to the 50s that porcelain doll became a real boy. her having lesbian sex saved the world. she faked stigmata for clout while canonizing herself as the first living saint in order to take over the musical theater cult her mother had started around her dead twin brother as a christ figure and maple syrup as the blood of christ, but cheryl succeeded in taking over the cult because she and gay kevin wanted to sing songs. she’s also committed to ruining gay kevin’s life just for funsies most of the time. she lives in a creepy gothic mansion and goes about wearing flowing dressing gowns and carrying candelabras despite fully living in the 2020s (except for right now bc everyone got zapped to the 1950s) because her life is a gothic horror. she kept the taxidermed corpse of her dead twin in the basement for a while just for funsies because she is balls to the walls insane. when her uncle found said corpse he attacked her and her girlfriend accidentally killed him so the two of them plus her creepy haunted grandma decided to gaslight the man’s wife and child into thinking they had cannibalized him over thanksgiving dinner (it was awesome). also shes really good with a bow and arrow for funsies. shes one of the few characters on tv that actually says “im a lesbian” out loud. she has magical witch powers and can blow people up with her mind, literally, actually. once she got so fucking mad at a the leader of a different cult she had gotten roped into because he said that she couldn’t run for prom queen that she managed to deprogram herself basically overnight. for a while she was building her own version of the winchester mystery house due to being plagued by hysteria. shes an incredibly skilled artist who did forgery for a while. she can control bees with her mind. She’s The Queen Of The Bees. she had a collection of small witch girls in the splinter universe rivervale that were all dressed like rei from evangelion for no clear reason and went about performing ritualistic sacrifices in the woods. she’ll say shit like “my dear antoinette thou hast beguiled me” and “im cuckoo bananas for you, obvi” and “do you think these loubotins are too flashy for kombucha brewing?” with the same level of utter conviction. she is so, so haunted. she has suffered more than jesus. she is a girlboss she is a lunatic she is a war criminal and she is never going to die.

#and i love her so so much #riverdale #cheryl blossom the character that u are.... the people dont even KNOW. they dont know and they SHOULD because u are perfect #shes a vriska shes THE vriska of this day and age and so many more people in the world should experience her

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two-white-butterflies · 10 months

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to keep me warm | m33

Description: After disappearing from public view - you return beside the man that's stood by you.

Pairing: max verstappen/singer!reader

(TURKS AND CAICOS, 2020)

"Dear." Max called out to you with a bottle of wine in his right hand. It was your anniversary. "I'm here!" you replied from the kitchen, slowly wiping the remnants of butter and dough on your apron. "What are you baking?" he leaned on the counter - placing the bottle there.

You opened one of the drawers, handing him the tool that would unscrew the wine. "Chocolate cake - your favorite." you smiled. Despite being a full-grown adult, his tastes were only limited to what kids like. "Nice, I can't wait." he opened the wine.

"Our anniversary and a brand new song. We deserve to get drunk tonight." he reached for the wine-glass, filling it halfway. "Sure, Maxim." your smile deepened, mixing the batter with love as the main ingredient.

Y/N L/N Was Terrified to Return Back in the Spotlight (Extended)

Interviewer: A lot of your fans thought that the hiatus was gonna be permanent. Did you read the tweets or was it?

Y/N L/N: No. It was full on, block everything about me on the internet. I did have a private account but all the tags about me were blocked out because I didn't wanna deal with me.

Interviewer: The allegations were quite rough. Did that take a blow on your mental health?

Y/N L/N: Yes, actually - I went to therapy for a few months. I moved to Morocco and I met a wonderful man - and we both lived somewhere remote and nice.

Interviewer: A man? Who is he? Someone we might know?

Y/N L/N: [chuckles] You've watched him before. He's lovely - European and competitive. He's the subject of my song. Well - one of the subjects.

Interviewer: Can I get another hint?

Y/N L/N: You've interviewed his teammate before.

Interviewer: He works in sports! So NFL, Soccer? You know what I don't want to ask too much questions - your publicist scares me.

"My baby's fit like a daydream, walking with his head down - I'm the one he's walking to." Max couldn't help but hum the tune of your song while walking through the Austrian GP tracks. "What are you singing?" one of the camera-mans that were following him asked.

He froze in his tracks.

"Is this live?" he removed his headphones, knowing that your song was yet to be released. "Yeah, anything wrong?" the man turned off his camera and he could feel the hot heat rising.

"Nah, we're fine mate." he lied.

maxverstappen1: My girl 💪🏽 #YNWorld

712 comments 723,821 likes

YNSTAN: I told ya'll first 😎

ynworld: nice pic - maxverstappen1: 🤣

maxielstan: Max Rizzstappen

ynworld: #1 Racer

0 comments 1,283,208 likes

comments have been restricted.

#max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #f1 fics #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic

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murdrdocs · 5 months

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perv!wally clark bc now i can let these thoughts out and i know someone will listen

perv!wally who has sexual needs even while he’s dead. he used to struggle but the day he saw you walk into the school with your little short skirt and your thigh high stockings his struggles suddenly ended. the nights of having to pray that a horny high schooler would leave behind a playboy by accident turned into nights of imagining himself buried deep inside of you. perv!wally who sneaks into the girls locker room before and after your gym class to be able to catch even a peek of you undressing and changing into the shortest gym shorts known to man- not that he minds how short they are. wally clark the panty stealing ghost of the girls locker room because they’re not really gone, he just gets a copy to release into as much as we wants needs to

oh this is sick in all the right ways MDNI 18+

he's not even made aware of your existence on purpose. truthfully.

one day he's sitting outside since it's a beautiful day, watching the way the wind blows the leaves in the trees, hoping that someone drives by with their window down and plays a song he actually knows, and then he sees you. taking your time getting out of your car, slinging your bag over your back, walking into the school doors an entire period late. but that's not what interests him about you. many high schoolers have skipped first period.

what attracts wally is your outfit. it's halloween, the school has allowed costumes to an extent, and he'd been able to recognize some of the other ones. but yours seems familiar. it's on the tip of his tongue. and he decides thats what it's driving him crazy. not because he's insanely attracted to the tiny black pleated skirt, knee high sheer black socks, and the white button up you have tied to show your navel.

he follows you around school that day. only to jog his memory of what the costume is. and then he's in the cafeteria with charley, staring at your pigtails that bob as you excitedly talk with your friends, and charley offhandedly compliments you with a "britney spears. nice", and wally is far too excited about the reference. totally only about the reference and not because you happened to drop your phone right in front of him, bending down to get it without a second thought. besides, only the pillar would see your panties. right?

his obsession appreciation for you started then. and it never really stopped.

he followed you around that day, always pretending to simply be roaming around the halls he knows so well if one of the others caught him. he was just taking in what he could, maybe saving some images for the spank bank if he ran low on what he already had. but then, you happened to get dress coded during 4th period, and wally just happened to have followed you into the locker room to change, and he just happened catch a full look of the red lace panties he only caught a glimpse of earlier in the day.

and if he wasn't addicted before. he was then.

guilt starts to eat at him after the initial look of you stripped down to your intimates, so he sticks to watching you in the halls. just admiring the way the jeans of the 2020s hug your ass and the way your shirt hugs your tits. he promises himself that he won't be a complete weirdo anymore. but then you're scrolling through your hidden images through your phone, and wally has always had a problem with being nosy, so he just couldn't help staring over your shoulder. and if he hadn't seen the lewd images you had saved of yourself, then he wouldn't have started following you into the locker room again. honest!

but he ends up there anyway, sitting on one of the benches as you get naked and then redress, only to put on shorts that have only gotten smaller since his time at split river high.

it's like clockwork.

you have bio, you go to the locker room, you undress and redress, you participate, you come back to the locker room, you undress and redress, then you go to calc. and wally is there for it all. he ogles at your body. he watches you get just a little sweaty. then he follows you to calc where he stares at how pretty your face is when you're concentrating.

that's it. he's just visually appreciating. he's an appreciative person. but maybe a little bit too appreciative. because there's one day, just one lucky day, where you have to change panties. you're one of the only people left in the locker room, you and one of your friends who's lacing up her boots but wally has never cared about her. you pull out a pair of panties from your bag, you gnaw on your bottom lip, and wally is already salivating as he puts two and two together.

he gulps. he tries to avoid palming his cock already.

"turn around i have to change underwear," you tell your friend, who immediately does as told. and wally feels like maybe he actually has crossed over and this is his heaven.

because not only is he getting to see your bottom half completely bare, but you fling your panties onto the bench, right beside your backpack which is right beside wally. and he would be a complete idiot if he let this moment pass. the opportunity has practically landed in his lap.

so he reaches over, picks them up and stuffs them in his pocket, and enjoys the rest of the show. you tuck the used pair in your bag, slip your jeans back on along with your shoes, and then leave for calc.

but wally stays behind this time.

#celeste's chats #wally clark x reader #wally clark x you #wally clark smut #wally clark fluff #wally clark #school spirits #celeste writes misc

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scuderiasundays · 10 months

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time after time

summary: years of yearning ending in a fiery release 🧨 written with lennon stella's cover of "time after time" (one of my all-time favorites) on repeat!

words: 1315

a/n: those b/w milan photos gave me the final push i needed to get this out into the world! the first time i've written anything this long so i would appreciate any and all feedback 🫶🏼

September 2012

"I bet you could convince my mom to let me go." It was a picturesque night in Madrid as the words slipped out of his mouth. Gathered around a table adorned with colorful tapas, Carlos and his friends celebrated his and Y/N’s birthdays over Gambas al Ajillo and pints of Estrella Galicia. Sat across from Carlos was Y/N, his best friend who he had grown up alongside. The aspiring Formula 1 driver had been away for months, leaving behind his beloved hometown. Tonight, their tight-knit group had unanimously agreed to refrain from discussing anything related to motorsport, but Carlos couldn't help but come up with hypothetical situations that ended in successfully persuading his mother to allow him to race in Macau, a city an astonishing 10,497 kilometers away.

Would Y/N ever gather the strength to say no to those velvety brown eyes? The evening had quickly gone by, and Carlos and Y/N bid farewell to their friends, commencing their walk back to the Sainz residence. “Mama, look who I’ve brought home.” Reyes’ face lit up upon Y/N’s arrival at the front door. If ever a motherly instinct surged within Reyes, it was when she witnessed the two little ones growing up, sensing deep down they were destined to end up together. Reyes had been like a second mother to Y/N and had always gotten her a birthday gift of her choosing. “So, what shall it be this year?” Reyes beamed. “I want to use this year’s wish for Carlos, if that’s alright. He’s worked tirelessly this season and it would kill me if he didn’t get to race in Macau.”

“Carlitos put you up to this, no?” Reyes chuckled. Drawing Y/N into a warm embrace, she assured Y/N that Carlos could race at the Macau Grand Prix, so long as he stopped pressuring his best friend to speak on his behalf. To make up for her son’s foolishness, Reyes allowed Y/N to blow out the candles on the birthday cake she’d made for Carlos since she had virtually used up her birthday wish on him. Y/N closed her eyes, silently praying that this would be the year Carlos would come to his senses and realize she’s been madly in love with him this whole time.

July 2020

"You're not coming to Mallorca this summer?" Y/N could sense Carlos’ frustration seeping through the phone. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, of course she did. Summers in Mallorca were pure bliss. The refreshing gazpacho Reyes prepared, the laughter-filled board game sessions with Carlos' grandfather, and the exhilarating late-night padel matches with Carlos, Ana, and Blanca. There was cause for additional celebration this summer as Carlos had made it through the treacherous F1 silly season unscathed, securing a seat at McLaren. However, a mixture of the demands of residency and an unspoken truth kept Y/N from wanting to spend even a single moment with the man she had termed “Summer Carlos.”

Summer Carlos was carefree, bronzed, and exuded warmth. Summer Carlos was the Carlos who had drunkenly kissed her three summers ago, leaving her heartbroken when he acted as though nothing had happened the following day. The memory still stung, and Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready to face those emotions once again.

July 2022

Caco, Carlos' older cousin, had graciously invited Y/N to join them at the Silverstone Grand Prix. After managing to secure a weekend off from work, Y/N was euphoric escaping the sterile confines of the hospital. As she walked into the motorhome, a mix of emotions swirled within her. It had been months since she had last seen her best friend. Her job kept her tethered to the emergency room, while Formula 1 had taken Carlos across the globe.

The initial words that escaped Carlos' lips were, "You look pale, like you could use some Mallorcan sun." Y/N couldn't decipher whether he genuinely wanted her there or not. The uncertainty lingered, leaving her unsure of where they stood after all this time apart.

Eager to avoid being in anyone's way, especially Carlos', Y/N decided to take a stroll around the paddock. Lost in her thoughts, she ran into Lando, Carlos' former teammate, who recognized her immediately and approached with a friendly smile. "How've you been, Y/N? We miss you over at McLaren.” Y/N had tended to Lando after his Eau Rouge crash during qualifying in 2021, forging a close bond between them.

A faint smile appeared on Y/N's face as she replied, "Maybe I'll seek refuge at McLaren's hospitality this weekend since it seems like Carlos doesn't want me here." Lando chuckled in his characteristic way, the sound putting Y/N at ease. "You and I both know the man is terrible at expressing his feelings. He's probably just yearning for you because you've been too busy saving lives. Trust me," Lando reassured her. "I'm running late for a meeting, but I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

Y/N's mind was filled with curiosity, trying to make sense of Lando's words. Carlos pining for her? It seemed impossible, given their history and the distance that had grown between them. Yet, a flicker of hope ignited within her, and she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Carlos' aloofness than she had initially assumed.

Y/N's phone buzzed, and her heart skipped a beat as she read Carlos' message: "You and me in my driver's room now." Her hands shook as she knocked on the door, waiting for his response. "Come in," he replied, and as she entered, she couldn't help but notice how he made the fiery Ferrari red his own.

"You can't just waltz back into my life whenever you feel like it, Y/N. Race weekends are sacred to me, and you showing up out of nowhere is a distraction. It's not like you even care about me or my career anyways. When was the last time you watched a race, hmm? Dr. Y/N is always too busy at the hospital."

Y/N wouldn't allow Carlos to lash out at her like this, not after all the sacrifices she had made. Countless sleepless nights on call, choosing to stay awake to watch Carlos race in distant cities. Collecting every article featuring him since his karting days, carefully preserving them in a special scrapbook. Being there for him in his darkest moments, answering late-night calls when the pressure almost crushed him.

"You can't push me away that easily. We both know I've always been there for you, to the point where I didn’t even know who I truly was when you reached Formula 1 and left Madrid," Y/N said. "I only bury myself in my work to avoid facing the emptiness that hangs over the city when you’re not around."

Carlos felt a pang of pain as he witnessed his best friend break down in front of his eyes. Had he truly misunderstood everything all along? Y/N's words pierced through his heart. "I’m all yours. I always have been," she said, her tears dampening her sleeves.

In an attempt to console her, Carlos whispered softly, "Don't cry, princesa. Mama will kill me if she finds out I made you so upset."

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle through her tears. “Well, go out and win this race for me, and I'll promise not to snitch.”

“For you, anything,” he said.

“And for the first time in Formula 1, Carlos Sainz is victorious! He wins the British Grand Prix!” The electrifying announcement filled the air as Y/N ran from the garage to the podium. As Carlos emerged from the car, his eyes searched for one face in particular. With both hands, he gently caressed Y/N's face. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers, years of longing exploding in a passionate release. The two of them radiated a golden glow, as if destiny herself had brought them together, time after time.

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fic #f1 x you #carlos sainz fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz angst

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 2 months

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Dark Moon | Chapter One

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,3k

Warnings | +18, explicit language, kidnapping, yandere, use of a sleep-inducing substance (not specific which one), mentions of prostitution

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Here is the spin-off of Happy Ending, I hope you like the first chapter! 🥰 I would like to warn you, Jimin in this story will not be kind and soft like Jungkook from Happy Ending, he is very cruel and selfish, he is a hard yandere

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Next

2020.

Three years ago.

According to Kim Seokjin's rules, the choice of a whore was something very important. The girls chosen had to meet very specific requirements, such as not having anyone who would one day - following their disappearance - look for them. Seokjin did not want any trouble, and Jimin was not about to give him any. He took a long, deep drag from his cigarette, inhaling its bitter addiction, before blowing a thick, white cloud of smoke out the car window. He stretched his gloved hands over the steering wheel, waiting for the next move. Namjoon, at his side, checked that the situation outside was okay -nothing was moving in that neighborhood, not even the shadow of a stray cat - and this created the perfect moment. "Are you ready, Jimin?" asked the older man, beginning to prepare everything needed. The dark-haired boy's eyes sparkled, he nodded confidently as he adjusted his coat. One last glance at the clock and shortly after exactly 1 a.m. they got out of the car, long strides on the asphalt counted only by the ticking of their smart shoes. Seeing them, anyone would have said they were two well-to-do men about to attend an important event, except to glance at the squalor of the houses shrouded in darkness around them. Namjoon carried a dark briefcase in one hand; Jimin walked confidently beside him before turning into a small, narrow, grim alley.

"They have to stay here, don't they?" asked Namjoon, observing the crumbling building. "That's what they wrote," confirmed Jimin, finding the lobby door already wide open; it was a low-level Motel, it wouldn't take long. They found a guy half asleep behind the counter, the two exchanged a glance of understanding before Jimin approached the man in his forties striking him dryly in the back of the head, the latter only having a chance to let out a choked scream before passing out completely. "Thanks, man," sneered the boy, beginning to look up the names he was interested in in the register, along with the room number and corresponding key. He nodded to Namjoon when he had everything and they went up to the indicated floor. Jimin's alert and shrewd eyes immediately found what he was looking for, he pointed the door to his taller friend and together they opened it, they found the lights off, but they were trained to see even in the dark so they went straight to the two beds in the middle of the old and stale room, it was clear that such a Motel could not have all the comforts and amenities with what little they paid, there were not even cameras, it was an unsuitable and unsafe place for young girls like those asleep in those beds, Jimin thought with a grin.

Namjoon set the briefcase down on the floor, retrieving ready-made syringes from it, handed one to his friend and headed for one of the beds, Jimin chose for himself the one near the window and as the filtering neon sign light increasingly put the young girl's sleeping face on display, he inspected the young girl's face carefully, drinking in the sight of her softly parted lips and the warm breath rhythmically lowering and raising her chest. He lowered himself slightly to her neck, cautiously inhaling the light scent of roses emanating from her inviting skin. Namjoon, meanwhile, had already finished gently injecting the pinkish liquid into the other girl's arm, the substance would send her to sleep for a few hours, and Jimin should have hurried to do the same, too bad that he was merely gazing longingly at the woman, completely rapt. Namjoon noticed this and with a shade of reproach in his voice, called him to his senses. "Jimin, get a move on! Don't let your cock harden just now," he scolded him in a low, irritated tone. The young man puffed slightly, before uncorking the loaded syringe, unfortunately not accounting for the girl's light sleep, who squinted her eyelids as if disturbed by the presence looming over her with the eyes of a hawk.

She thought she was dreaming, but the figure of Jimin took a distinct and material form in her field of vision, which at first glance left her speechless.

Then a shrill scream left her throat, she tried to pull away, but Jimin was immediately on her, trying to block her, Namjoon caught up with an expletive clenched between his teeth and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, pushing her against the bed, the latter only in time to kick like a horse, managing to hit Jimin at jaw level, which pissed him off in no small measure, without any kindness or regard he stuck the needle of the syringe on her exposed thigh thanks to her pajama shorts, it penetrated the skin like butter and the girl stiffened screaming in pain, she fainted from shock without needing to wait for the injection to take effect. Namjoon let go a sigh before staring furiously at Jimin, who was touching the affected area with glacial eyes fixed on his victim. "What the fuck has gotten into you! Did you have to give her time to wake up?" he hissed, his silver hair glowing with the neon light outside, and Jimin gritted his teeth at the saintly appearance he was displaying at that moment. "I didn't think she'd wake up so easily, okay?" he blurted out, before pulling the girl's body to himself without any care, Namjoon shook his head before retrieving the other one more gently, the one had been good the whole time and he hoped the other Motel patrons hadn't heard the screams.

They should have moved in complete silence inconspicuously, but Jimin did not know what silence was, evidently. They went out with a placid step, from the other doors they heard absolutely nothing. Perhaps they were not occupied rooms, or most likely no one wanted to risk their skin to go and see what had happened to the girls, it was still a bad neighborhood that one. Jimin held the unconscious body rigidly in his arms, full of lividity. When he had watched her sleep he had called her a tender little angel in his head, well he was wrong, and very wrong, too. The bitch squealed like a goose and he would have loved to stretch her neck, which Namjoon wouldn't let him do anyway, they served without the slightest bruise to the Dark Moon. They arrived at the car without further trouble, even the road had remained deserted, and loaded the bodies into the back seats. "Let's get out of here before something else happens," muttered the friend, Jimin huffed annoyed, getting back into the driver's seat. "You're making it too tragic, no one heard us," he said, earning an angry look. "Because it was a sleazy Motel, you make all that noise in a normal house and see if no one hears you."

Jimin waved a hand, as if to say that he didn't give a shit about Namjoon's worries, bit his own lower lip piercing as he drove taking semi unfamiliar roads to leave no trace of himself. It would not happen again, after all. Yes, it hardly ever happened that he got a hard cock in the middle of a kidnapping on behalf of the Dark Moon, that had been new for him as well. He cast a glance at the other girl as well, but she said absolutely nothing to him, his body seemed to be attracted to the bitch who had kicked him, this made him even more irritated. "Should we take them to the warehouse?" The warehouse was an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, they used it to hide their equipment, but also often to torture and kill, or as in this case, keep the goods cool just long enough to make decisions about them, it was convenient and practical. "Yes, Jungkook said that Seokjin will lose time at the Dark Moon, there have been clients giving the girls trouble and he is cutting some names off the list," Namjoon replied, reading their maknae's messages. Jimin nodded, taking the last descent of that country road that would lead them straight to the warehouse.

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carolmunson · 1 year

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baby, as if (part 1)

recommended listening: as if - blaque (2000) summary: your on and off again situationship just so happens to be the tri-state area's friendly neighborhood drug dealer. the robinhood of the the neighborhood. and you couldn't be any more toxic with each other. does the playboy know how to play nice when you start seeing someone new? dark!modern!drugdealer!fboy!eddie (but when i say modern i mean anywhere between the 2010s and 2020s. everyone is in their late twenties in this fic tho. except reefer rick.)

WARNING: 21+, minors DNI. this is a DARK piece of fanfiction. if you are sensitive to topics regarding threats of violence, references to abuse, active fighting between a couple, severely toxic relationships, manipulation, coercion, depictions of violence, drug use, alcohol use, potential gun violence, controlling behavior, blatant endangerment, threats of financial abuse, harsh name calling, and anything regarding genuine bad relationship content i would not recommend reading this work. this is not like my sadist!eddie fictions -- reader and eddie are NOT in a healthy relationship -- he is NOT A GOOD GUY in this. this fic does NOT contain non-con or dub-con. DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT on all warnings tho.

Two Months Ago

The screaming had both of your throats hoarse. Yelling from inside the club to the walk to the Camaro. The bouncers were so used to it by now that they just rolled their eyes. Not that they'd bother concerning themselves with the man whose always slipping them fifties so they'll let his friends in.

"You think I give A FUCK about you?! You think I -- HEY! HEY! GET IN THE FUCKIN' CAR. I'm talkin' to you!" "FUCK OFF! 'Get in the fuckin' car' -- fuck you, don't tell me what the fuck to do," you half yell while you click through the parking lot passed the car that's just roared to life.

He barrels around the hood, grill blowing smoke in the cold air from the heat. The parking lot is wet and your heels aren’t doing you any favors while you stumble over to the asphalt to call a cab. He growls when he gets to you with a grip so tight on your bicep that you yelp.

“Always out here fuckin’ embarrassing me,” he grumbles while he drags you toward the passengers seat of of the open car, “You drunk bitch.”

“You’re drunk,” you mumble, crossing your arms while he slams the door behind you. He takes his keys out while he walks around the front, falling into the deep bucket driver's seat. When he puts the key in and the engine revs loud, you groan. He revs it again just to fuck with you.

"Can you just fucking drive?" you shrill, "God, who're you trying to fucking impress out here?"

He pulls out of his spot and squeals out of the lot onto the street, immediately seething, "Who am I try'na impress? Me?"

"Alright, heeeere we go," you roll your eyes, street lights catching in your vision -- there and gone and there and gone. It's like they go all the way back to your brain. The lights spin with you.

He presses on the gas when you make it on the highway, speeding dangerously when he gets his hand on the clutch. He swerves between cars, one hand gripping the wheel, the other sits on his thigh. His brows are knitted together in a scowl.

"Don't you pull that 'here we go' shit, you always gotta fucking START somethin'," his free hand slaps down on the center console and the sound makes you jump, "Can't you ever shut the fuck up? Huh?"

You grin, it's the tequila -- it always made you a little excited for a fight, "Ooh, look how mad you are. You don't give a fuck about me right? RIGHT?! So what're you mad for?! What're you mad for?"

"Ooh-hoo-hoo, you piss me the fuck off. See what fuckin' happens if you keep runnin' your mouth," he grumbles, eyes getting dark. He reaches into his leather jacket pocket at a red light, pouring a bump of coke out on the back of his thumb. He snorts it loud because he knows you hate the sound of it.

"If you don't give a fuck then why are you so mad I danced with that guy? You were pretty busy with Jess and Shauna in the back room so why'd you make me leave the club?" you ask, taking the baggie out of his hand. He snatches it back roughly.

"Cause you looked stupid," he says like it's obvious, pressing on the gas again, "Like some dumb easy slut, all fucking over him. And when you look stupid, you make me look stupid. I don't fucking like that, I don't need people to think I keep bitches like that around me. You're so fuckin' sloppy."

"Oh, so lines off a stripper's tits doesn't make you look stupid?" you jeer, "Throwin' ones doesn't make you look stupid?"

He turns to look at you, "You're so dumb. How's throwing ones gonna make me look stupid?"

"You know what? You're right. It doesn't make you look stupid."

He huffs out of his nose, eyes rolling, an angry smirk flashing his teeth in the streetlights. You take a second, smiling at your reflection in the windsheild.

"It makes you look broke."

“Oh, I’m broke? I’m fuckin’ — " he speeds so fast your head hits the headrest, “I’m fucking broke? Who bought the heels you got on? I’m fucking broke?”

“I don’t ask for shit from you, you’re a fucking bum!” you yell back, “You’re such a fucking bum.”

“You want me to get your fuckin’ phone shut off? I’m a bum but I’m paying for your fuckin’ phone?” he yells back, swerving as he peels down the back roads towards Hawkins.

“Oh shut the fuck up, you f—”

“How’re you gonna pay for it, huh? Tips at the fuckin' diner aren't cuttin' it — should I start sellin' those videos you send me?”

Possessed, your hand comes out to smack him hard upside the head while he turns down the street, coming to a stop at a light, “Why do you always gotta say some dumb shit?”

You shove him, hands coming at him to to it again but he grabs your wrist in a bruising grip, "You think that's smart? What happened the last time you put your hands on me, huh?"

He shakes you by the wrist, eyes flashing erratically, "Huh?!"

"Want me to break your wrist again?" he challenges, fingers wrapping tighter, cutting off the circulation to your hand.

You get quiet, still fuming, but his hold on your wrist is starting to throb. You shake your head 'no'.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he huffs, shoving your arm back at you while the light turns, "So shut the fuck up."

You both stay silent after the threat, he slows down when he gets into Hawkins, leaning back in his seat and chewing at a hang nail on his thumb. The steady thrum of the music in his car and the liquor in your body take over and before you know it, the liquor wins. Eye drifting closed with every streetlight you pass.

Your eyes open with a start, stomach lurching while you fumble for the door handle in the car. You heave out of the crack in the door, murky hot liquid pouring out of you with each wretch. You take a deep breath through your nose when you're done and rub your eyes. It was still dark out, the lights in Eddie's trailer were on.

You reach for your phone in your purse by your feet, eyes bleary when you click it on to see your lock screen.

4:37 AM

You groan -- you were dragged out of left the club at 2, there's no way it took almost three hours to get home. It was only 45 minutes away.

So he just fucking left me in here?

You get out of the car, slamming the door so hard that you were disappointed it didn't shatter the window. You take off your heels on the stairs to the door of his trailer, feet hitting the wet grass -- it centers you for a moment. The chill in the air hits you and you shiver -- you're dehydrated and tired, but puking knocks your hangover right out of you. Maybe you could get him to just drive you home so you could get some sleep before your shift at 3.

The door is unlocked which is unusual but what you walk into isn't. He's making out with the neck of some girl who lives a few trailers down, her hips grinding against the kitchen counter she's propped up on, his ringed hand gripping her bare tits with her tank top pulled under them. He's changed into a pair of black sweatpants, tattoos dark against his pale chest and arms, his other hand teasing her over her pajama shorts. Her breathy moans ring in your ears and you let out a sigh. Of course.

You put your phone, purse, and heels on the kitchen table -- clearing your throat to get their attention. The girls face snaps to attention, red as a tomato when she sees you there with your arms crossed.

"What the--" Eddie starts when she pushes him away from her, hastily covering her chest and pulling up her tank.

"What the fuck? Who is this?!" she shrills, hopping off the counter and reaching for her white puffer coat on the table.

"I don't fucking know Trista, can you calm the fuck down?" he lies through his teeth like he was born to do it.

"You're such a fucking asshole, Ed," she barks, "See if I come here at 4 in the morning anymore. You fucking dick." Trista slips on her knock off Uggs and wrenches open the trailer door, slamming it behind her. You stifle a giggle as he turns to you, eyes angry.

"Look what you did," he huffs, "Always gotta ruin shit for everybody."

"Are you fucking with me right now?" you ask, eyes wide, "You just left me in the fucking car?! Was I supposed to just walk at 4 in the morning?"

"Your phone works, you could've called an Uber and gone the fuck home," he snaps, grabbing a half empty Fiji water bottle from the fridge, "I told Trista she could come over and now you fucked up her whole night."

"Her whole night, or are you mad you didn't get your dick wet?" you tease, "Looks like you're just pissed you didn't get to hit."

He reaches into his sweatpants pocket, opening his phone up to a text, looking at the screen while he speaks to you, "Why did Rick tell me you gave that guy your number?"

"Again," you start, "And I'll speak slowly, since I know how hard it was for you to graduate high school -- Why. The fuck. Do you care?"

"Because he knows you fuck around with me and my friends," he steps to you like you're his prey, "You don't know him, he might be working for someone else."

You step backwards, used to this kind of waltz, doing anything you can to not get trapped between him and a wall. It always ends badly for the wall. Sometimes it ends badly for you.

"He might be trying to get to me or Rick, or anyone else. And since you're always on Instragram posting where the fuck you're at, it'll be pretty easy for him to find us," he warns. Sometimes every sentence he said to you felt like an insult, but that's how you learned to be just as bad.

"Trying to find you? Who are you?" you laugh, dodging when his hand reaches out to grab you, "You swear you're special. You deal drugs in Indiana. You're barely moving big shit here."

"You love to fucking lie, don't you?" he asks, finally catching you roughly by the jaw, "You love just saying shit. You're always tryin' to piss me off."

"Don't fucking touch me," you hiss, smacking his hand away from you. He catches you again by the wrist and in the light you can see the bruises starting to surface from when he grabbed you in the car. You yelp again when he closes his tattooed fingers around you, re-awakening the pain.

"What did I say in the car? About you putting your hands on me?" he pulls you towards him so you're chest to chest, peering down at you with bloodshot eyes.

You're able to pull out of this grip, shoving past him to get your stuff off the table, clicking your phone on again, "Well he didn't even text me so, I don't know what you're so mad about."

"I know he didn't 'cause Rick and the guys made him delete all your shit from his phone," he says, leaning against the counter.

"Seriously?" you huff, turning back around, heels in hand, "What's fucking wrong with you? You're always doing this shit. I can't fuck around with any of the guys I know, I can't fuck around with guys I meet anywhere else -- you don't want me, so why don't I get to do anything?"

"What was his name?" Ed asks, crossing his arms, "The guy you gave your number to. What was his name? If you can tell me, we'll go find him and I'll let you put your number back in his phone. Fuck it, I'll put your number back in his phone." You click your tongue, crossing your arms with an eye roll, "Fuck off, Ed."

"Exactly," he responds, "You just wanted to act like a slut at the club. Don't even care who it is as long as you're gettin' some attention."

"Okay?" you shrug, "And how're you better? You were about to be balls deep in Trista for what?"

"Cause I wanted to fuck. Are you serious?" he laughs.

"You don't even know her last name."

"Oh I don't? Trista Katradowski? 24 years old in her last year of nursing school? Moved here in 2011 with her mama and little brother Trey? Daddy's in jail in Jacksonville?" he takes a careful step closer to you with every word until he's caging you in against the table, leaning in close enough that you can smell the liquor on his breath, his skin mixed with his cologne, "What is it? You jealous?"

His lips linger over yours for a moment, noses brushing, his bangs graze your eyebrows, "Wouldn't've let her come over if you didn't pass out."

"You shouldn't of just left me in the car," you mumble, avoiding eye contact with him. If you look at him you'll let him fuck you, and you're stronger than that now, "Someone coulda--"

"Coulda what? Broken into the Camaro?" he asks, letting his hand find your waist, "I think everyone over here knows better than to mess around with my stuff, right?"

He waits a moment to continue, voice softening into something gentle. He nuzzles against your cheek, "C'mon, did you really think I'd let someone hurt you? Have I ever?"

"Stop," you whine. It's hard when he starts to talk sweet to you. He's like a magnet. He smiles so pretty, he has such a way of making it feel like you're the only person he's like this with. You duck out under his hold and walk to the bathroom, rinsing your mouth out with whatever mouthwash he had left over in the medicine cabinet.

"C'mon," he whispers softly, lips dragging over your shoulder. He presses his hips against you, pinning you between him and the sink, "Stop acting like you don't want it. Lemme make you feel good." "I'm about to take a shower," you mumble, shaking him off -- like you weren't both just screaming at eachother. He looks at you in the mirror, brows knitting together, his jaw clenches.

"I need to shower, too," he murmurs, kissing your ear, "Don't make me waste all that extra hot water."

"You're not showering with me," your voice raises slightly, trying to ignore how good his lips feel when they ghost over the back of your neck. His hands find the hem of your dress, the stretchy fabric smoothing over your hips while he starts to take it off. "Don't be like that. Not after you made Trista leave. S'not fair," he says. His fingertips trail over the front of your thighs, the outsides of your hips before his big hands smooth over your waist and tummy. He pushes the dress further up over the swell of your breasts, bra tight over them. You let him take your dress off for you, sighing when he does.

The soft glow of the early morning starts to peak through the window, that dark blue to light blue to orange. His lips are pillowy, pressing against your shoulder again while his hands roam your chest over the cup of your bra. He bought it for you.

"C'mon, bend over," he urges again, you can feel how hard he is against your thigh. And fuck, you want to. You want him to make you feel good, he's the only one who knows how -- he made sure of that. You want to but you shouldn't, you don't need to. He's so bad for you. You're bad for each other. It always goes like this. He'll fuck you and treat you sweet after you fight for a few days or weeks, and then he'll forget you exist for however long until he wants it again. Not you. Whatever 'it' is you have with each other. This give and take, push and pull. Never close enough but definitely close enough. It hurts worse every time.

"I'm not doing this with you again," you shove him off and he sighs an angry sigh before pulling off his sweatpants and opening the glass door behind him. You hear the water turn on and groan.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you ask, "I just told you I was--"

"Don't you got a shower at home?" he asks, "Bye."

"You're fucking annoying," you growl, slamming on the frosted glass.

"You can get in with me, or you can leave," he says, "I don't give a fuck what you do."

You know he really doesn't.

You slip off your bra and underwear, angry at the throbbing between your legs winning over your brain for the millionth time. You open the door, spice scented steam hitting your face and seeing his with a soft smile on it.

"C'mere," he mumbles, pulling you forward against his soapy skin. Why did he have to smell so good? Look so good?

"We're not fucking," you declare, standing in the spray of the water. He nods still covered in lather, finger reaching out to brush over the fingertip shaped bruises on your bicep from when he pulled you over to the car earlier. He tuts to himself, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, letting his hand fall back to your waist. Your heart hammers at the word, even more so when he pulls you in close against him. He hums low in his chest when you lean your cheek on his tattooed chest, hand coming up to smooth your hair off your face.

"You only call me that when you want something," you murmur, eyes closing while his fingers trail down your back with the water. You're the only person he calls 'baby' like that, and even then it's far and few between. It's his secret weapon, his silver tongued magic spell -- you get so pliant, so dizzy. So wanted. So claimed.

"You're already givin' me what I want," he says softly, "Look how sweet you get f'me. You get so nice."

His fingers slide between the two of you, you're half expecting him to take care of his hard on but instead he slips his first and second finger between your legs. You sigh into the feeling, reaching for his shoulder. He looks down at you with a merciless grin.

"Such a dirty girl, aren't you?" he teases, voice sliding down from soft to salaicious.

"Yeah," you breathe out, face melting while he keeps a perfect pace on your clit.

He mocklingly matches your expression, voice lilting, "Yeah? That feel good?"

"Yeah, it feels good," you whine back through gritted teeth, already close from how he teases you. Your thighs shake around his wrist when the pleasure starts to build in waves in your lower belly. "You want me to use my tongue? Taste you?" he asks, a little hitch in your breath answers for him. He likes asking you so plainly 'cause that little blush you get drives him insane. He smiles dipping down to your neck, tongue striping up to catch the water dripping down it onto your collar bone, "Yeah? You want me to lick it?"

"Please," you beg, eyes rolling when his other hand slides between your legs from behind, massaging over your entrance. So fucking wet, he mumbles to himself. He takes his hands away, kissing slowly down your front while turning you over. He doesn't have to ask you to bend forward, your body does it on instinct -- pressing your face up against the tile wall, holding onto the inlet soap dish for some support. He bites the back of your thigh when he gets to his knees, hard enough for you to hiss. He groans when you do, taking a wet hand and smacking your ass hard before gripping both cheeks in his hands. You feel him push them apart, thumbs separating your lips with a slick click, tongue laving over your exposed pussy.

"Ohmigod," you gasp, "Oh that's--Oh fuck." "Mmm, yeah?" he moans into you, eyes closing when he pushes himself deeper against you, forehead pressed against your ass. You can hear the flick of his tongue against your folds, gliding through wetness. Your eyes close, legs starting to quake as he creeps further forward.

"Open up, princess," he murmurs against your thigh, "Gonna cum on my tongue, huh?"

You open your legs but he doesn't go to your clit like you expected, he stays slipping over your folds and back down to your opening, wet muscles fighting each other before easing in one finger. You let out a shaky breath as he breaches your walls, hips bouncing back against the digit. You don't see it, but he smirks at how easy it was to get you like this. He tongue ventures further back, letting his other hand spread one of your ass cheeks where he stripes over your tight hole. He grins at the sound you make, he knows how dirty it makes you feel to like when he does that. But you get so wet when he works his tongue there, getting you nice and relaxed while your cunt pulses around his finger.

"You like that?" he asks, teeth grazing the fat there. Your hips pushing back against his mouth answers enough, your hand reaching back to rake against his wet curls. He obliges happily, a second finger slipping between your legs while your moans mix with the thrum of the water hitting the shower floor.

"Turn around," he suggests, guiding your hips so your back is against the wall. He puts a leg over his shoulder to get better access to you, mouth latching to your clit the moment he can reach it. He looks up at you, brown eyes eager for you to come undone -- but he's not looking at you lovingly. He's challenging you, and himself, to see how fast he can get you to do it. You start to shake when his tongue flutters at the same time his fingers curl to press against your g-spot.

"Fuck, fuck, Ed -- m'comingm'comingm'coming --" you moan out, little squeals coming out of you while he eats you through it, taking his fingers out and collecting your cum in his mouth. He stands up quickly, pressing you up against the wall with his body, his big ringed hand reaching down to wrap one of your legs around his waist. Eddie eases in slow, watching your eyes roll back when he presses in to the hilt, holding in there for a moment so you really feel him. He takes a shaky breath when he starts to thrust into you, a barely audible ah shit, so tight coming out from the back of his throat.

He presses his forehead against yours, deep breaths puffing against your closed eyes while he pumps slowly into you, "You like feeling me like this? Nice and slow?"

You nod against him, unable to talk with how deep he's hitting. His hand cups your jaw, guiding you to look up at him. Your noses brush but you know he won't kiss you, he never does, he hasn't in a long time.

His thumb traces over your lower lip, pulling it down and then letting it go. His thrusts pick up when you make eye contact, his eyes are dark, locked on yours. Eddie's hand hoists your thigh up against his hip a little higher, using that leverage to get deeper inside you.

"Oh fuck, you feel so fucking good," he huffs, face dropping to your neck. You cry out when he pulls your skin between his teeth, sucking and biting at you, leaving marks that everyone will see at work later. Everyone will know who left them. He makes them impossible to cover up, "Thought about this pretty pussy all night."

The head waitress, Sandra, will ask why you 'keep seein' that boy', Phil in the kitchen will shake his head at you -- asking why you won't go on a date with his son. 'Atleast he's got a respectable job!'

But if it wasn't for Eddie, the diner would still have broken windows from when it was robbed last year. If it wasn't for Eddie -- the diner would probably would have closed entirely.

"Ed, I'm gonna -- oh, like that -- M'gonna cum," you gasp, gripping his shoulder. He doesn’t speed up, he knows better, he keeps the same solid steady pace — a touch rougher than before.

“Look at me when you cum,” he mutters, “Wanna watch you.”

“Eddie please,” you whine, eyes shining when they meet his. He holds your head in place by your jaw, leering over you while you babble, “OhmyfuckingGod, ohmygod Eddie — Ed, oh —“

“That’s it, say my name,” he grunts, breaking into a smile, "Gettin' me close, talkin' like that." He feels you pulse and gush hard around him, thumb getting back to your lips where you take it into your mouth obediently -- leaving him to chase his own orgasm. Every whimper out of your mouth makes his cock twitch 'cause he knows he's got you feeling good. Every clench around him is another orgasm won -- he wanted to wear you out, watch you need to hold on to him to get out of the shower. Make you immediately text your friends about how you let him fuck you again but it was 'sooo good' so it's fine.

White heat hits his belly and he pulls out, pumping himself a few times before spurts of cum paint your tummy and thighs.

"Shit, shit -- fuck, baby, that -- shiiit that's so good," he breathes out. He leans against the wall opposite down while he comes down, reaching for his shampoo, continuing to shower like he didn't just blow your mind.

You shake a little while you open the shower door to get a fresh wash cloth from under the sink, sighing when the hot water hits you again. You lather up with his soap, you'll smell like him all day now -- it's like he plans it. Like he does it on purpose.

You don't speak for the rest of the shower, just in bodies. You both stood there in the water for a little after you were both done washing your hair. Hands traveling, lips gliding, but never against eachother's. You know better than to ask if you can just sleep here.

He grabs you a towel and watches you dry off, remnants of him scattered on your skin in shades of lilac and magenta, faded yellows and taupes. You wince when you run your fingers over the hickeys he left you, examining them in the mirror. He leaves you to get dressed alone, walking into his room to tug on a pair of jeans, slipping on an old t-shirt and a black hoodie to slip his leather jacket over.

You both appear in the hallway at the same time, back in your dress from the club with your heels in your hand.

"Don't wear those heels out anymore," he says, eyes lingering on the stilletto point of the heel.

"You bought them for me," you say, looking at the ground.

"Okay, and?" he responds, grabbing his keys when you both walk into the kitchen. You grab your purse and your phone, seeing a couple of notifications but he puts his hand to your cheek before you can read them.

"Hey," he says, "Look'it me."

You look up at him, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth while he speaks.

"You gonna wear them out again?" he asks softly.

"No," you respond, still spacey from your orgasms, "I can throw them out."

"Don't do that, baby," he laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek near your ear, "They can be just for me."

Everything always is anyway.

He yawns at a red light on the ride back to your apartment, driving much slower and level headed now. The sun was starting to rise over Hawkins, pink and soft -- cotton candy skies after a bitter pill night. You ached between your legs, your wrist throbbed, but your heart was swollen with the sound of him saying 'Baby, baby, baby,' over and over again.

"You want a coffee?" he asks softly, pulling into a drive thru.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you answer.

"Whad'dyou want?"

"Just a small hot coffee with milk," you mumble.

"You gotta speak up," he says, tapping his head back on the head rest while he rolls up to the speaker.

"Just a small hot coffee with milk and sugar," you say a little louder. He leans forward to order, getting himself a black coffee. He pulls around and his free hand finds your thigh while you wait. The touch makes you hold your breath, he squeezes and then soothes, the rings feeling colder from the lack of heat in the car. He passes you your coffee and then puts his in the cup holder.

"Just Venmo me three bucks," he says, pulling out from the window and back onto the road.

"Pfft," you huff. Three fucking dollars? You reach into your purse and take out a folded up five and put it on the center console.

"Keep the change," you spit out.

"You wanna get out and walk?" he asks, shoulders tensing.

"You couldn't cover a three dollar coffee?" you ask back, eyes narrowing. His head turns to you, knowing the streets so well he barely has to look at them.

"Thought I was broke? Isn't that what you said?" he smirks when your jaw clenches. He grabs the fiver and tucks it into his pocket, turning up the stereo -- part way through Metallica's 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'. You put your phone in the cup holder while you drink your coffee, a fatigue headache building behind your eyes with every tree you pass.

"Tired?" he asks. You just nod, forehead pressing against the cool window.

"Me too," he mutters, followed by another big yawn. The Camaro turns down your street, stopping in front of the two-family home you live on the second floor of. A small one bedroom, but by the grace of God you made enough at the diner to pay for it. Your mom still lived in your childhood home on the other side of town with your little brother. A small one family with dirt cheap rent that she still couldn’t afford since your dad died three years ago. Eddie paid your mama’s rent, too.

Your daddy was the manager at the auto shop and your mama cut hair out of your kitchen -- still does. Eddie started working with your dad when he got out of high school and treated him like a son. He’d always talk about how it was great practice for when your brother got older since he was such a handful. Outside of Eddie’s uncle, your parents were some of the few adults to really care for him. They were able to see him for his talents instead of his setbacks. They never even judged him for selling drugs (‘You gotta do what you gotta do,’ they’d say, ‘He was dealt a rough hand, he’s just making the most of what he does best.'). He’d spend a lot of time at your house, come to family game nights when Wayne was at the plant. Your dad would do all the older father and son stuff he couldn’t do with your brother yet. They’d invite his uncle, too.

But when your daddy died of a heart attack, your family didn't really know what to do. Things had always been 'almost comfortable' with finances, some months going better than others. Money went from almost comfortable to 'What're we gonna do?' very quickly. Eddie had taken care of the funeral costs, now at a level with Rick that he was moving bricks out of state. He was bordering on being a main supplier for parts of Michigan and Ohio, every cop on the way paid off with women and pills. Every cop paid off with money and a threat.

Once he was able to get Wayne set up with his own place and Eddie took over the trailer, he started paying for your mom. At first he did it anonymously, he didn't want your mom to feel like he didn't think she could do it on her own -- it's just that she shouldn't have to. Eddie felt like he owed it to your family, especially your little brother, to take care of the people who took care of him. In fact, sometimes it seemed like Eddie was a bigger pillar in your family than you were. In the whole town really. He'd sort of become the Robin Hood of Hawkins in his own way, always showing up for people who needed it more -- whether it was legal or not. Down to helping the owner at the corner store after it got robbed and he was beat up.

The cops never found the guy who did it, but Eddie had. The new cross tattoo on his knuckles three days later was an easy tell. A new cross for every body he'd caught.

Eddie turned the car off when he pulled up in front of the house and you tossed him a look, "You coming up?"

"I'm tired," he repeated, "Lemme come lay with you."

"Ed..." you started, but he was already getting out of the car. He was doing it again, building you up, up, up, just to toss you when he was bored. A pattern he loved to sew, the one you could never break -- because when he picked you it felt so good. He finally fucking chose you. You were important for at least a day, a few hours, thirty minutes. But when he was done...that's what you were trying to avoid. The ache. The wondering what you did wrong. The arguments later. You follow him out and he opens your door with the spare keys he has to your apartment. Sometimes a little terrifying to know you might not always be totally alone.

"You coming?" he asks while you answer a text at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, one sec," you whisper, waving him off. You hear him open your front door and kick off his combat boots, the slink of his leather jacket coming off and being tossed on your small kitchen table. He walks heavy through the place like he owns it and you wince, hoping it doesn't wake up your downstairs neighbors.

You meet him up there with a scowl, "There's people sleeping downstairs, you know."

He rolls his eyes at you, walking to your bedroom and pulling off his hoodie, curls in a puffed mess when the fabric slide over them. He takes off his torn up Corroded Coffin shirt (though they haven't played a gig in months) and tosses it on your dresser. His jeans follow and you come in while the denim is pooling by his knees. He ignores you, climbing into your bed in his boxers while you close the blinds in your bedroom to block out the creeping morning sun. Your phone buzzes and it reminds you of the time when a text notification pops up. 6:15 AM. You set an alarm for 1 PM, at least you'd have a little time for yourself before your closing shift. You change into a big t-shirt and slide into bed next to Eddie, putting your phone on your makeshift side table face down.

He can't keep his hands off you, it feels like heaven. Nothing compared to this, not the shoes or the phone bill, not when he'd get your mom a new hair dryer or your brother a new gaming console. Not when he'd get you gifts -- because the gifts always came with a price. You always had to work hard for them. The bruises always had to fade first. They always came with your apology.

But when he touches you like this, soft and deliberate -- it's because he wants to. He wants you. You think it makes him feel safe.

"When're you waking up?" he asks, nuzzling into your neck, pulling your hips over his.

"One," you reply. He nods, a soft 'okay' coming out of his mouth when you feel his teeth and tongue graze your jugular.

"Ed," you huff, "I gotta sleep."

"You sure?" he grins, hand coming up to hold your cheek, "I can put you to bed baby, I promise."

You look at him with rounded eyes, pleading for him to just let you rest but you know you'll give in and so does he.

"I'll be quick," he mumbles, face getting closer to yours. Your noses brush, eyes bursting open and fluttering closed again when you feel his soft full lips press against yours. This is how he always wins. Giving you just enough to skate by, but taking all you have to give him.

His tongue takes no time to push past your lips, kissing you deep and slow while he climbs on top of you. If you didn't know him, you'd swear he was in love by the way he carefully presses your thighs up against your chest, the way his fingers wrap in your hair, the grunt he lets out when he pushes into you. Quiet and confident, he slams into you, covering your mouth as to not wake the neighbors. And it did put you to bed -- you were both completely worn out when he was done, so much so that he didn't move out of your sleepy hold over his chest.

He heard you click off your alarm when you woke up, going back to sleep when you started the shower. Eleven minutes later it went off again and the fuse in his chest was lit. He lifted his head up with half asleep eyes, brows furrowed and angry. Why didn't you know how to turn off a fucking alarm?

"Fucking Christ," he mumbles, flipping your phone over and hitting 'stop' instead of 'snooze', his eyes linger on your home screen for a moment. He puts the phone down and crawls out of bed, the shower in the bathroom coming to a stop. He gets dressed again: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, socks. He checks his own phone, still hanging out in his pants pocket. Three of the girls he met last night left multiple texts earlier this morning. He couldn't remember their names if he tried. Jess and Shauna sent 'thank yous' for the tips, telling him that two of the new girls want to meet him so they can buy -- followed by multiple snowflake emojis. A missed call from Rick, but no follow up message which meant the call wasn't important.

You pad into the room, hair wet and back in your pajamas, while he scrolls through his notifications.

"I gotta go," he says, not looking at you, "Heading to Rick's for something."

"Okay," you nod, pulling your dress and apron out for the diner -- they liked the old school style there. The owner never really got out of the 60s. He steps out and pulls on his jacket in the kitchen, following him to pass him his watch. He puts it back on without saying thank you.

You reach out to hug him goodbye and he placates you with a one armed squeeze, texting someone back when he does. When you lean in to kiss him goodbye, he leans back -- looking at you quizically.

"Hey, no," he says, shaking his head with a little laugh, "C'mon, you knew what this was."

"Oh," you whisper, heart shattering, the familiar sting of his rejection sweeping over you in icy waves, "Yeah, sorry."

"I'll talk to you later," he says, shimmying out of your hug. You hear him leave, the Camaro revving loud before he pulled onto the street, the hum of his music muffled from behind the windows. You swallow the tears building in your chest and nose. How could you have been so stupid? Of course it didn't mean anything.

Eddie pulls into a McDonald's drive-thru to get lunch, cigarette held loosely between his lips while he lights it. He rubs his eyes in the parking lot, the icy white of the sky was blinding. He leans back in his seat, scrolling through his recent calls to call Gareth.

"You better be fucking awake, man," he mutters to himself.

"'Sup," Gareth's voice flows through the speakers of the Camaro, "You good?"

"Where's your roommate been the last couple weeks? Who's he been hangin' out with?" Eddie asks with edge.

"I don't know, man. His friends? We don't talk," Gare responds, "Why?"

"Find out and get back to me," he says, "Before I gotta find out myself."

"Yeah, that's fine. You sure you're good? You sound pissed."

"I'm not pissed," Eddie says, he was pissed, "Just find out where he's been and who he's talking to."

He hangs up, seeing a message from you -- something along the lines of: sorry for thinking too far into it again, have a good day. He takes a deep breath, igorning your message, and puts his music back on, eating in silence while he watches a show on his phone. He didn't really have to go to Rick's, there was a bigger reason he had to leave your apartment.

He had to find out why the fuck Steve Harrington been texting you since five o'clock this morning.

#dark!eddie munson #dark!eddie #every tw you could imagine

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bunnywabigheart · 4 months

Note

HASAN NSFW HEADCANNON PLS ANYTHING WORKS!!

ask and you SHALL receive

I’ve been a longtime hasanabi fan (established in 2021 🫡) and I’ve heard WAYYY too much into about this man’s sex life you’ve picked the right person lol

NSFW HASANABI HCS!!! ❤︎₊ ⊹

- you’ve known Hasan since 2020 but you two only started OFFICIALLY AND PUBLICLY dating in like march/april/may 2023

- and if you had KNOWN the dick would be THAT GOOD you DEFINITELY would’ve confessed ur feelings earlier

- you’ll be seeing sex through a WHOLE NEW LENSE

- from dating for maybe like three weeks you already know what makes Hasan “break”

- anytime yall are out with friends? teasing. IRL stream he can’t end abruptly just to fuck you? teasing. halloween? forget it you might as well just wear a bikini because we all know that costumes being ripped APART

- your lowkey obsessed with his hands oh mannn

- and bestie…if ur into cosplay better start running (I remember one time he might’ve said something abt being like addicted to roleplay??? BUT DON’T QUOTE ME ON IT)

- he is going to want to fuck u IN cosplay

- literally thinks you’re the most beautiful thing ever to exist

- tbh you blow all his ex’s AWAYYY (am I projecting…? okay fine I am a little bit lol)

- but fr you really do he looks at you like you created the universe

- and I’m not saying you’ll be “addicted” to his dick bc “addicted” is a strong word but idk

- during his streams you’ll be bursting in and being like “heyyy whatcha doing?”

- trying to watch and engage in whatever he’s watching, trying your best to tease him without getting a TOS violation or banned, etc., etc.

- him trying to shoo you away with a stunlock but then coming to see you during a “pee break”

- y’all spend at least ten minutes going at it

- chat going like “bro is taking a long ass piss 💀”

- comes back sweaty af, hair messy…yeah we all know what happened buddy you can’t fool us

A/N: I’m so sorry I couldn’t get more requests out I’ve been so busy with school and shit and haven’t been on tumblr or even watching many of Hasan’s streams lately :’( but here’s my present to u ily all see you soon!

xoxo,

bunny!

#hasanabi #twitch streamer fanfic #hasan piker x reader #hasan x reader #hasanabi x reader #fanfic

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venusleontios55555 · 11 months

Text

The fact that a Gilbert Blythe, a man from the early 1900s, a period were women were still oppressed and considered lesser than men was able to take rejection better than some guys in 2020 will always blow my fucking mind

#anne of green gables #anne shirley #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert #shirbert #anne with an e

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twostepstyless · 1 year

Text

Gotcha

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Authors Note: Reminisce on the day our favourite golden retreiver entered Harry and Y/N's lives and the journey it took to get him. Thank you very much Japanrry and Bell the Shiba Inn for the Harry with dog content we've received this week it truly couldn't have come at a better time.

Word Count: 4K+

SFW

***

the middle of june 2020

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Harry let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to pull a couple of tissues from the box they had to keep on the coffee table, passing them over to Y/N who was cuddled up against Harry’s side as tear tracks ran down her face.

“Baby, it’s fine,” Harry’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down Y/N’s arm, “why y’crying? Look the dogs happy, he’s wagging his tail and the little old man’s happy he’s got a new mate,” Harry tried his best to point out that they were actually watching quite a sweet story unfold on the television.

“I know,” she wails as a sob wracked through her body.

“What is going on in your brain?” Harry laughs as he pries the scrunched-up tissue from the grip in her fist, sitting her upright on the couch and began to wipe away at her tears before pinching the tissue over her nose and allowing her to blow into it before wiping it away and dropping the tissue to the side.

“It’s just lovely isn’t it,” Y/N said through the remaining sniffles of her tears, “he lost his wife and was looking for a little pal and the dog’s owner died and now they ha-have ea-” she hiccups as a new stream of tears begins to cascade down her cheeks, “now they have each other,” she casts as her eyes up to the television to see Bill, the elderly widowed man, head home with his new dog who had grey whiskers littering his snout and face not dissimilar from his new owner, ready to see out their final years together.

“You’re so cute,” Harry cooed with an amused smile while turning the volume of the tv down as the blaringly loud ad break sounded out through their living room.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Y/N whines, palming the remaining tears away from staining her cheeks before burying herself back under Harry’s arm, her own reaching across his middle to tether herself to him.

“M’not, m’not, I promise,” he hummed, his thumb smoothing soft circles on her arm. “S’a nice idea, innit?” Harry said quietly, a few moments later.

“Wha’s that?” she asked slowly, tired from all the crying.

“Having a dog,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her nose brushing his jawline.

“Mhmm, a little furry mate to cuddle up with at night sounds right up my street,” he looks down at her, nose brushing against her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She sighs in contentment and leans into the brush of his lips, “what? Am I not cutting it anymore? I’ve not shaved my legs in a bit, I can be furry if that’s what you’re after,” she teased as Harry huffed out a laugh.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, “y’know what I mean, m’heart.”

“Mm, I do, it does sound a nice idea,” she hummed, eyes beginning to flutter with tiredness.

***

Three months had passed when the thought fluttered into Y/N’s head again. It had come and gone every so often, but this morning she woke up with the idea at the forefront of her mind. She padded down the stairs to find Harry in the kitchen, preparing their breakfast.

“Morning m’heart,” Harry spoke, handing her the coffee had had prepared for her the second he heard her shuffling around upstairs.

“Mmm, morning, thank you gorgeous,” she took a grateful sip before stretching up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips in greeting.

“Sleep good?” he asked as he began plating up her eggs for breakfast.

“Mhm, how was y’run?” she spoke through a yawn that slipped out.

“Was good, seen a golden retriever take a dive into the biggest puddle you’ve ever seen, the owner looked so fed up and was moaning his head off to the dog,” Harry laughed as he handed her over her plate before taking his own and setting up shop beside her as they had breakfast together.

Y/N thought it was funny he should mention dogs this morning and chose to bring her idea up now.

“D’you remember that thing y’said to me a few months ago?” she asked.

Harry nearly choked on his food as he laughed, he swallowed down before asking, “reckon y’could narrow that down for me, love? That’s a bit vague even for me to guess.”

“We were watching telly, an’ I had been crying…” she divulged.

“The dog programme?” Harry quirked his eyebrow as he took a mouthful of his own coffee.

“Mhm, and you mentioned something about it being a nice idea, having a little dog,” she gnawed on her lip.

“I did,” Harry said with a knowing smile, wanting to coax her into saying what she was thinking rather than him assuming.

“And… I guess, I was just wondering f’you were serious about that?”

“About what?” he put his fork down, spinning in his seat to face her, thumb pulling at her bottom lip to release it from the bite her teeth had on it.

“’Bout having a dog,” she spoke quietly.

“Yeah, I was serious,” he confirmed with a smile.

“I guess I was jus’ wondering if that’s something you would be thinking about having now, I guess… with me?” she finally asked.

“Miss Y/S/N, are you asking me to own a dog with you?” Harry asked in faux shock, a teasing lilt evident in his tone.

“Get fucked,” she whined at his teasing.

“Shh, of course I want that with you, jus’ didn’t realise you were thinking about that,” Harry speculated.

“Jus’ a little bit, it planted a seed when y’mentioned it and it keeps popping back up every so often, then you said about that dog on your run and I could just see you out running with our own dog,” she spilled.

“Sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?” Harry smiled.

“Yeah,” she sighed, content it had went over well.

“Why don’t we start having a look around, look up breeders and all that, see what we’re after?” he suggested.

“Uh well… I was thinking, why don’t we go visit a rescue place, know like the one out the other programme off the telly that always makes me cry?”

“Battersea?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Y/N nodded.

“Sounds perfect, sweets, why don’t we take a drive down at the start of next week? See what they say to it?”

“Really?” Y/N asked, struggling to hide the excitement from her voice.

“Yeah, think we’d make brilliant dog parents, we would definitely let our dog play in the puddles without moaning like the guy I saw this morning,” Harry said confidently.

“Yeah? Tell me that again when we’ve got a dog taking mud baths every other day for a laugh and you need to wash them up afterwards.”

***

21st of September 2020

Y/N couldn’t sit still in her seat as Harry drove them to south London. She would settle for a few minutes then a shit-eating grin would split across her face, her knee would bounce in a nervous excitement and the occasional wiggle of her hips as she tried to settle herself down, which Harry kept catching out the corner of his eye with an amused smile gracing his features.

“Jus’ remember we’re not for sure leaving with a dog today, I know you’re excited, I am too, but let’s just be realistic, we might not find our fit today, more importantly, the right dog might not find us,” Harry reached over to squeeze her bouncing knee as they began to drive over the Chelsea bridge, officially entering Battersea.

“No, I know, m’just so excited to see all the dogs and you’re right, they need to be the ones to pick us,” Y/N said nodding her head, glad they were on the same page of letting the dog that was meant to be theirs come to them on its own.

Harry pulled the car in to park, switched the engine off and turned to face his love, “we ready to do this?” he unfastened his seatbelt.

“This is a big step for us, isn’t it?” Y/N mirrored him, taking off her seatbelt.

“How do you mean?”

“Well getting a pet, s’quite big, isn’t it?” Y/N explained as if it was obvious.

“Y/N/N, we already own a house together, have done for nearly 8 months, I’m pretty sure we’re alright,” Harry joked, reaching over and tucking her loose hair back.

“Yeah, but a living, breathing being is a bit more than bricks and mortar is it not?” she leant into his touch before nudging his hand away with her head and taking his hand in her own.

“Well, the plants are doing alright,” Harry laughed, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. “Is this a conversation we should’ve had before coming here? Are y’worried about us having to co-parent our future pet?” he asked.

“No, m’not worried… I don’t know,” she resigned with a sigh.

“’Cause y’know that’s not going to happen, I told you I was all in with you in our first year together,” Harry smiled fondly.

“Y’told me within the first few months,” she pointed out with a giggle.

“Exactly, we’ve got three years locked in the vault, a dog isn’t going to upend this, if anything I reckon, he’s going to solidify our future together even more,” Harry leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of her lips.

“You said he. Y’think we’re going to get a boy dog?” she breathed out.

“Mhm, got a feeling. Now c’mon, I feel like I can hear him calling out to me through all the barking,” Harry opened the driver’s door allowing the sound of all the barking from inside the rescue centre to flood into the car.

***

“Look H, this one is called Binx,” she pouted as a greyhound’s nose appeared through the gaps in the fence as Harry appeared beside her after talking to a few of the volunteers.

“She’s cute,” Harry said as he read over the information posted outside the dog’s area, “it says she doesn’t like a lot of people around her, m’not sure that’s a good fit for us, there’s constantly people in and out our house and we wouldn’t be able to take her with us a lot of the time,” Harry explained, sounding sad they would have to move on from the little beauty who was staring up at them.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Y/N said sadly. “Bye cutie,” she waved her hand at the wide-eyed greyhound who relaxed back down in her bed once her visitors moved on.

“So, the volunteer, said they have someone they think we’d like to meet,” Harry grasped her hand and lead her back to the blue painted desk at the front of the rescue centre, portraits of all their current dogs that are looking for homes hung on the wall behind the woman with the thick-rimmed glasses who was smiling brightly sat behind the desk.

‘Hiya love, welcome to Battersea,” the lady spoke, with a thick accent that Y/N guessed was from the West Country.

“Hi nice t’meet you, I’m Y/N,” she greeted the woman.

“I’m Bonnie, love, I was just chatting with y’fella here and I’ve got someone I think could be a fit for you guys, if you would like to meet him?” Y/N’s eyes gleamed in excitement as Harry jabbed her playfully in the side at the word ‘him’, his guess potentially coming true.

“Most definitely, we’d like to meet anyone that you think could be a fit for us,” Harry answered for them.

“Right then,” Bonnie stood with a groan, “right this way, let me just grab a handful of these first, he’s very food driven,” Bonnie laughed as she shoved some dog treats from the jar on the desk into her pocket, and lead the couple through a painted blue door to the side of the desk.

As soon as they entered the room, they heard a high-pitched squeak rather than a bark. A squeak that was trying to be a bark but wasn’t quite there yet. Bonnie stood to the side to reveal a fenced pen, where a rambunctious little pup was running in circles letting out his squeaky bark to greet his new visitors.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N breathed out under her breath, hand squeezing Harry’s tight as the approached the pen.

“So, this little baby, he’s not got a name yet we’ve just been calling him ‘boy’ is a fourteen-week golden retriever,” Bonnie told them as she quietened the puppy down with a few treats from her pocket.

“He’s so little,” Y/N cooed as she knelt down next to the pen as Harry sat cross-legged next to her, watching the dog explore his little pen.

“Was he born here, then?” Harry looked towards Bonnie, asking for more of the dog’s story.

“Uh no, this lad and his brothers and sisters have got a bit of a sad story actually, they were found on the 16thof June, in a bin bag dumped down by the river. We got them dropped off here and we worked out they were probably only a day old,” Bonnie said as she scratched the happy dog behind the ears.

“That’s awful,” Y/N gasped.

“Yeah, not the best start in life but they were all hand-reared by our volunteers, this little one by me, and believe me if I could take him permanently, I absolutely would,” Bonnie smiled at the golden retriever whose tail was wagging hard enough it was creating a draught.

“So, the rest of the litter?” Harry queried.

“Already found their forever’s, my little pal here was the smallest of the bunch, struggled to keep him with us right at the beginning but he’s here now waiting for his own turn to find forever,” Bonnie said as both Harry and Y/N pouted at the bright little light of a soul contained in the golden retriever sat in front of them as he nudged the volunteer’s hand for another treat. “Why don’t I open his pen up, we’ll let him out, let him have a good old sniff around the room and we’ll see if he takes to you guys, if he seems comfortable enough, I’ll slip out the room and let you have a little one to one with him,” Bonnie explained, handing over the remaining treats she had stuffed into her pockets into Harry and Y/N’s hands, “sound good?”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed quickly.

“Yes please, I’d love t’meet him proper,” Y/N confirmed.

“Cracking,” and Bonnie bent down and lifted the small gate containing the dog into the pen and opened it wide for him to come out. His tiny head whipped round to see what Bonnie was up to, ears flopping at the movement as he began to run as fast as his legs could carry him out the gate.

The couple giggled as they watched him run laps around the room, stopping to sniff at every corner and crevice he came across. As soon as the puppy heard the couple on the floor giggling, he skidded to a halt and turned in place to look at them, tilting his head, his ears swishing with the movement. He approached the pair sitting on the floor, tripping over his paws that he was still growing into as he approached Y/N first circling around where she was knelt down.

“Hi baby boy,” she uttered, reaching her closed fist out to him, the treats contained inside, as his wet, black nose bumped against her hand, giving it a tentative lick, “I think I’ve got something you’re going to like hidden in there,” she began to withdraw her hand causing the golden dog to whine pitifully and follow her hand, reaching up towards her by placing his front paws up on her knees. Harry sat and watched the glow of happiness radiate from his girlfriend. She was generally a happy person but seeing her feed the dog his treats from her outstretched palm, Harry felt like he was witnessing something click into place inside of her. Like the little dog was the missing puzzle piece of her, of them. “You’re just the sweetest little sunshine aren’t you,” she giggled as the dog licked her palm free landing back on all four paws before he turned his attention to Harry’s cross-legged frame, tilting his head at the man.

“Hiya mate,” Harry murmured, holding his hand out letting the pup smell him first before leaving the safety blanket of Y/N. The couple were so engrossed in the puppy they didn’t even spot Bonnie, smiling knowingly, silently slip out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harry hand fed him a few treats, the dog shuffling forward so he was sat in front of him. Harry let his free hand come up and give the dog a few little scratches behind the ear as he watched Bonnie do earlier which made his little tail sweep the floor in happiness. Once he had finished his treats, the dog seemed perfectly happy in Harry’s company, so much so that he climbed straight in between Harry’s crossed legs and rest his head on Harry’s thigh, staring up at the happy couple.

“I think he likes you, H,” Y/N whispered, letting her hand smooth down the dogs back, her nails scratching lightly as Harry’s thumb smoothed up over his nose and forehead as the dog blinked heavily, his young body clearly tuckered out from all the excitement.

“Yeah, you think so?” Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from his new best mate.

“Considering he climbed straight into your lap, I’m thinking yeah,” Y/N laughed as she let her head fall onto Harry’s shoulder.

“He seems pretty smitten with you too,” Harry pointed out, and sure enough, the dog, through his heavy eyes, was staring straight up at her.

They sat quietly in the peace, Harry’s lap warm with the weight of his tired little body, Y/N’s arm growing achy from its constant stroking down his back but she didn’t dare stop.

Bonnie shuffled back into the room, “well, my lovelies, how are we getting on?” as Y/N and Harry’s gazes snapped up to look at her, before both smiling softly and back down to their sleepy boy.

***

Harry had never been more grateful for the traffic that kept them driving well below the speed limit between south and north London. Their new four-legged baby was passed out in Y/N’s arms in the passenger seat as the slow rumble of the engine and Y/N’s constant pats and soothing words keep him asleep on the big scary car journey back to his new forever home.

“We’re going to need to think of a name,” Harry said softly as he chanced a look down at him as they stopped at a red light.

“Hm, any suggestions?” she asked.

“None at all, what did you call him at the rescue?” Harry switched gears as they finally made it through the traffic lights.

“Hm, sunshine I think, I can’t see us shouting Sunshine across the park,” she mused.

“Sunny? Or could be spelt S-O-N-N-Y?” Harry suggested.

“Fuck no, my auntie had a yappy little thing called Sonny when we were growing up and he was a little arsehole of a dog,” Y/N snorted.

“Sonnys off the list then, what else is like sunshine… sunflower, nope can’t have it look like m’dog’s named after my own song,” Harry proposed before cutting himself off just as quickly as Y/N giggled.

“Hm, Sunflower, s’like my favourite painting,” Y/N mentioned as an aside.

“The Van Gogh one, right?” Harry clarified.

“Mhmm.”

“Vincent Van Gogh…” Harry said. “…Vincent… that’s cute,” Harry gave her a quick look.

“That is cute, reckon he looks like a Vincent too,” she peered down at their new baby.

“Loadsa nicknames from that too, Vince, Vinnie, Vin,” he listed.

“Vincent Styles, his proper Sunday name” Y/N nodded.

“My surname? Don’t want to double barrel it with yours?” Harry checked.

“Well m’hoping one day we’ll all have matching surnames,” she said shyly.

“Reckon that could be arranged, right Vincent?” he asked the dog who has stirred from his sleep.

***

“Okay, wait right there, wait, wait, wait,” Harry said quickly as he parked them up at home as he got out the car and ran round the front of it, throwing open the passenger door to Vince letting out a squeaky sort of bark at the sight of his new Dad. Harry reached in and took Vinnie straight from Y/N’s arms to carry the dog into his new home.

“Oi, you little fucker, don’t steal our dog from me,” Y/N laughed as she got out the car following Harry up their front door as he tried to fight the keys into the lock while keeping Vince close to his chest.

“He got loads of Mumma cuddles on the way home, s’my turn, right m’boy? Daddy gets a go now?” Harry spoke to the dog as he got a loving lick against his cheek as he passed Y/N the keys to let them in the house when he gave up trying to unlock the door. Before Y/N could slide the keys into the lock she took her phone and took a quick picture of Harry with his thumb up cradling a curious Vincent against his chest. His first picture with their boy.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she opened their front door, “welcome home Vincent,” she sang as Harry carried him inside.

“Welcome to your forever, Vincent,” Harry spoke as he set the dog down in the hallway where he immediately started sniffing and exploring, seemingly comforted by being surrounded by the scent of his new parents.

***

21st of September 2022

“Vince!” Y/N shouted across the park as Harry let out a loud whistle with his fingers between his lips. The dog turned to face them with a guilty looking expression on his face, his paw hovering over the biggest, muddiest puddle he was able to find in the park. “Don’t even think about it Mister,” Y/N warned calling after the dog, his paw inching closer to the murky water.

“Vincent, get your furry little arse back here, come see what Mum’s got for you,” Harry shouted this time, hoping to entice him away with the promise of a treat, and he did look tempted. Especially when Y/N rattled the treat bag but the promise of a big muddy puddle was just something too hard for him to fight.

“He’s going to jump in,” Y/N said with a sigh.

“He won’t, he won’t,” Harry tried to speak it into existence.

“He will,” and with one large splash their golden retriever turned into a brown, muddy retriever.

“For fuck’s sake,” they both groaned in unison as they watched Vincent roll onto his back to get himself thoroughly coated in the muddy water.

“I thought he was supposed to be food driven,” Harry whined as Vincent removed himself from his mud bath and gave an almighty shake.

“Oh, he is, with everything else, that died a death for mud baths after the first muddy puddle,” Y/N giggled, already knowing they’re going to have to deep clean their bathroom after Vince’s bath time later.

“You’re happy as a pig in shit, aren’t you?” Harry asked the dog as he trotted up to them, tail wagging happily, “yeah, you look like a pig in shit as well, mate.”

“Two years today, we’ve had you Vin, and you’re still driving me and Dad to the brink aren’t you,” Y/N cooed, giving him a treat anyway, he deserved it today.

“Wouldn’t change you for the world, m’boy,” Harry reached down to give him a scratch behind his ears, after all this time it was still his favourite scratch and pat to receive. Harry immediately regretting doing so as his hand came back caked in dirt.

“Happy gotcha day, Vincent,” Y/N cheered as the continued their walk as Vincent barked in response. This time a full, booming bark full of personality, so much different than the little squeaks he gave them two years ago.

***

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