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yawnderu · 6 months

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K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter IV

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

What's a Lieutenant if not someone you can use as a stress reliever

Being a gifted medic comes with free rewards

You weren't the only one catching up on some sleep. Simon was awake throughout Johnny's entire surgery despite having slept four hours the previous night, wanting to be available in case you needed his help, finally getting some much-needed rest after being practically forced by Price.

He wakes up six hours later, a small groan escaping his lips at the light entering his window. His burly arm comes up to cover his eyes, shielding them from the bright sun.

''Fuckin' hell.'' He muttered, getting up from bed and putting on a black balaclava. Shit went down yesterday, with Johnny almost dying, and Makarov is now free, able to continue killing civilians until they're finally able to catch him. At the very least, his best friend is alive and stable last time he visited.

Simon leaves his room, walking to the cafeteria to get a bottle of cold water and a few granola bars before heading to your quarters, knocking on the door softly in case you're asleep. No reply. He knows better, but... what if something happened to you? He uses the pathetic excuse to justify his actions, hand turning the doorknob carefully before stepping inside, footsteps surprisingly quiet for someone his size.

What a fucking sight. He stared at your sleeping figure for a while, taking in the details of your face when it wasn't pulled into a scowl or a bored expression, a small smile tugging on his lips at how peaceful you look before he realized how creepy he was being. He shook his head softly as if to snap out of it, putting the water bottle and granola bars before turning away to try and leave.

Try, because a much smaller hand wrapped around his wrist, almost making him flinch because of how sudden it was. He looks down at you only to find your eyes boring into his, tugging him closer by the wrist. A confused Simon followed like a lost dog before his feet rooted on the ground in front of your bed, giving you a questioning look with his eyes.

''Come lay with me.'' Your voice is much gentler than usual, laced with something he can't quite recognize yet. Simon knows better, really he does, but who is he to question the medic he's been pining on for months? He hesitantly removes his boots and climbs into bed with you, keeping a respectful distance despite his behemoth frame taking over half of the bed. His muscles tense up when he feels you cuddling up to him, being a painfully fitting piece against his body.

''What are you on bout, doc?'' You don't reply, simply examining his eyes for any hints of hesitation. You find nervousness, curiosity, doubt, and even the smallest hints of fear, but no hesitation at all. Your hand sneaks up to the bottom of his balaclava, pulling it all the way off before your lips crash into his hungrily. It takes him a few seconds of pure confusion before he kisses back, arms wrapped around your waist, and whatever questions he has on why you're doing this all of sudden pushed to the back of his mind.

Your hands grab at anything they can reach— muscle, skin, hair... anything, holding onto his much bigger body like a lifeline, his warm hands running up and down your back. He has fantasized about this moment so many times, yet the real thing is so different in a good way.

''Tell me I can touch you, bird.'' You simply nod your head and try to go back to kissing him, but he pulls away, gently squeezing your waist to make you look at him.

''Use your words.'' His words are almost pleading, wanting to make sure you want the same thing.

''I want you to touch me, Simon.'' Not a second passes before his lips are back on yours, tongues wrapping around each other's as his hands start to drift down, grabbing a handful of your ass. His touch is so desperate it almost makes you laugh, one of your hands sneaking down his shirt and feeling him up, defined muscles flexing under your touch. His slightly shaky hands fumble with the button of your jeans, breaking away from the kiss just to look at you and make sure you still want it. The half-lidded look you give him is enough confirmation, pulling down your jeans and getting on his knees, between your legs.

"Been wanting to do this since I saw ya." He confesses, too excited for his fantasies finally coming true to even feel remotely bashful about his words. He lifts up your shirt enough to reveal your tummy, gentle kisses planted on every single inch of skin his lips can reach as he slowly descends, planting open mouthed kisses over your clothed cunt.

"Fuck—" Your back arches at the feeling, eyes screwed shut as your hand goes to the back of his head, pushing him closer. His tongue is warm and wet, saliva mixing in with your growing arousal. He pushes your panties to the side, looking down at your gleaming pussy before digging in, tongue lapping the wetness before he latches onto your cunt, sucking and licking away like a starved man.

"You taste s'fucking good." He praises before going back down, the flat of his tongue moving around your cunt before slowly going inside, your whiny moans and hands gripping his short hair are all the encouragement he needs. He latches onto your clit next, long fingers teasing the entrance of your cunt, spreading your arousal all over them before he slowly enters you with one.

His fingers are thick and long, whiny moans escaping your lips as he adds a second one, making scissoring motions as he fucks his fingers deeper and deeper into you, tongue alternating between licking and sucking on your clit before hesitantly letting go.

"Sit on my face." It's not even a request, it sounds like a plea, though you quickly listen to his words for the first time ever, cunt hovering above his face as soon as he lays back down. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing the plush and pulling your body down to his face, eating you out like a starved man. His hands let go of your ass to unbuckle his belt, barely having the strength to pull his hard cock out of his jeans, eyes closing as he focused on the dual sensation of pleasuring you with his mouth and pleasuring himself with his hand, pre staining his fingers as his hand moves up and down his shaft faster.

"Fuck— Just like that, Si." Si. You never call him anything other than Simon. Sometimes Ghost, when you're needed during missions and hang around them in the helos, but the way you say his name... so much affection, even if it only comes from making you feel good. He's pathetic— God, he knows he's being pathetic, cock twitching in his hand at the idea of you reciprocating his complex and strange feelings for you, ropes of thick cum shooting out into his hand and stomach, a low growl coming out of his lips as he squeezed his cock dry of cum.

He focuses solely on you now, tongue swirling and flickering all over you, his clean hand coming up to rub your clit with his thumb while he assaults your dripping wet cunt with his lips and tongue. Your hands go down to his head, fingers pulling on his short hair while you use his face to feel good, getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Si, I'm gonna cum—" But he doesn't stop. Hell, his thumb moves even faster over your sensitive bud, tongue-fucking your pussy as deep as he can until he can feel your body shaking on top of him, thighs closing in on his head and squeezing as the intensity of your orgasm washes over you, his waiting mouth taking in all your juices, lapping at them greedily until you pull away from the stimulation, shaky legs managing to position yourself next to him, head against his chest.

"You hear that? Price is calling you." You lie, unable to contain the smirk on your lips as he flicks your nose.

"Piss off, doc." His burly arms wrap around you, a loud groan of protest escaping your lips when you realize you're forced to cuddle with him.

[PREVIOUS]

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sugarcoatedcherry · 10 months

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SURE SHOT WAY TO ENTER VOID

Hello again, it's been a long while since I last saw yall.

I present you guys another fail proof method to tap into the void state. After my first void success, I have been entering void with only an intent. But during my "struggling days" this method immensely helped me getting closer in my very first try.

Anyway, I strongly urge you to follow this routine in case you haven't tapped into the void state yet.

Important : it requires you to disturb your sleep cycle. You can do it everyday but I recommend taking breaks in between so as to not mess with your circadian clock. Statistically speaking you have a 100% chance of entering void within the first 5 tries.

This challenge is heavily inspired by the phase method.

I am also combining the phase method with the lucid dream WBTB + MILD method for maximum success rate because even if you don't end up having OBE you will definitely end up in a lucid dream through which you can enter void.

The phase is an umbrella term for out of body experience (OBE), sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, void, astral projection etc.

steps:

1. Maintain a dream journal - it helps in better dream recall which inturn helps in getting more lucid in your dreams. I recommend you going through the journal before sleeping

2. Regular reality checks - perform reality checks every 2 hours or as frequently as possible. some common ones are trying to breathe with nostrils closed, try to penetrate left hand fingers into right hand palm or simply stopping for a moment and trying to really observe if you are dreaming.

4. Subliminal - you can listen to your favorite void subliminals during the day

5. At night: Sleep for the first 6 hours, wake up to an alarm. Keep your mind busy for 5-10 minutes. While still being sleepy, go to bed. You can play subliminals or binaural beats, or just keep your mind busy by focusing on breathing or counting numbers backwards.

You will either 1. enter sleep paralysis through which you can affirm for void 2. wake up in void by affirming 3. fall back to sleep and end up in a lucid dream

So you see, the intent of this method was to enter void eitherways😉

I don't have to explain more about the first two possibilities. And about the lucid dream, step 1 and 2 will immensely help you get lucid in case you don't realise you're dreaming in a dream. Once you stabilise your dream enough, you can create a portal to void.

Also note that when you go back to bed after 6 hours of sleep, you might have many awakenings after a certain duration. I suggest you make use of those and affirm for void right after you wake up without moving much

That is it guys, I promise you will come back with a success story if you follow the routine diligently for the next one week, although one week is too much and you will definitely enter void in the next 2-4 days or this very night even. It all depends on your confidence. And of course, a strong intention without wavering will also land you to void. But for those who have been struggling for a long time, do give this method a try and let me know your progress.

#the void state #void state #law of assumption #void success #lawofassumption #law of the universe #manifesting #law of manifestation #lucid dreaming #shifting #states #affirm and persist #affirmyourreality #law of attraction

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ellieslittlewh0re · 10 months

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𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 2 - part 3

pairings - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - your dad hires a stranger to help out around the farm

additional tags - inexperienced but flirty reader, shy/loser ellie, cowboy boot wearing ellie, mutual pinning, slight masturbation mention (e!), e! w/ a southern accent??, eventual smut, (nothing too crazy happens in this part it’s mostly just setting vibes lol)

Beads of sweat collected on the bridge of your nose, and your thighs stuck together as you sat on the porch swing, just lazily swinging back and forth, using your tippy toes to keep the momentum going.

You look out over the vast pasture- green as far as the eye can see, with nothing to distract from the country landscape except for some power lines out in the distance.

Even with the sun starting to set- it was still unbelievably hot.

"Keep goin' like that and you're gonna die of a heat stroke."

You yell to your father who was working under the hood of his rusty truck. Usually, he pays no mind to your nagging, but this time it seemed to work- or perhaps he was just finished for the night.

He shuts the hood, slamming it with a metallic thud before wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

His boots rang loudly against the hallow wooden stairs of the porch, looking down at you through bushy eyebrows.

"I don't need your sass, kid."

You roll your eyes at his comment. He's always been stubborn and tough, but in his old age, you can't help but worry. His cheeks have hallowed over the years, sun spots forming from the countless hours working on the farm, and his movements became slowed from the hard work catching up to him.

"I wouldn't sass if you'd just listen. Seriously, it's okay to hire someone to help. no one is gonna shame you for that." You pester affectionately, standing from the swing to open the screen door and enter the house with him following behind.

You follow him to the kitchen, listing all the reasons why he should have help.

One: he's getting old.

Two: his knee has never been the same since he had that operation done 4 years ago.

Three: the farm is too big and demanding to tend to alone.

"Okay- enough.. you sound just like your mother sometimes I swear." He hold a hand up, pausing you mid-ramble, and takes a sip from the glass he filled from the tap.

You pouted, and once again, your suggestions felt shot down.

He finishes the water, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.

"I actually have someone comin' by tomorrow. They were recommended t' me by Phillip at the feed store."

Your eyes lighten up, a smile grows on your face, and you finally feel like you can breathe, knowing that the hardships wouldn't be your dads alone anymore.

You rush around the kitchen island, placing a kiss to your dads cheek and squeezed him tight.

"Thank you! I can't wait- I'll have to bake em' something sweet tonight."

"Alright- settle down-" he pushes you away slightly with a smile on his weathered face. Truly an adoring annoyance that only a parent could love.

Your old man calls it a night, showering and off to bed he went, but you? Oh- you were busy. You tried your hardest to keep the sound down to a minimum, bowls, and kitchen utensils splayed on the counters.

A small apron draped around your waist, flour smudged on your cheekbone as you pulled the blueberry scones out of the oven. A satisfied smile grows on your face as you observe your work and finishing of the pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar.

Maybe, you were going a tad bit overboard, but the truth is, you were painfully lonely. The only time you had any visitors on the farm was when you held pumpkin patches in the fall, but even then, it was always young families that didn't bother to stay around for too long.

You go upstairs, a slight pep in your step as you did so. You showered and put in your favorite pajamas- a short, soft floral patterned dress with bows that secured the straps.

You tossed in bed, sleep not being in favor since your mind was still wide awake. You try to picture what they would look like- what they sounded like.

Was he tall? Around your age, or is he just another old man like your father? Maybe they're not a man at all.

It's best not to get ahead of yourself; whoever this person is, they are coming to work for your dad and not to become your friend.

You slept lightly, and your senses became more aware as a muted thud rang outside your second-story bedroom window. You open your eyes slowly, blinking away the sleepy confusion as dust particles dance in the sunbeams of your room.

It took you a few seconds to realize why today was so important, but once you remembered- it had you scattering out of bed to your window, pulling back the sheer laced curtains, and taking a peak outside.

There was a truck you didn't recognize parked in the driveway. It was slightly newer than your dad's, but that's not saying much; a simple 2-door with an extended bed, slightly lifted with sturdy-looking tires.

A slim figure stood next to the driver's side door, hands on their hips as they looked up at the house. To your surprise, it wasn't a man at all.

You squint, trying to get a better look at her without realizing how big of a creep you are being.

Her hair shined a brilliant shade of auburn in the morning light, a brown button up shirt with the sleep rolled up to her elbows, slightly flared and worn denim jeans hugged her hips with brown cowboy boots that seemed to match the leather of her belt.

You caught a glimpse of something on her arm, dark lines that disrupted her pale skin. It was a tattoo, although you could make out the details of the design.

She looked the part of someone who knows how to run a farm, but something about her seemed so out of place- almost like she was too pretty for such a dirty job.

While you were too busy eyeing her up and down, you didn't realize she had caught you. She put her hand up, holding it there for a second before bringing it back down to her side. You wave back, a slight wiggle of you fingertips which made her smile.

You watch her walk out of the frame of your window before sitting on the edge of your bed- your fingers grasping at the embroidered comforter. You had this weird feeling in your tummy; it was something you couldn't explain, almost like nausea but also like when you go on a big rollercoaster.

You felt nervous but excited all at the same time. You figured it was because she was around your age, maybe slightly older- shrugging it off as you got up and got ready for the day.

You brush your hair before tying it into two loose braids, finishing it with light pink ribbons at the ends. You wanted to put a little more effort into your appearance today since you're meeting someone new, and as daddy always said, "First impressions are the most important."

You take a deep breath in the last most of solitude of your room before making your way down the stairs, the conversation between the stranger and your father growing louder and louder from the kitchen as you inched closer.

"There she is-" your dad motions an arm in your direction, the stranger immediacy turning to meet your face.

"Ellie, this is my daughter, y/n, and y/n, this is Ellie."

"It's nice t' meet you, Ellie." You said in your sweetest voice you could muster as you walk towards her, holding a hand out.

"Likewise." She smiles, taking your hand in hers and shakes it firmly. She seemed respectful, maybe even a little flustered- seeing that her cheeks started to turn a deep shade of pink.

Upon seeing her closer, it didn't help settle your nerves. She was gorgeous; freckles adorned her alabaster skin, a scar that ran through her eyebrow and upper lip, and her eyes a mossy shade of green with dark, long lashes framing the shape.

She was honestly the prettiest girl you've ever seen but not in the same way you were often described. There was a boyish charm to her that you had never seen before.

"Well- best we get to it then." Your dad chimes in, causing you to let go of the calloused hand that you hadn't realized you were still holding onto.

"I'll see you around Ellie." You just barely make audible to her, bitting down on your bottom lip before turning on your heel and leaving them to do their jobs.

Ellie was almost speechless upon meeting you. Never in a million years did she ever think a girl like you could live in this small country town, but fuck, leave it to her luck- you were the boss's daughter, which means you were off limits.

You didn't make it easy on her either, prancing around in your little summer dress that flowed with your movements, rising dangerously high when you would turn around, almost giving her a peek of your ass.

Ellie swallowed hard each time, the saliva filling her mouth with all the dirty thoughts she had- which mostly consisted of you underneath her, completely naked and trembling after she forced a 4th orgasm out of you.

The sun was starting to set, blanketing the canvas in shades of orange and pink, and to your disappointment- Ellie would be leaving soon.

She was walking towards her truck, slightly dragging her feet from exhaustion, and you're happy she did so. It gave you enough time to run out of the house barefoot, container filled with the homemade goods in your hands.

"Ellie!-" you called out to her which made her turn around, her hand opening the driver side door.

You nearly bump into her, slightly out of breath as you held up the tupperware with both of your hands.

"Sorry- I made them last night, must've forgotten in to give 'em' to you earlier." Again, your voice is so sweet and innocent- like honey coated candies on her tongue.

A smirk grows on her face, taking the gift from you to inspect them.

"That's mighty kind of you.. oh no, are these blueberries?"

Your face contorts to concern, and Ellie can't help but think how fucking cute you look all worried like that.

"Yeah, why? Do you not like 'em?" You pout, almost like you're on the verge of tears

A low chuckle reverberates in her throat, "I'm just messing with you, doll. They look delicious."

"Meanie."

A few seconds of silence go by, and Ellie looks everywhere except your face, and I mean everywhere- including the plushness of your breast that spilled over the top of your dress - she couldn't have you knowing how red her cheeks are right now.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" She said it almost like a question- as if you'd miss out on such an opportunity.

"See you tomorrow, Ellie. Goodnight." You stand on your tippy toes, planting a quick kiss on the rounds of her cheeks, and run back inside, leaving Ellie in full panic mode.

She gets into her truck, taking a moment to herself before turning over the engine. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as she replays it in her head. She felt like she could combust, literally and figuratively- her head came down to rest on the wheel, and her cheeks ached from the smile that wouldn't seem to leave her lips.

In fact- she thought about it all night long. When she showered, when she laid in bed trying to sleep, she was tingling, an ache growing inside the depths of her stomach.

I mean, could you blame her? You didn't try to hide how hard you stared or how flirtatious you were towards her.

Maybe you were just like that with everyone.

Still- it didn't stop her. And It didn't stop her hand from slipping into the waistband of her checkered pajama pants, and it definitely didn't stop her from fingering herself to thoughts of you.

She came hard that night, harder than she had before, and she can't help but wonder- if simply her imagines of you felt this good, how would fucking you for real feel?

❥ taglist - @machetegirl109

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lexosaurus · 2 months

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Money saving pro-tips to people from warm climates that move to a cold climate

Source: I lived with a southerner and a girl from LA in a northern city in the US and they wasted a lot of money.

Tip #1: Drop your heat at night, or any time you’re not home. Most people up north don’t keep the heat at the same temp 24/7. That shit's expensive. When I’m home, I keep my heat anywhere between 65-68F, but during the workday, or at night, that shit goes down to 60F. A lot of thermostats are programmable so you can have it set automatically to turn down while you're at work/at night.

Tip #2: If you’re leaving your home for over 24 hours, lower the heat as much as possible. I set mine to 55F. Apartments and even houses heat up pretty quickly, so there’s no reason to waste money if no one’s around, and you won’t die if you have to wear your coat indoors for a few minutes. Note: you can’t turn your heat off completely or your pipes will freeze.

Tip #3: If you’re home but you’re only going to be occupying one room for several hours, consider leaving the heat low and just buying yourself a space heater.

Tip #4: When buying a space heater, get one that has an internal timer or thermostat. They cost slightly more, but the bonus to these is that they don’t just continue putting heat into the air until you intervene. They will turn themselves on/off in intervals, which helps to keep your room at a more consistent temperature. Just don’t forget to make sure the heater is switched off if you’re leaving your home!

Tip #5: Get better socks. A lot of the cold you feel is actually just ur terrible, flimsy ankle socks not protecting you from the cold floor. If I’m lounging around at home, I wear those heavy duty fuzzy socks that have a whole internal double lining. I’m a raynaud’s bitch so I know what I’m talking about.

Tip #6: Fleece-lined leggings. Steal your bf’s fleece pants. Why do they make men’s casual sweats so much thicker than girl’s casual sweats? Literal bullshit.

Tip #7: Idk who lied to you and told you that a bed can only have one comforter, but that’s dumb. I sleep with two. It’s much warmer.

Tip #8: If you're in an old apartment/house, winterize your windows. You can buy winterizing seals and insulation anywhere online and it's very cheap.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Tell Her You Love Her 3/4 (Word count 4.5 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: Finally I can share the rest of this crazy story with you guys! Chapter 4/4 will be posted right after this one. Also if you haven't yet seen @shizukaay0 's amazing fanart for this fic, go take a look, it's steamy!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She wakes up next morning only to find König gone.

The restless night nearly makes her sleep in, and when she notices that the man has left while she was still sleeping, something twists like a blade inside her stomach. She throws the covers off, scours the room with her stare, and notices a note and a small sunflower on the bedside table.

He has left his knife – or one of them – here too. Another gift.

The steel is dark, nearly black; the handle olive green, with sturdy finger grooves and a heavy guard to protect the fingers. The saw-toothed portion on the back of the blade gives the knife a look that most people would probably deem ugly. The blade is wide and ends in a vicious, fat tip that looks sharp enough to puncture flesh without having to apply much pressure.

She doesn't know what a Glock knife looks like, but this is exactly how she sees König: petrifying, big, and brutal. In her eyes, beautiful… Stunning.

The knife juts from the table and holds a note in place although there is no risk of wind to take it off.

Flower for my Engel

I'll see you tonight

The clumsy, hurried message immediately makes her smile. The disturbing thoughts from last evening are only an odd memory – his offerings make her insides glow with warm milk and honey, she feels silly, like summer – and the promise to come to her every night doesn't feel like a threat anymore, it feels… magical, a secret romantic meeting, something wild, something she has always avoided from fear of trying new things.

The floral dress on the floor doesn't appear as evidence of her ruining anymore. It's fairytale-like: that he leaves flowers and knives wherever he goes. The destroyed bra makes her almost giggle. When has a man ever done something like that to her in the heat of passion?

The night feels like another odd dream: König had barely fit to sleep in her bed, and she had barely fit to curl around him. He had slept like a baby, motionless and peaceful, while she woke up every few hours to admire him: to watch the slow pulse between his collarbones barely revealed by the hood and listen to the faint snore that stopped for the smallest moment when she brushed her fingertips over his stomach.

Her muscles ache from lying half on top of him all night. Changing position was out of the question because he held an arm of steel around her all night. Luckily, it prevented her from falling from the bed. But now her muscles were coated with pains of not getting enough sleep while being held in place by a giant for almost 9 hours. Not to talk of the fresh aches born from their activities before getting those precious few winks of sleep…

She goes to work that day with such an everlasting beam that people notice her. She's not entirely sure what has happened, but she is suddenly wildly alive, and blooming.

No one knows about her secret man, her secret, sturdy weapon. No one knows she is the one he comes to every night: the shy, invisible cleaner who has seduced the man whom everyone fears.

And they can keep their boring normalcy and dull decency. She has found something infinitely better.

He's her most precious secret from now on.

He comes to visit her in the break room in the middle of the day, and she's slightly surprised. She thought they would see each other only at night from now on.

She greets him with a smile, and he answers her delight with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He looks far more normal now that the tension is gone. It's suddenly easy to be in his company because they share a secret nobody else knows about.

"Hi… What are you doing here?"

Her shy smiles and the soft whisper should tell him that she doesn't object at all to this sort of intrusion. She might be a little obsessed now too.

"I had to see you," he says as if she's his priority from now on, and her heart feels lighter and lighter. He's equally as lovestruck as she, then.

"You look so beautiful."

She's walking in a dream again: this man calls her beautiful even when she's hidden in her cleaner uniform, stripped from her dresses and flowers and makeup. The only thing she has is her smile, really, but he's not any less adoring. She's being worshiped during her sleepy coffee break, in broad daylight, when she's dressed in dull, grimy working clothes… Who would've thought?

“Thank you,” she gives him another smile, and he moves to her; so close that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

The kiss that follows is stolen but thoroughly consensual. She disappears inside his hood and smiles on his lips, which are far gentler now. It's a chaste little kiss that happens in darkness and in secret, like everything else between them.

"Will you come to me tonight…?" She asks as if the note wasn't promise enough that he would. He's far too decent, not even groping her this time, and it drives her crazy.

"Nothing could keep me from you," he answers straight into her mouth. His musk and the soap he uses – something breezy and pungent, tea tree, perhaps – surround her much like the hood.

"You can be on top this time. I want to see how you take it–"

"Shh…" She smiles, almost laughs at his libertine whispers. He's smiling, too.

"Don't worry. I'll do the heavy lifting if you're tired."

He retreats, the hood is taken away and her sight is filled with light and decency, but then his hands go around her waist and lift her from the ground. It's like she's flying, floating through the air before he sets her gently on the coffee table.

"Except that you're not heavy at all," he says, voice dark and thick from arousal. He moves to her neck, the hood-coated face roams up and down her throat as he moves to whisper more suggestions in her ear.

"Or you can take it in your mouth… Have you ever had a man in your mouth?"

Something tells her that if she were to say yes, it would deeply upset him. The hair on the back of her neck starts to tingle, and when she doesn't answer him, he continues.

"I could eat you at the same time. Would you like that?"

His voice is darker still, and it makes her bite her lip and grab his arm for support. Even the idea of a 69 with him is dizzying. She can barely breathe from the joy and wanting.

How is she supposed to continue her day when he pops up out of nowhere and talks such sweet filth in her ear?

"König…"

"And after that… We'll fuck until your legs shake."

"Stop," she laughs a hushed giggle in the fabric of his hood. "This is inappropriate…"

"Oh ja. I'm hard again."

Mmh.

"All your fault, Engel."

"You are incurable," she laughs.

"That's what they say."

Perhaps it's a joke, but the word they makes her briefly wonder if he has had this kind of affairs with other women, too. Perhaps she's not so special after all. The image of him fucking other women with abandon breeds a stale, bitter putrefaction in her stomach.

Has he called them angels too…?

Her hands are about his neck, but she has no memory of throwing them there. She wishes she could just dangle from him the rest of the day until he carries her to bed and does all the things he just promised he would do. Let her do all those things to him while he gets to watch – watch how well she can take him, ride him, suck him.

She makes a silent promise to herself and to him that she will be the special girl, no matter the cost.

"Do you want coffee? I just made some," she asks in hopes that he would stay for a little while longer even if he isn't supposed to be here in the social spaces of the maintenance personnel.

"Sure. I would love that."

The man wants his coffee dark, and it only makes her smile as she pours him that minimalistic, unsweetened beverage. She likes his knives dark, his hood dark, his shirts dark… Perhaps she should start wearing black dresses.

"You left your knife in my room."

"For you," he tilts his head a little, wanting to know if she likes his gift. Has he given knives to other women, too, after he's fucked them…?

"Thank you. It's incredible."

"Good combat knife," he nods. "Doesn't reflect light."

If someone was here with them right now, they would probably roll their eyes at how deranged this conversation is. What rotten lunatics they both were.

She’s completely flushed, and smiling like an idiot from receiving a fat, vile knife as a present after having been fucked into oblivion twice last night.

"Well, it reminds me of you."

He looks at her, searching for deceit or ridicule, but there is none.

"That's how you see me..?"

"Mm-hm," she hums with sudden lightness. "Incredible."

His eyes betray the same look he had when he came inside her last night: brief, fragile, naked hope. Her next smile is sadder because obviously, this guy didn't receive compliments often. She's watering a dry desert plant with a single, simple word, and his eyes light up like he's just received years and years worth of good care.

He steps forward and looks like he is finally about to sit at the table. The obsessed look has melted into pure adoration: it's even more knee-buckling than the possessive stare that has followed her for weeks.

One of the maintenance officers arrives to get a cup of coffee in a hurry; a man whose name she doesn't even care to remember, whose world seems to consist mainly of stress. He’s a typical, middle-aged, burned-out man who doesn't appear to remember how to cherish the little things – such as a good cup of coffee – but rushes by everyone and everything and blames them for his stress. She always feels pity for both people and inanimate objects that get to suffer from this man’s exhaustion.

But she doesn't even see him now: all she sees is the fierce operator who is not supposed to be here. The giant who looks at her equally as mesmerized, like everyone else has ceased to exist in this world.

The air is teeming with naked lust and barely contained, sweet hunger, but the poor officer is blind to all of that. A sudden warmth gushes on her chest as the man bumps into her while rushing by with his overfilled coffee mug. She might as well be invisible again, and the hot liquid burns, but it has no power to make her angry or sad.

“Oh–excuse me,” she chirps with a dreamy smile on her face when it’s all his fault that she has coffee all over her shirt.

Before the man gets to the door, König grabs him by the collar and hurls him against the wall. She doesn’t even catch the knife before it plunges inside a round stomach like the worker is merely a balloon to be punctured.

The blade comes away all red, then disappears into the flesh again, and again and again… She loses count after six; the knife sails inside the same hole like he’s fucking the man with the blade. The slick sounds remind her of their intense love-making last night, they taint the passion in the most twisted way.

More hot coffee ends up splashing on her thighs before the sound of a mug smashing into tiny little pieces on the floor tells her that all innocence is lost.

Her gaze is glued to the black and red mush that used to be a polo shirt and a stomach: the man stays upright only because he is not allowed to collapse to the ground. But after a few seconds that seem to last hours, he is shoved to the floor in a sad heap.

She’s still staring at the now dead man when König takes a small step toward her. It occurs to her that both her palms are over her mouth only after she raises her eyes to his, and sees that he had expected some other reaction than this.

Her hands won’t descend; they try to keep all her horror inside, try to reassure her that this is only a dream, she hasn’t woken up yet, and the relief will be immense once she does.

But that never happens.

It’s real, and she would give anything to go only a few minutes back in time where the man was still alive and König was not everything she always feared he was.

He is looking at her with bewildered confusion, then the corner of his eye twitches, just once. He forces the blade back into its sheath without wiping the blood off: a telltale sign that he is more than thrown off balance.

Her horror and disgust escort him out the door in a tornado-like state, and she is left alone with two spilled coffees and a bleeding corpse, wondering who will clean the mess because she cannot for her life do it.

. . . . . .

The shock leaves her body cold and weak as she sits on a bench in the hallway, too distracted to carry on with her day, too afraid to go into her lonely room. It feels safer to remain in a public space, even if people who pass her by look at her with pity and confusion.

She cried her eyes and heart out after the shaking receded. She understands now why shock is such a dangerous state to be in. She always thought it a lie that people could die from shock, but not anymore.

Other people cleaned the mess, after the investigation. How she was able to stay so calm and collected during the questioning is a miracle on its own. What came after was an empty, bleak abyss.

She’s still staring at the floor after the buzzing around her quiets down. Minutes or hours pass by, the work day is over, steps fade away, doors close, people leave.

“Now now… What's the matter here lass?”

It’s the Scottish dude, unbearably benign, and looking like he’s actually caring about why she looks so devastated.

So, the other operators haven’t yet heard.

She doubts if König will receive much more than a scolding for what he did, high-ranked and fiercely dedicated to his work as he is. The man’s simply too valuable to be thrown away. They will just blow enough money to cover this shit right up.

This is not a regular army, and these are not regular people.

Soap sits down next to her, and she doesn’t even mind. At least he’s normal. At least something in this world is still intact, and smiling kindly.

"König did–König did something terrible."

She snobs and snivels, nose clogged and numb, eyes still burning from the tears. Soap looks at her with unadulterated concern, then pity. His brows knit together and he swallows before sighing profoundly.

"Right. What did he do now?"

When she only continues to stare at the floor, Soap raises a hand and starts to rub her back. Rather forcefully, to make it clear that he's not making a pass at her.

“Did he do something to you?”

She shakes her head slowly, because technically, it’s the truth. He didn’t knife her down.

Soap doesn’t ask any further questions. He must know without telling that König has done something bad, something fucking foul even if she hasn't been at the receiving end of it.

"Wanna hear my advice? Just stay away from that guy. Don't talk to him, don't pay attention to him."

The hand on her back stops as he thinks of more advice to give her while her heart grows cold and lonely.

"Just pretend that he doesn't exist."

It’s another punch in the gut to hear that she, the invisible girl, should simply return to her invisibleness and condemn König to nonexistence, too. To cast him out and send him even further into exile. To pretend that he had never been inside her, never brought her gifts.

The hand disappears, but then she feels padded gloves on her chin. She's too tired to flinch, and the hand gently coaxes her to turn her head and look back at the Scottish sunshine.

"Now… Give me a little smile, lass. It can't be that bad."

He’s not flirting with her.

She’s far too plain for Soap.

Or at least, that’s how she feels: unattractive, to men like him. To twinkling brown eyes, a perfect jawline, good jokes and outgoingness… She's had a few admirers but König is the only man who has looked at her like she’s nothing short of a goddess.

Soap, however, is the only one who came to clumsily cheer her up from the slump that witnessing a violent stabfest has sent her in. Everyone else just rushed by with feigned hurry. Every kindness she receives, she usually returns tenfold… But kindness is also a burden. Under the surface, she mainly wants to get rid of Soap; wants just to be left alone. Finally go back to her room and cry herself to sleep.

So she gives him a smile, shy enough to make him believe it’s genuine.

"There we go," he smiles back like an innocent sun, and behind him, in the darkening hallway, she catches the approaching giant: a black hood and under that, a bone-searing blue gaze.

"Wait–wait, wait!"

She darts from the bench, between Soap and him, like her lithe little body is enough to shield John MacTavish from a murderous titan.

If a man who spills coffee on her deserves to be stabbed more than a dozen times, what will happen to a man who has dared to touch her and make her smile?

"Don't,” her hand meets the steel of König's chest, and the blood drunk Goliath actually stops.

“Don’t, König, please."

The ice-cold gaze drops to her, and there’s such a range of emotion behind those blues that she has a hard time catching even half of the storm raging inside her maniac.

Soap rises from the bench behind her: the rustle of clothes and the squeak of gear tell her as much.

"Caught the girl crying,” he says with poorly disguised trepidation in his voice. “Now I don't know what you have done but maybe you should apologize."

Soap’s bravery is admirable. The flash of rage that is sent behind her could scald flesh from bones.

She presses herself against König, hugs his middle, tries to guide his attention elsewhere.

Just let the him go, please, no more…

Soap could perhaps defend himself for a while, but she doubts if the Austrian war machine would stop even when he’s shot full of holes.

Gargantuan arms go around her like a cage: she’s his, and forever will be. The true cost of being cast out from heaven is heavier than she had ever imagined; the tears that arise are born from a deeper trauma than that of witnessing a homicide in her quiet little break room.

. . . . .

König waits as she goes to have a shower. He follows her like a dark cloud as she goes to throw her work clothes, stained with coffee and the memory of blood, to the washing machine. He waits with statuelike composure as she finally sits on her bed, hair still dripping wet and leaving damp stains on her cute little white dress.

Wearing white seems like an abomination right now.

"I told you I don't want you to hurt people," she says quietly while watching how the water gathers at the tip of the strings of hair and tip-tip-tips on her dress and hands.

The man says nothing to defend himself. All the rage and fury is gone, his shoulders are tense, high up in the sky, almost in his ears. He’s shielding himself, and it makes her confused – clearly, he feels empathy, so why is he like… like this?

"I don't think you understand,” she swallows, heart beating more calmly now. He’s not going to plunge a knife in her, that much is certain. But still…

"I'm afraid of you."

She raises her stare: a powerful accusation, a woman's weapon. His head pulls back – he's surprised at this newfound nerve.

"I'm afraid of you, König," she emphasizes, much louder now. The declaration rings so true that it leaves her breathless and free, even powerful.

He, on the other hand, is a paralyzed beast. A golem stripped of the magical word that makes him a soulless robot. His eyes betray fear of loss for the first time, real, actual fear. He steps toward her, and when she doesn’t stop him, walks slowly to where she’s sitting.

He falls to one knee, slowly, so slowly – like she's a bird about to fly off. It pulls at her heart, it rattles the cage of her ribs. The frigid padding of his gloves touch her cheek, and she surrenders an inch or two. Maybe more than that.

She doesn’t know who lifts the mask, he or she, but her lips meet his desperate ones under all that black.

"I'm afraid of you…"

She whispers it on his lips, in his mouth, although she’s not afraid anymore. She’s pissed, and somewhat in love, and addled, shaken, ruffled to her core.

The kiss turns into a hungry one when he notices she’s not meaning what she says. Before long, she's on her knees too, and he's devouring her until she finds herself in his arms, being gently set on the floor. A trembling hand disappears under the hem of her dress, and the fabric comes up with it as he travels up her thigh.

But the only thing that’s wet right now is her hair, everything else is parched dry, locked up, sealed like the tomb of Tutankhamun, and there are curses in store for the one who will try to enter with force. Hell, even with a trembling, delicate hand.

And it’s not because she can’t get aroused – she could, in mere minutes with him – but because she’s not wet at the very instant he’s in her presence, that makes her grab the hand currently trying to get some solace from her.

"No."

He stops but doesn’t move that hand away. He’s panting in her mouth: needy, and in a whirlpool of despair. The only thing that can make him feel better is her wetness, which she cannot provide him.

The hand probes; it forces its way up just an inch.

"No."

She's relentless, and he finally draws his hand away, only to place it hesitantly and with an immense amount of grief, on her waist. She feels tiny under that giant palm.

"I'm not your plaything," she whispers, even finds the courage to shoot a tiny glare his way.

The hand does not apply pressure. If anything, it grows lighter and lighter with the fear of scaring her away.

"I made a mistake, Engel," he breathes. "You're not a toy."

Her eyes must betray both her hurt and longing because the man ups the stakes immediately.

"I'll give you anything you want," he tries: so desperately, so seriously that it sounds quite ridiculous.

"Can you just go," she whispers while a tear or two push out from the corner of her eyes. They’re hot as hell because they’re born of odd love.

"Engel–"

"Just leave."

The fingers on her waist curl, they grab her dainty little dress like it’s his only gateway to heaven. He releases the fabric soon enough, then grabs it again and lets out an agonizing sound.

Just go, go, please just leave me be…

She wants him to understand that there are consequences to his actions, and at the same time, she wants him to just hold her, to fix everything and fix her. It doesn't take the bitter taste of betrayal off her tongue to realize that she always knew what he was. She knew.

He rises to his feet, paces around a few times, more and more confused, distressed like a tortured animal. She sniffs and curls into a fetal position, hoping that he would just leave, and at the same time, hoping that he would brush off her demands and just hug her.

"I can't," he finally wails as if he can hear even her thoughts. "You're crying…”

It breaks her heart into million pieces – how can the same man stress and fuss about her tears when just hours ago, he had murdered some innocent man in cold blood?

He comes to the heap of her again, falls to his knees, then caresses her arm so softly that at first she thinks she’s just imagining the touch.

"Little angel," he tries.

Her following sob is like that of a child's. Why does he have to be so perfect and at the same time, such a–

"I know that I'm a monster."

Her eyes want to fly wide open, but she keeps them shut. He's self-aware, so much so that it hurts. He pets her more neurotically now; it's almost as if he's comforting himself and not her.

"Don't send me away," he begs, then curls behind her in an awkward spooning, holds and rocks her gently as she cries some more. After the catharsis that lasts for good long minutes, he gathers her like a doll in his arms and carries her to the bed so she doesn't have to lie on the cold, hard floor.

"I'll make it better," he says again and again as he caresses her and strokes her hair, "I promise I'll make it better…"

“Just go,” she cuts him off with a whisper.

He leaves eventually, after some more pacing and a few sighs, and she understands that he actually cared for her all this time: otherwise, he would've just taken what he wanted.

She slips into a dream, a soft oblivion where everything is well and summer is at its peak. They hold hands and stroll through the freshly cut grass, birds are singing, and he has no mask.

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #könig smut #konig x reader #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends

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souliebird · 5 months

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 10]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Words: 4.2k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

When Minnie was six months old, you used to sleep on the couch so you wouldn't wake her up trying to get ready for bed. It would hurt your back - your couch was not very comfortable to sleep on - but you would sacrifice your comfort so she could sleep. No one in their right mind would wake a sleeping baby - even one that was always happy to go down for a nap.

As your mind begins to stir, you become aware of the familiar ache in your lower back and the unfamiliar one pulsing around your eyes. Your hand slowly snakes up from where you had curled it against your chest and press your fingers along the bridge of your nose and up to the curve of your eyebrow, testing to see if the throbbing was sinus related. Nothing is triggered but your memories of the night before creep into your consciousness.

Minnie with her tantrum and Matt with his amazing senses.

You groan into the cushion as it all falls into place. Your eyes hurt from crying, not your sinuses, and you must have fallen asleep on the couch after your breakdown.

Shame and embarrassment course through you. You hate crying and you hate that someone witnessed it. You can't imagine what he must think of you now - losing it like that. You should have been able to handle the news far better than you had and you're going to promptly apologize the next time you talk to him. You had acted so selfishly when it was clear he had control over the situation.

But you don't have time to sit and wallow in your wretchedness - your daughter needs you to get up and be a capable adult, so you will your aching body to sit up.

Your phone is sitting on the table in front of you, so you grab it to check the time. It's half past seven and your daughter has probably been awake for at least an hour. More shame courses through you - you always try to wake up before her so you can take care of her. You can only guess what state she is in.

Your head spins as you stand, but you try to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bedroom. You prepare yourself to find a soiled bed - you didn't bother to change her into her night clothes and a pull-up and she is still mastering waking up when she needs to pee at night.

The door is partially open and as you near it, you hear her tiny voice talking nonsense as she plays with something. You take a deep breath and push into the room, ready to face the start of your day.

Your mind short-circuits at what you encounter.

Both beds are clean and made, far tidier than you usually make them, and Minnie is sat on the floor with Scooby and some of her other stuffed animals, having what looks to be a tea party. To your absolute confusion, she is already dressed, and her hair has been put into pigtails with mismatched bows. You know for a fact she can't reach where you keep her hair supplies - you put them on a high shelf after she got into them to play salon before and managed to get her hair tangled so badly you had to cut things out.

It doesn't even take her half a second to notice you and her little face breaks into the biggest smile, “Mommy!”

Still very much confused, you step forward to join the tea party circle and kneel down to be level with her. “Hi, sweetie,” you greet, trying your best to not alarm her. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”

“Not-uh! Mister Matt helped! We watched lots of videos about hair and he made me pretty!”

You frown at that, “Mister Matt helped?” Had he stayed the night after you fell asleep? If so, where is he now? Your apartment isn't that big, and the bathroom door is open. Had he left before you woke up? You don’t like the idea of him leaving Minnie unsupervised.

Your daughter nods as she turns back to her toys, pretending to pour you a cup of tea and handing it over. You automatically pretend to take a sip.

“He helped make me pretty,” she confirms after putting her tea pot down, “now he's getting foods. Bagels!”

You turn the statement over in your mind - there is a bagel shop around the corner Minnie loves and if Matt is right about her also having enhanced abilities, maybe, just maybe, he didn't leave her unwatched.

You bite your lip, then dare to push.

“Mouse, do you think you can tell me where Mister Matt is right now? Can you hear him?”

She doesn't acknowledge you right away, fussing with another piece of her tea set. You wait, allowing her to process what is being asked of her and watch as she slowly starts to move her head in minute movements, like she's tracking something. It's terrifying and fascinating to see a look of concentration come over her face and after about thirty seconds, she breaks into another big smile.

“He's talking to a frog!”

“A frog..?” You ask, wondering if Matt was wrong about Minnie having heightened senses and she's playing pretend again.

“Yeah, he says…he says.. He's telling froggy he can't go to work. He's gonna stay with us!”

It clicks instantly. Matt isn't talking to a frog. He's talking to his business partner, Foggy Nelson, and as far as you know, Matt hasn't mentioned him or Karen yet by name to Minnie.

“Can you tell where he is?” You ask again, being sure to be gentle with your question.

“Outside,” is her response, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Froggies can't come inside. Do you want sugar?” She holds up her toy spoon and you offer her your tea cup.

“Yes, please.”

She pretends to scoop sugar and you watch her in amazement. You are of course going to have to confirm that Matt was talking to Foggy, but it is so hard to believe your little one can hear that. You can't hear what is going on in your own living room, let alone outside your apartment. You cannot imagine how loud everything must be, how much input Mouse must be getting - but she doesn't seem bothered by it at all right now.

She seems to be completely over her tantrum from yesterday and you want to ask her about it, but you aren't sure how or if she has the ability to express it. You know there are days you get overwhelmed and upset and you can't think of another way to explain it other than “too much”. You can't expect a three year old to articulate it better than you can.

She's got a sweet little smile and part of you fears if you bring up her previous upset, it will spiral right back into a meltdown. So, you watch instead - watch as she goes back to playing make pretend with her toys, seemingly unbothered. You sip at your tea, making up a list of questions for Matt when he returns from his errand.

Minnie plays for about five minutes before she perks up, beaming up at you, “Mister Matt asks if you can open the door, please thank you."

Her statement throws you for a moment and you aren't sure how much you like the idea of her being able to tell you all these things. It scares you - her knowing things you don't and not knowing what she does know.

Maybe it is one of the things you and Matt can talk about - then talk about it with your sweet Mouse. You are going to have to get used to it, either way.

You push yourself into standing and motion for Minnie to come along. She scrambles up and runs out of the room, delighted laughter following her.

You are still in your clothes from the night before and you wish you had taken a moment to check your hair or even brush your teeth. You try to tell yourself it is fine, but your anxiety just argues back, and you feel like a complete slob by the time you get to the front door.

Your stomach and heart both do a funny clench at the sight of Matt, who is still sporting his borrowed shirt. You don't know if you want to fall into his arms or throw up or go hide under your covers so you can pretend all of this is a dream. Instead, you step aside so he can come inside and silently beg your mind to stop collapsing in on itself.

“Breakfast delivery,” Matt says as a greeting, his entire face lighting up with a smile. He's holding a bag from the shop around the corner in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks along with a small one in his other.

You can feel your face starting to heat up and force your eyes down to the ground, mumbling, “you didn't need to do that.”

He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, “I wanted to, and someone,” his voice turns teasing as he directs his next comments to Minnie, “wouldn't stop talking about bagels.”

Your daughter erupts into giggles, then turns and runs back towards the kitchen. Matt gives a pleased laugh, and your stomach flips again. He follows Minnie, and after you relock the door, you join them.

They are sitting at the dining table, Mouse watching with a big smile as bagels are laid out on the table. Matt narrates for both of you, “Three egg bagels with plain cream cheese, two large coffees, and one kid’s hot chocolate. Now, is that the right order or was someone taking advantage?”

Minnie giggles more and that relaxes your shoulders. “No, that's right. Thank you, you really didn't -” You cut yourself off as you realize the table is clear of any mess from the night before. There are no plates on the table or in the sink, there's no lasagna stains on the floor, there's no leftovers sitting out. Your eyes drift to Matt.

He must have cleaned after you had fallen asleep. Guilt courses through you - he shouldn't have to be dealing with your messes, especially in your own living space. You are going to need to not only apologize but return the favor somehow. You aren't sure how you'll do that - no one has ever done this much for you before, and Matt has done so so much in such a short time.

You're dragged from your thoughts as a coffee is placed in front of you.

“It's just black, I didn't know how you took it,” the kind, handsome lawyer says, and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears. It beats harder when you remember that not only can he hear your body and mind freaking out, but so can your daughter.

Your instinct tells you to panic at the idea of someone knowing that much about you. You always try to stay calm on the outside while having a meltdown, but that doesn't matter with him. He'll know you're a mess. You can't hide it.

You hear Matt ask Minnie something about her tea party and watch as she skips away from the table, but it's like your mind doesn't process it. You feel completely frozen because you don't know how to act - you don't know how to hide yourself from the man in front of you. You don't know how to hide yourself away from your daughter.

How can you protect her from yourself? Your own body?

Suddenly, Matt is in front of you, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands and whispering your name. He's practically right on top of you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin, “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

“What?” You ask, so confused about what is going on. You don't understand why he's saying it's okay.

“A deep breath, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath?”

Your mind will not wrap the reason for the instruction, but you do as you are told. You inhale through your nose and that earns you a soft smile. He continues to pet you, gently instructing you to exhale after a moment and you obey.

“Again?” He prompts and you nod. You feel shaky as you try to focus on breathing. You've always hated these exercises - they've never worked for you and have only served to frustrate you, and now you are just trying to make sure you are doing it right. How embarrassing would it be to fuck up breathing in front of Matt?

“That's it,” he says so calmly, “Just breathe. I know it's a lot. I know. One step at a time. Let's have some breakfast, okay? Let's sit and have coffee and we can all talk. How's that sound?”

It sounds good, it sounds like the right thing to do, but your throat is clenching and not wanting to produce words, so you nod instead.

You close your eyes to try to center yourself and somehow calm down. Matt lingers, keeping a hold of you until you hear Minnie coming back to the kitchen. It seems like he waits until the last possible moment before pulling away.

Seeing your daughter looking so happy helps to reset your mind. She's fetched Scooby and Pig and runs up to the table to put them in their chair. You smile at the sight.

She really does seem like she's perfectly fine and maybe Matt is right and everything is okay. For now, at least.

You force yourself into action, moving to set one of the bagels in front of Mouse, setting it on a napkin. You're going to need to transfer the hot chocolate into a mug or Mouse will spill on herself.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

She practically dives into her bagel, picking it up and taking a big bite and getting cream cheese on her cheeks. She is completely engrossed with her food.

“Thank Mister Matt, he got us breakfast,” you advise before going to get a napkin. While you are in the kitchen, you grab your creamer from the fridge.

“Thank you, Mister Matt!” she chimes before barreling on. “Mommy, did you know Mister Matt can braid hairs!”

Guilt courses through you and you remind yourself you need to thank Matt for everything he has done for you. But you tell yourself to not think of it right now - you are terrified of Minnie sensing your panic and that somehow shuts your mind down and you go into parent mode.

“No, I didn't. Did you ask him to braid your hair?” You ask as you move in to wipe her face. She obediently tilts her face towards you and closes her eyes as you clean away the cream cheese. In the corner of your eye you see Matt sip from his coffee, a smile forming in his lips.

“She wanted puffs,” he advises, “I learned a lot of new hair terminology today. Minnie is a very good teacher.”

Your daughter preens at the praise before taking another bite of her bagel. More cream cheese gets on her face. You decide to wait until she's done eating before tidying her up again. It will be pointless otherwise.

Instead, you start to fix your coffee, removing the lid to add creamer. You eye your daughter as you do, letting yourself finally take in her appearance.

“You're a good stylist,” you tell Matt, and it is true. Her pigtails look even and as smooth as can be expected for a toddler. You don't see any tangles and if Minnie is happy, you have no grievances with the outcome - only guilt that Matt was the one who dealt with it.

“I have some experience,” he hums, before taking another sip of his coffee. Then he directs his smile to his daughter, “my best friend used to have long hair. He has little nieces and they used to do his hair at Christmas, and I got roped into helping. I'm told I do a pretty good French braid.”

Mouse giggles before gasping and pointing at you, “do Mommy's hair!”

Embarrassment floods you - you don't think anyone has done your hair since you were Minnie’s age, and your current hair is a gross greasy mess and you don't want anyone touching it.

Matt hums as he tilts his head towards you, “I think Mommy is better at doing her hair than I would be. But maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time,” you agree, hoping that will be enough to deter your daughter from this path.

Luckily, she quickly parrots, “Next time!”

You offer her a smile and take a much needed drink of your coffee. It not only warms you but helps to ground you back into reality.

You remind yourself nothing has actually changed - you are just more aware of the world. To Minnie, this is the same as any other day and you need to get yourself back on track.

Which means you need to confirm some things with Matt.

You set your coffee down, then pick up Minnie’s hot chocolate and bring it to the kitchen to transfer into one of her kid-friendly tumblers. You clear your throat, then dare to try, “Minnie said you'd be spending the day with us?”

“You told the froggy!” Mouse happily adds.

Matt looks confused for a few seconds before it must click, “Foggy, sweetheart, not Froggy. Foggy is my best friend - the one who had long hair.”

“Froggy!” Is the defiant response and you know better than to argue. Once something is named, the name sticks. But of course, Matt doesn't know this and you decide to let him learn.

“Foggy,” he tries. “Like a cloud. Not a frog.”

“Froggy!”

“Fog. Foggy. No ‘r’.”

“Frog. Froggy! Froggy! Froggy!” Minnie bounces in her seat, starting to giggle. You return to the table, securing the lid to the sippy tumbler before placing it down.

“Ribbit ribbit,” you add and that gets you a delighted burst of laughter.

“Ribbit ribbit!”

Matt practically pouts but seems to realize he isn't going to win this. “But yes, I… told Foggy I wanted to spend the day with you. When I was in the phone, outside.” His dramatic sad face turns into something soft as he tilts his head towards Minnie, “Did you tell your Mommy you heard me?”

“I, uh, asked if she could,” you say, feeling silly for admitting it. But you know this is the path you need to take to start understanding what enhanced senses mean.

“I can hear everything,” your little one proudly says, and you've heard her say it before - but now you know she isn't just playing pretend.

“Yes, you can,” is Matt's soft reply. Unlike your underlying panic, his voice seems to carry a fondness about the whole situation. He is the one with the experience and you want to trust him with the lead on this, but it's still absolutely terrifying.

But you know you need to set the ball up, so you gently push, “Did you know Mister Matt can also hear…everything?” You know it's not everything, at least by what Matt said, but you aren't going to get technical with a toddler. “Mommy can't, though. Mommy’s hearing isn't as good as yours and Mister Matt's.”

Mouse looks between the two of you, pursing her lips up as she thinks, then she reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly, “I'll tell you what I hears, Mommy.”

Your heart soars with so much love and you turn your hand so you can take hers and give it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, baby.”

“I can hears a bark-bark dog and a woofy dog,” she starts, “and there's a puppy going ‘yip-yip-yip!’”

Matt laughs a little and your focus is ripped away from Minnie and over to him. He absolutely beams at you, looking proud as can be. You wonder what this like for him - having someone else who can hear what he can.

“There's a doggy day care about two blocks north,” he informs, and it is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact your daughter can hear that far. “Clients are starting to arrive, and they are lively.”

There's a flash of brown and Minnie is waving Scooby at Matt, “Bark bark bark!”

“Is Scooby a barky dog?” He asks, leaning forward towards her and putting his elbows on the table. “Not a woofy dog?”

“Bark bark!” Is the response before Mouse makes him growl. You finally allow yourself to sit and watch the sweet interaction. Everything still feels like it's too much and swirling inside you, but seeing Matt and Minnie bond is soothing - even if it's over something you can't understand yet.

“What about Pig? Does he go bark-bark or woofy?”

His question gets Minnie to gasp as if she's scandalized. “Pig isn't a doggy!”

“Oh, he isn't?” Matt teases, “I can't see him. What is he?”

“He's a piggy!” She snatches up Pig and clutches him to her chest beside Scooby. You hope she doesn't have cream cheese on her fingers because cleaning her toys is always an adventure. She hates when they have to get washed and now, you guess, you understand why. They probably smell different after being washed or the texture is off. It's something you'll have to explore later.

“What type of noises do piggies make?”

“Oink-oink-oink!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he hums, then hunches forward more and lowers his voice, like he's talking in secret, “And what sounds do little girls named Minnie make?”

You finally get to take a bite of your bagel as you watch her contemplate the question. Her face screws up in thought before lighting up when she decides her answer.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo!”

Matt throws his head back with laughter, which makes Minnie dissolve into happy giggles. The sheer joy between the two of them pulls a smile out of you and the heaviness in your chest starts to lighten more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo?” You question and your daughter giggles more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo! Like Scooby!”

You don't understand what that means but you just let the positivity continue.

“What about Mommy? What sounds do I make?” You ask, curious what her response will be.

“Bumbum-bumbum.” They aren't words, but you instantly get it is supposed to be your heartbeat. You feel yourself start to flush. Matt had told you that Minnie listens to your heart to ground herself, so of course that is what she associates you with. But hearing it from her mouth and getting that confirmation still rocks you.

“It's a good sound, isn't it?” Matt asks Minnie and you can imagine how red you are turning. You try to hide behind your coffee.

“The bestest,” Minnie agrees before adding, “After Scooby Song. Scooby Dooby Do! Where are you!”

“We've got some work to do now,” you half mumble, half sing with her.

“I've never heard the Scooby song,” the man beside you says and that triggers Mouse into action. She slides off her chair, and still clutching her toys, hurries across the room to the television. She knows how to bring up what she wants, so it only takes a few seconds before there is an episode starting to play on screen.

She drops her toys and the remote before running back to Matt and tugging on his - technically yours - shirt. “You gotta listen!”

He barely gets to stand up before being pulled into the living room. He does not resist in the slightest to being directed to sit on the ground and you watch as Minnie begins to explain the intricate lore of her favorite show. To your wonder she describes each character by their voice first and you can tell Matt is completely enthralled by what he is being told. Scooby gets moved from laying on the floor to being shoved into Matt's lap so he can hold onto him.

You realize without fanfare that you can barely hear the television. It is still on low volume from last time you had it on, and it dawns on you that you never really have it turned up too loud. Minnie can probably hear it just fine and doesn't need it blasting throughout the apartment. You never got to really watch television as a kid, and you wonder what the normal volume for watching things is supposed to be.

You sip at your coffee, watching as Minnie plops herself next to Matt on the floor, going on excitedly about mysteries and different sounds. Both of them are smiling and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

This is what you want your life to be like, you decide.

You want your family to be full of love and joy and you have fought so hard to get to this point. You've climbed your way out of a cold and distant household to make your own little corner in the world and right now you need to enjoy it instead of letting your mind be taken over by darkness and despair.

So, you set your coffee down and move to join your daughter and her father in front of the television, asking in a teasing voice, “So who is the blonde man again?”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock

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merrybloomwrites · 2 months

Text

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 7)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Y/N deals with going off her medications and being apart from Harry. They finally reconnect to spend the holidays together.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6

Word Count: 6k

CW: smut

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

The first week without suppressants and soothers isn’t awful. There's just enough of the medication still in your system to keep you feeling somewhat normal. Plus, your nest, really your entire apartment, is still holding on to Harry’s scent.

You continue to sacrifice sleep so you can watch live streams of Harry’s shows. You’re pleasantly surprised to see “Canyon Moon” back on the set list. You can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with you telling him that it’s your favorite song.

Those first days lull you into a false sense of security. Maybe letting your omega out, living as nature intended, won’t be the worst thing.

But after that first week, things start to take a turn. Your system is definitely cleared of the meds now. And Harry’s scent has faded from your nest and apartment. You sleep restlessly Tuesday night, and Wednesday morning is rough. Not only are the touch deprivation symptoms coming back, but now you’re exhausted on top of it. Part of you wants to open another bag of scented items that Harry gave you so you can fix your nest. But that would be silly since you’re traveling home this afternoon to be with your family for Thanksgiving.

Instead, you decide to pack one of those bags with you, so you have his scent if needed. You realize that you likely won’t, since being around your family tends to soothe your omega. While packs don’t really exist anymore there’s still an inherent connection to family members that simulates the connection of packmates.

Your cousins know you're an omega, and though no one ever explicitly talks about it, they take care of you in little ways. They subtly check on you, or they’ll create a makeshift nest of blankets so that you all can cuddle together during movie nights. Even though they’re betas, their presence, and their obvious love for you has always helped keep you balanced.

Plus, your oldest cousin now has two pups, one a toddler and one only a few months old. No one complains when you baby hog them, knowing that holding a pup is also very soothing for an omega.

Reenergized at the thought of seeing your family, you’re able to get out of bed and finish packing, making sure to include one unopened bag of Harry’s scented items just in case.

After finishing the last two projects you’re doing for work, you start the hour-long drive home. When you arrive, you’re greeted by your parents, aunt, uncle, and one of your cousins. They’ll all be staying at the house, while your other two out of town cousins, along with their spouses and the kids, rented an Airbnb nearby.

You and your cousin Kelly will be sharing your room. It’s not the first time, since you’re an only child and she’s the youngest of three so you were often put together during family trips. She’s a couple years younger, in her final year of college, but the two of you have always been close. She’s also a huge Harry Styles fan and you kind of can’t wait to spill the beans about your relationship with him.

It’s a chaotic afternoon as you all work on preparing the house to host everyone for the next few days. Everyone comes over for pizza dinner and it’s wonderful to be surrounded by so many people. There’s music playing, conversations flowing, and constant laughter. You sit and color with your cousin’s son and get some baby cuddles with her daughter. It’s a perfect night and takes your mind off your problems for the moment.

That night, you and Kelly are getting ready for bed when your phone buzzes. You quickly turn to grab it but she’s faster. You see the screen for a second and there’s definitely a text from Harry.

He’s saved in your phone as just “Harry”, so she doesn’t know exactly who you’re talking to, as evidenced by her immediately asking “Ooooh who’s Harry?”

“I’m going to tell you, but you cannot freak out, or tell anyone else yet, okay?” you reply.

She nods yes with a comically serious look on her face.

“Harry is Harry Styles.”

For a moment there is silence as she stares at you blankly. You’re startled when she suddenly shouts “WHAT?”

You jump before quickly shushing her, as you don’t want either of your parents to find out what you’re talking about.

“If you promise to stay quiet, I’ll tell you the whole story,” you state.

Kelly quickly sits down and mimes locking her lips shut, showing that she intends to listen. You sit on the bed across from her and dive in, starting from the first concert of his you went to, all the way until his visit last week. She listens intently, eyes wide in disbelief.

“So. Harry Styles is your boyfriend? And your alpha?” She says, and you nod to confirm. It sends butterflies through your belly, hearing someone else refer to Harry in that way. It’s been such a well-kept secret since the first interaction and it’s so nice to have someone close to you know all the details. It almost makes it more real somehow.

After answering all of Kelly’s questions she gets up to finish getting ready for bed. You pull up your phone to answer Harry’s text from earlier. He was reaching out to check on you and wish you a good night, and it warms your heart to know you’re on his mind even countries apart.

You sleep well that night and wake up feeling refreshed on Thanksgiving morning. After a quick breakfast and cup of tea you get down to business to help your mom prepare for dinner. The rest of your family arrives in the early afternoon and the party is soon in full swing.

The next morning is slow and lazy, everyone just hanging out and watching movies together. You all enjoy the Thanksgiving leftovers throughout the day, and by mid-afternoon you’ve brought out a few different games to play together. You’re feeling great, though you do with you could have your alpha by your side. That would make it truly perfect.

That night you and Kelly lay in bed watching a livestream of Harry’s show. The next morning everyone packs up to travel back home, including you.

Your apartment now feels extra lonely, so you quickly shower before building a new nest using the items Harry gave you. Since he doesn’t have a show, you Facetime for hours that afternoon. You tell him all about your visit home and fills you in on how his time in Mexico was.

You discuss when you can see each other again, a conversation which should make you happy, but instead becomes a bit stressful. While you want nothing more than to join Harry on tour, there’s still up to three weeks until your passport is definitely going to arrive. You’d never left the country before, never had plans to, and so you never really thought about getting one. If you could go back in time, you’d slap past you or being so unprepared.

“Christmas is more than three weeks away,” Harry says. “Would you consider coming to England for the holidays?”

“Like, with your family?” you inquire.

“I’d like for you to meet them,” he replies. “It’s going to be low-key this year. Just mum, Gemma, and Michal.”

“Okay. Yea, that sounds fun!” It does. Totally fun. Only fun. Not stressful at all to meet the family so soon.

“Do you think it’ll be a problem with your parents?”

“They’ve always wanted to spend the holidays on a vacation to South Carolina. Maybe I’ll make that my gift to them and then everyone will be happy,” you answer. It’s something you’ve wanted to do for them for years anyway and you finally have more than enough money in savings to make it happen.

“That sounds really nice,” he says. “How long do you think you can come for? I’d love to have you here for Christmas and New Years if possible.”

“I could do that. The next couple weeks will be busy at work, but it calms way down by Christmas. I’ll obviously have to work a bit while I’m there, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Fantastic! I’ll get a potential itinerary over to you and you can let me know if it needs any changes.”

You talk a little longer before hanging up to go to sleep. You’re feeling better now knowing that you have plans to see him, even if you are disappointed that it’s still a month away.

And what an awful month it turns out to be. Harry does everything he can to be helpful, but there’s just not much he can do for touch deprivation from a distance. You talk on the phone as much as possible and the scented clothes he sent you are a true lifesaver. But every day becomes a struggle. The constant itch causes you to scratch your skin raw, no number of blankets can get you warm, and you’ve had to cut way down on exercise since it always leaves you dizzy.

You’re so exhausted that packing is a nearly full day chore, but the knowledge that you’ll see Harry in less than 48 hours is enough to motivate you to finish the task. You’re taking the red eye and landing in the morning the day before Christmas. Harry informed you a few days prior that he’ll be in London for a meeting when you land, and that Gemma will be picking you up. You’re disappointed that you won’t see him right away, but he promised he’ll be there in time for dinner.

Your normal travel anxiety is ten times worse than usual, partially due to it being your first international flight and partially due to the lack of suppressants and soothers that you’d relied on for years. Harry had insisted on purchasing you a first-class ticket, which you fought him on, saying it was unnecessary. But now that you’ve finished boarding, you’re grateful. You’re already overstimulated from being around so many people in the airport and it’s nice to have so much space during the flight.

You try to get some rest but for some reason you just cannot fall asleep. Instead, you listen to the podcasts you downloaded while curled up, face tucked into Harry’s sweater that you saved just for this trip.

The moment you land you get a text from Gemma that she’s on her way and will be there in half an hour, giving you time to collect your luggage and get to the pickup area. You’re too tired to be nervous about meeting your boyfriend’s sister for the first time, which is a true blessing at this moment.

You’re only waiting outside for a minute before you see her pull up. She hops out of the car to greet you with a hug and help you get your suitcase into the trunk.

She makes conversation throughout the drive, but can tell you’re exhausted and says, “Mums got some breakfast waiting at home and Harry’s room is ready for you, so you can get a nap before he gets back.”

She pulls up to the house a moment later and quickly grabs your bag before leading you inside.

“Mum!” she calls out as she opens the door. Moments later, Anne steps into the entryway and pulls you in for a hug, saying, “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Harry cannot stop talking about you.” You smile and blush at that and reply, “It’s nice to meet you as well. Thank you for having me.”

“Of course! We couldn’t be more excited that you’re joining us for the holidays! Now come, you must be starving.”

She leads you into the kitchen and the three of you sit together and have a late breakfast. They do most of the talking, which you appreciate.

After you’re done eating you try to clean up, but Anne stops you saying, “Leave everything, please, you’re our guest. You must be tired; Gemma can bring you up to Harry’s room so you can rest a bit.”

“That would be great, thank you so much,” you reply.

Gemma leads you upstairs, pointing out the bathroom before leading you to Harry’s bedroom. You’re immediately hit with his scent, so potent that for a second you think he must be there with you.

You quickly scan the room, taking in the decorations and all his books and belongings. It’s like a shrine of Harry, and you want to examine everything, but you’re truly exhausted. As soon as Gemma steps out you start getting ready for a nap. There’s a pile of clothes on the bed, a t-shirt and some pajama pants. They’re doused in Harry’s scent and without even thinking, you change into them.

The room starts to spin around you, and you immediately get into bed. The world goes black the second your head hits the pillow.

Nearly two hours later Harry arrives home. He’s earlier than expected thanks to his afternoon meeting getting cancelled. You’re unaware of his return, still knocked out in his bed.

“Hi Mum, hey Gemma,” he says, walking into the living room where the two of them are watching a movie together.

“Harry! We didn’t expect you for quite a while, dear,” Anne replies.

“Last meeting was cancelled, apparently there’s a storm up north so half the team couldn’t make it. They’ll reschedule after the holidays. Is Y/N here?” As much as he enjoys talking with his family, he hasn’t seen you in over a month and doesn’t want to spend another minute away from you.

“Yea, she’s taking a nap in your room,” Gemma replies.

Harry sniffs the air before saying, “Hm, that’s odd,” and sniffing the air again.

“What is?”

“I can’t catch her scent.”

“She probably wore some strong scent blockers for the flight,” Anne reassures him, picking up on his shift from excited to worried.

“Probably,” he replies, but he’s not sold on that explanation. “I’m just gonna go up and check on her.”

He turns and heads upstairs, stopping in the bathroom quickly to wash his hands and splash some water on his face, before changing into a clean outfit he’d left in there earlier. He knows you’ve likely been bombarded with other scents during your travels and wants to make sure no strangers scents cling to him.

Once he’s sure he smells only of himself, he crosses the hall. He knocks on the door gently but enters slowly when he gets no reply. At first he thinks you’re sleeping. You look asleep, curled up in his blankets. But you don’t seem at rest.

Your breathing is rapid, not deep and even like it would be if you’re asleep. And he can hear the faint whimpers that indicate you’re distressed. He stands there for a moment, shocked at the state he found you in, but another whine from you kicks him into action.

He turns out of the room, shouting for Gemma to come upstairs. She runs up, hearing the edge of panic in her little brother’s voice.

“How long has Y/N been up here?” he asks, needing as much information as he can get.

“Maybe two hours. Why? What’s going on?”

“Did she seem like, upset at all? Or spacey or dizzy? Did she seem off in any way?”

“Not that I noticed. She was just really tired. Harry, what is it?”

“I think she dropped,” he replies.

It’s quiet for a moment before Gemma says, “You said she had to go off her medications right? And she’s been without her alpha for a month, so she has some intense touch deprivation. Plus, she’s exhausted from traveling to another country. Being in your space, which probably reeks of your scent, might have put her omega over the edge.”

Harry nods along, knowing his sister is probably right.

“I should’ve been with her. Gemma, I have no idea what type of drop this is! Maybe it’s a good one because she’s in my space, but she seems distressed.”

“Harry, take a breath. You know what you need to do right now. So calm down and be there for your omega. Would you feel better if mum and I left? Gave you guys some privacy?”

“I don’t want to kick you guys out.”

“Of course not. We have some last-minute shopping to do. We were just waiting until you came home. Go, take care of your girl. We’ll see you later. And call if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you Gems,” he replies. Gemma walks downstairs and Harry takes a minute to calm himself. He knows that he needs his emotions in check to be able to help you. Just as he’s confident that his feelings won’t negatively affect you he hears the front door close, indicating that the two of you are now alone in the house.

He walks into the room and finds that you haven’t moved. He first crouches by the bed, leaning close in hopes that you’ll notice he’s there and he won’t startle you. There’s no change so he starts to emit calming pheromones. This seems to catch your attention, and Harry watches as you subconsciously seek him out.

Now that you seem to know that your alpha is there, he climbs into the bed with you. He does so slowly, watching your reaction the whole time. He gently shifts you to hold you against his chest and angles your face so that your nose is against his scent gland. He continues to let out the calming pheromones which seem to be working, as you’ve stopped whimpering.

Harry gives you some time to stay under, but he’s fairly sure this is a bad drop, so he starts to bring you out sooner than later.

“It’s time to come up, omega,” he says. “Can you come back to me? I’d really like to see you. Been waiting so long.”

It doesn’t work right away, but after a few minutes of Harry talking to you, the haze of the drop starts to fade. Finally, your eyes blink open and meet his.

“There you are,” he says, his voice relieved.

“Alpha?” you say, still dazed and confused. Your body feels heavy, and you don’t recognize your surroundings. Everything feels strange, but you know that you’re okay, now that your alpha is there.

“I’m here, omega. I’ve got you.” You’re immediately soothed by his presence, and by his words. Your brain finally clicks on, and you fully realize that you’re in Harry’s room, in his arms. You begin to shift, Harry reaching out to make sure you’re steady. He realizes what you’re trying to do and moves as well until you’re situated in a way that you can both scent each other at the same time.

You sigh as his nose brushes against your scent glad before doing the same to him. It isn’t long before your scents mix together to fill the room.

“Are you alright, love?” Harry asks.

“I’m good, now that you’re here,” you truthfully reply, blushing at your vulnerable statement.

“I’ve missed you, so much,” he says before moving to kiss you. His lips move lazily against yours, and you have to swallow back a whine at the feeling of him against you.

After a couple minutes he pulls back and says, “Mum and Gemma are out. What would you like to do next? Do you want to sleep a little more, or eat, or take a shower?”

You think about it for a moment and reply, “Can we take a bath?”

“We? Together?” he questions.

You blush and say, “I definitely want to wash all the travel grime off me, but I kind of don’t want to leave your side. It’s that’s okay with you.”

“It’s more than okay with me, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“I am,” you say with a shy smile.

You both get out of bed, and Harry collects towels and clean clothes for both of you. He then fills the tub, pulling his shirt off so he can test the water without his sleeve getting wet. Your heart starts to race as you realize that you’re both about to see each other naked for the first time. For some reason you’re grateful that it’s in this setting, rather than a sexual one. It lessens the nerves, knowing that there’s no expectations here.

He slides off his pants, leaving him in boxer briefs. You do the same, then throw your shirt off as well before you can overthink too much. You weren’t wearing a bra, meaning your chest is now exposed to Harry. He takes a deep breath before saying, “You’re beautiful.”

Harry quickly shuts the water off and turns back to you. “We can stay like this if you’d like? Keep our underpants on?”

You shake your head no and your hands go to the waistband of your panties.

“Together?” you ask.

“Together,” he replies, and follows your lead, slowly lowering his underwear until you’re both standing there, completely bare. You fight off the urge to cover your body and hear Harry quietly say, “Absolutely perfect.” This compliment gives you the courage to look up, and your eyes quickly scan over him, briefly stopping at his groin. Your breath stutters as you take in his impressive size, and his smirks when he notices.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get in before the water cools.”

He has you get in first, keeping you steady so you don’t slip. He slides in behind you and gently pulls you, so your back is resting against his chest. You feel his groin brush your skin, and tense for a moment before relaxing. You’re surprisingly comfortable with the whole situation.

You both stay like that, silently relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, Harry says, “Scooch forward, let me wash your hair.”

He does so, first shampooing, then putting in conditioner, being extremely gentle as he does so. He then grabs a shower puff and spreads some body wash on it, before giving you a look asking if it’s okay for him to clean your body. You nod yes, and he focuses on rubbing the soap over your limbs and torso. He makes a mental note of the scratch marks on your skin, and frowns at how bad your touch deprivation must have been to cause this. He hesitates with his hand resting on your thigh. You open your legs slightly, silently giving him permission to clean between them as well. A gasp escapes your mouth at the feeling, but it only lasts a moment before he’s done and moving away.

Harry quickly washes himself as well, and by the time you’re both soap free, the water has become uncomfortably cool. He gets out and dries off first before helping you again and wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

Once you’re dry you both get dressed and head downstairs to watch a movie together. That’s how Anne and Gemma find you when they arrive home an hour later.

After talking for a few minutes Harry checks the time and gets up, saying, “I should really get started on dinner.”

“Want any help?” Anne asks but he quickly shakes his head and says, “I’ve got it, you girls relax.”

You last five, maybe ten minutes before you’re making an excuse to join Harry in the kitchen.

“Hey, you,” he says when you walk into the room. “Miss me?” he asks jokingly.

You chuckle awkwardly, not wanting to admit that he’s right. It feels clingy, but you’re still shaking off the drop, and the touch deprivation, and being away from Harry is physically painful. He picks up on this and immediately stops what he’s doing to focus on you. He pulls you in for a hug and whispers, “I missed you too.”

You stay in the kitchen with him, helping chop veggies for the stir fry. As soon as it’s ready the four of you sit together at the table. The food is delicious, because of course Harry’s a good cook on top of his other talents. After dinner is done and cleaned up you’re all back at the table with mugs of tea.

Though it’s not exactly late, you find it hard to keep your eyes open. Harry immediately senses how sleepy you are, and the two of you say a quick goodnight to Anne and Gemma before heading upstairs. You brush your teeth side-by-side in the bathroom, feeling very domestic. He hands you some of his clothes to wear to bed.

“I did pack my own clothes you know,” you say while changing into the ones he gave you.

“I know, but you just look so cute in mine,” he replies, his eyes soft as he looks at you in a pair of his pajama pants and an oversized sweater.

The two of you get into bed and Harry opens his arms for you. After getting comfortable together you quickly fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Christmas eve, Christmas, and Boxing Day pass with lots of gifts exchanged, movies watched, games played, and meals shared. The rest of the week is both exciting and relaxing. You do a little work each morning before going on an adventure with Harry and then ending the day with a movie.

It’s wonderful getting to know Harry’s family and see where he grew up. People recognize him when you’re out in public, but it’s not like it would be in any big city. He’s not being swarmed by fans, but rather greeted by his neighbors who are excited to see him home for the holidays.

The two of you get invited to a New Years Eve party in London, and after debating for a bit you both decide to go, planning to leave early so you can ring in the New Year just the two of you.

You drive to the city early that day to settle into his home there and go out for a late lunch. His house is beautiful, and you’re stunned by how well decorated it is. You tell him this and can see the way he lights up with pride at your compliments. Somehow he doesn’t get spotted while you’re walking around London, so you guys get to enjoy an uninterrupted meal and a walk where he points out some of his favorite spots.

He senses you getting cold and immediately routes back to his house. You both shower and get ready for the party, dressing up more than you ever have together. You put on a sparkly green, long sleeve dress that falls to mid-thigh. This gets paired with your black heeled boots, opting for some comfort and protection in the footwear department.

He’s wearing a pair of black slacks, and a silver top, buttoned halfway. The two of you spend a moment just staring at each other, completely at a loss for words. Harry’s first to regain his senses, saying, “You look absolutely stunning, omega.”

“Thank you alpha. You look very handsome,” you reply.

He walks closer, until his hands wrap around your waist, and he pulls you flush against him. You gasp at the sudden move, and he leans down to kiss you, his tongue slipping through your parted lips. For a few minutes you get lost in the feeling of him moving against you. Slick starts to leak into your panties, and the groan Harry let’s out tells you he can smell it. His hips roll harder against you for another moment before he pulls back. Both of you take deeps breaths, and you note how blown his pupils are.

You turn to walk back into the bedroom and Harry asks, “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta change my underwear,” you reply.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes, Harry,” you say through a laugh. “I can’t go to a party smelling like slick!”

“Sarah’s going to be the only other alpha there, I’m sure she won’t be bothered.”

“Harry, behave!”

“No promises on that.”

You roll your eyes playfully before walking away to clean yourself up. By the time you get back Harry has his coat on and is holding yours.

There’s still a hint of arousal in his scent and he says, “Are you sure we have to go? We could just stay here, get out of these clothes…” he trails off suggestively.

“Yes, we have to go. You already committed. We don’t, however, have to stay. So let’s go so we can make an appearance and then get back here and see what we can do about getting out of these clothes.”

Harry smiles at the confirmation that you’re on the same page as him. He helps you slip on your coat and the two of you leave the house.

Luckily the party is in his neighborhood so the two of you walk there. You’re greeted by Harry’s friends when you arrive, and immediately start to catch up with Mitch and Sarah. Harry never leaves your side, his arm always wrapped protectively around your waist. Some people may see this as a possessive alpha move, but to you it means safety and comfort.

You stay at the party for a couple hours before ducking out around 11PM. Harry continues to hold you close the whole walk back, and the air is definitely charged with a new tension. His scent has shifted slightly, a hint of spice added to his normal warm smells.

Once in the house you both calmly remove your coats and shoes, neither of you making the first move just yet. It’s like you want the tension to grow until you can’t stand it anymore. You take some initiative and walk upstairs to the bedroom with Harry following behind.

He finally breaks when you arrive in the bedroom, and he turns you to face him before crashing his lips to yours. You can’t hold back the whine of pleasure, and if the way he groans and tightens his grip on you is any indication, he’s a fan of the noise you make.

His hands start to move down your sides until they reach the bare skin of your legs. He starts to slide them back up, now going under your skirt as he moves to press kisses to your neck. You loop your arms over his shoulders and tilt your head to give him more room. Your skirt bunches as his hands make their way to the sides of your torso. In a show of strength, he lifts you up and lays you on the bed.

He crawls over you, and you reach up to unbutton the rest of his shirt and push it off. It’s your turn to slide your hands over his sides, loving the feeling of the smooth skin beneath your fingers. Harry places more kisses to your neck before moving down until he’s placing a kiss between your covered breasts.

You feel the slick coating your center, knowing your panties are absolutely ruined. Both of your scents are growing stronger, his becoming spicier while yours turns sweeter. It mixes together deliciously, and you could grow addicted to the smell.

“Can I take this off?” Harry asks, gripping the bottom of your dress in his hands.

“Yes,” you reply as you sit up slightly so he can pull it off of you. His breathing stops as most of your body is bared in front of him. His hand drifts towards your chest and he looks at you with a silent question. You nod, giving him permission to touch you. He doesn’t hesitate, and you moan as his large hands cup your breasts before his thumbs move across your nipples. You never knew just a simple touch could feel so good, but his hands are like magic.

He spends minutes focusing on your chest, first with his hands, then his mouth. You’re already a panting mess beneath him. When he pulls away your hands go to his waistband, fingertips sliding under just a tiny, teasing amount. Harry gets the message and quickly removes his pants, socks, and underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight in front of you.

He gets back on the bed and slides his hands to the last article of clothing covering your body. “Off, please” you say before he can even ask, getting tired of waiting and wanting nothing more than him inside of you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath as he pulls the material down and off your legs. The smell of your slick becomes more potent, and you swear you hear Harry literally grown as he breaths it in. He moves back up your body and his lips find yours in a needy kiss. His fingers find your entrance and you keen as one slowly pushes inside. You continue to make out and opens you up to ensure you’re ready for him. At the same time, you reach out to grab his hard cock, gently pumping a few times.

Harry pulls away and reaches into the bedside table drawer to pull out a condom. As he’s pulling it on you have a moment of nerves. You’re not a virgin, but it’s been a while. And you’ve never been with an alpha before, and you can see by looking at him that there’s definitely truth about alphas being gifted in the size department.

Sending your new hesitance, Harry says, “Hey, you ok?” You nod, but he doesn’t fully believe you, so he adds, “We don’t have to do this right now. We can stop, or keep doing what we were doing, we don’t need to go all the way.”

“I want to,” you answer. “I want this. I want you. I’ve just never been knotted, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

He nods, expression serious, and says, “We can have sex without me knotting you. Is that what you’d like?”

“I’d like that. But will you feel, you know, satisfied?” The last thing you want is to get pleasure if he’s not getting to feel it with you.

“Trust me, I will be more than satisfied.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Want to continue?”

“I do,” you confirm with a smile.

He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s soft, and sweet, a noticeable difference to the intense kisses from earlier. And it works to get rid of the last of your nerves. His hand moves back to your entrance, collecting some of the slick gathered there and coating his cock with it.

Harry continues to kiss you as he lines up and slowly presses inside of you. Once he’s fully inside he pulls back to look at you. Your eyes meet and there’s a moment of connection unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Not only does your body feel full, but your heart does as well.

“Alpha,” you say breathlessly.

“My perfect omega,” he replies.

After giving you a moment to adjust to his size he starts to move. The thrusts are slow at first, but he picks up pace. He grabs your leg to wrap around his hip, and the change in angle has you seeing starts.

It only takes a few minutes before you feel the familiar tingle in your core, and a press of his fingers to your clit send you over the edge. He works you through your orgasm and then pulls out. He removes the condom and wraps his hand around his cock. It only takes a few strokes before his knot expands and he comes, his release coating your chest and belly.

Harry gets up and grabs a towel to clean both of you off. You both get under the covers, and he pulls you to lay on his chest. He checks the clock and sees that it is two minutes past midnight.

“Happy new year, omega,” he says.

“Happy new year, alpha,” you reply as you drift off to sleep, comforted by his arms and the smell of your combined scents.

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

AN: Thank you so much for reading! Probably wrapping up this story in a couple of chapters, so let me know if there's anything you might want to see!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging @jerseygirlinca @stylesfever @alwayslovingharry

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you

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divijohm · 10 months

Text

Game night with the pastas

🎯 This is a way to keep harmony in the mansion and prevent that hell gets there. It's like a purge day, they can do (almost) everything that they desire in this one game night as long as they behave before and after

🎯 there'll be all kinds of games you can imagine, from Mario kart to black jack to monopoly. And all of the pastas will participate in at least 2 of them

🎯 Everyone knows Ben is the king of Mario kart but, surprisingly enough, Sally is as good as if not a little bit better than him. Maybe is because everyone takes easy on her or maybe is because she's that good.

🎯 Once in a blue moon, the pastas will convince Slender to join them in the game night. When he does he absolutely SMASHES everyone in almost all games, centuries of life (and maybe his mind reading power) made him a god in games. The only ones that he doesn't win are the electronic ones but "is just because I can't play them" in his words ((the truth is that he hasn't figured out how to even grab the controller))

🎯 Surprise to some, Jeff sucks in almost every game except Mario kart and black jack

🎯 They WILL play cards against humanity in every game night. Jane, Nina and Kate are the ones that win the most although everyone has their fair share of wins

🎯 They used to make money bets in various games but it would result in almost all of them cheating and in absolute caos. Money bets are now banned for good

🎯 Truth or dare is a must for them and everyone is forced to play.

🎯 The child pastas will participate in the beginning of the game night, it'll be significantly easier and family friendlier when they're there but as soon as they go to sleep that's when the real show begins

🎯 One time (after the childs are in bed) they played a strip game. Masky was the only one fully clothed after it ends, although he didn't cheat everyone secretly thinks he did.

🎯 Blood painter and LJ are kings in "guess who" with 3 or less clues they can already get it right

🎯 They always play Uno to end the night, is quick and fun. They'll have quirky rules like the "7 no talk", "9 slap the pile" and "0 switches", combining +2s with +4s is allowed and stacking them is also allowed. Due to the huge number of players they'll combine 3 or 4 decks Wich results in an significant increase of special cards which equals more caos

🎯 They have almost all the board and videogames known to man is insane

🎯 By the children request, they one time played hide and seek in the woods. It took almost all night for it to end

🎯 Toby smashes everyone in poker, I'll not elaborate

🎯 there's always alcohol, all kinds. wich if you stop to think isn't a very good idea. Mentally unstable people some of them taking heavy medication, competitive games and alcohol aren't exactly a good mix but who cares right?

🎯 MUSIC!! They have a collective playlist that lasts AT THE VERY LEAST 13 hours. They put it on random every game night. It goes from children music, to funk to rock and heavy metal to classical to pop. Is super chaotic

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schemmentis · 2 months

Text

Like I Can - Pt. 4

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

“Break up with Gary.” You say. It falls from your lips instead of everything else you may have chosen to say first.

Melissa looks at you, still laid across her lap. An eyebrow raising at you. “Tell me why.” She softly answers.

You sit up, the distance between your faces closing until it is scant. Your hand reaches to softly caress her cheek with her fingers. “Because I want to kiss you for everything you just said but I’m not doing anything until I know you’re mine.”

Melissa sucks in a breath, her eyes steadfast on yours. “I am yours, Y/N.” She all but whispers in answer.

“Prove it.” You answer. Your hand moves from her cheek to gently grasp at her jaw to keep her from surging forward. You see your own want clearly mirrored in her eyes. You want nothing more than to let her close the distance and properly prove everything she said. Except one thing.

“Break up with Gary.” You repeat. “Then, get back to me.”

You move to get up, to leave for your own apartment. It would be safer that way. Minimize temptation. Melissa’s arms wrap around you though.

“Stay.” She says softly, her chin pressing to your shoulder. “I’ll be good, swear.”

In spite of yourself, you laugh. Your hand reaches back to gently brush fingers to Mel’s cheek. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Still…stay. Please? It’s the weekend and I’d rather spend it with you. I promise I’ll take care of Gary Monday.”

“Please don’t say it that way. It just makes me feel like you’re gonna take your bat to him and they’re gonna find him in a river.”

“No. You still don’t have bail money.” Melissa shrugs after a beat. “And Gary ain’t pissed me off.”

Lightly, you reach behind you to hit her shoulder. “Fine, I’ll stay.” You mutter your agreement. As if she really had to twist your arm about it. She definitely didn’t.

In return you get a squeeze of the arms around you that trapped you to her lap. Plus, another hour or so of Melissa keeping you there as she finishes her show. When you begin to feel sleep tugging at you again, she ushers you from the couch to her room. A pair of pajamas all but placed in your hand before she’s fetching an unopened toothbrush for you to use. That is placed on the clothes still resting on your palms before she’s gently guiding you by the shoulders into the bathroom.

“And now, I leave you to it so I keep my promise of being good.” She teases with a smirk, though she does bend the rules just a little by kissing your cheek before she goes.

By the time you’re crawling beneath Melissa’s covers you aren’t certain you’ll be awake once she finishes getting ready for bed herself. Your eyes are heavy and you're draped in soft clothes. Surrounded by the covers that smell like Melissa.

You blink when you feel a shift next to you. A soft shush from Melissa slipping into bed next to you when she notices. Still, you’re shifting just enough to get your arms around her. You can’t help the content hum you let loose when she returns your embrace easily. You shift a bit more into her side, drifting back to sleep with your head on her shoulder.

You spend the rest of the weekend with Melissa. Making meals together. Even though most of the time there’s something involved that Melissa is teaching you. Some of what she does you already know, but you never say so. It’s more fun to learn it again from her. Plus, you could listen to her go on about cooking as much as you could anything else. Especially with her passion leading the way.

You offer to help her grade come Sunday night though Melissa only waves you off. You settle against her side, pretty much how the two of you have been all weekend. You’ve stolen a book from one of her shelves, paging through it and blindly holding your hand out every once in a while. You take the ones she’s finished grading, forming a pile in your own lap. At least, you reason, you’re helping her stay organized.

You intended to leave that evening, even if it was a little late. Melissa manages to convince you to stay again. Reasoning that you can part in the morning when you both leave for work. You’re helpless to argue, especially when she adds at least then she won’t be worried about how late it is that you’re traveling. So you stay, a third night curled up next to her in her bed.

Reluctantly, you do separate the next morning. Melissa promises to call you that evening as she walks you to your car to leave her driveway first. You don’t mean to but your brain on autopilot guides your hands to her shoulders. Before either of you realize, you’ve leaned into her space and kissed her softly goodbye. There’s a pause when you pull away, as you realize what you’ve done. You’re not sorry, certainly, but you had intended to withhold from kissing her at all until Gary was out of the picture.

“You alright?” She asks softly, her hands on your cheeks. She must read the small bout of panic you’re having about skipping ahead suddenly despite the last few days.

“I’m fine.” You reassure, smiling to back it up.

“Will you still be fine if I ask to do that again?” She questions, a smirk upon features.

You roll your eyes but tug her closer and kiss her one more time. “Damn you and being irresistable, Schemmenti.” You mutter against her lips before you pull away completely.

“Says you.” She throws back, winking when you look back to her once you’re in your car. “Drive safe, yeah? I’ll talk to you tonight, Hon.”

“Talk to you tonight.” You confirm just before she shuts your door for you. You wait until she’s about to get into her car and looks back at you. You blow her a kiss with a wink of your own before you pull out of her driveway.

It’s only once she’s made it to Abbott, and gotten most of her morning situated and ready, that Melissa thinks properly about Gary. She sends a text that they need to talk, as soon as he’s free to. She wants to get it over with. The sooner she does, the sooner she can focus on the two of you.

It isn’t until she’s walking into the teacher’s lounge at lunch that she realizes her mistake. She blinks once or twice at the extra, non teacher or staff, body in the room. On reflex alone she’s returning Gary’s hug.

“There ya are!” He’s greeting her with a large grin on his face. Melissa wonders how she liked him enough to start dating now. In your words, Gary is fine. Nice enough. As she stands across from him, though, she’s wondering why that was enough after the last weekend spent with you. “You said we needed to talk?”

Melissa ignores the looks from the others in the room, especially Barb raising an eyebrow at her. There isn’t an adult alive that doesn’t know what that phrase usually means in a relationship. Unless they were in denial. Like Gary kind of seems to be as he looks at her expectantly.

She sighs. She wants to get it over with, and she might have realized her feelings for Gary are next to nothing compared to the ones for you. Still, she isn’t trying to be cruel. Doing this in such a public way, in front of the other teachers, it seems cruel. After a moment she waves it off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I figured it out.” She mutters.

“So, we’re still good for dinner Thursday?” Gary checks, still smiling.

Melissa does her best to return his smile but even she knows it’s muted. “Yeah, sounds good. Thursday.” She agrees as she slips into her usual seat next to Barbara.

After a few minutes, Gary says his goodbyes. He kisses Melissa’s head on the way out. Only because she hadn’t turned to him to kiss him properly like she usually would.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Melissa grumbles at Barbara staring at her.

“Something’s going on. What is it?” Barbara tries to press the redhead sitting next to her. In Melissa fashion, the pushing only makes her push it away even further.

“You’re ridiculous, Barb. Nothin’s goin’ on.”

“So you are going to dinner with Gary Thursday? Because it quite seemed like you didn’t want to.”

“Yes.” Melissa repeats with a light glare. “I’m going to dinner Thursday.” She states pointedly. If Barbara or the others still lingering in the break room notice how annoyed she sounds, they don’t say. Probably knowing not to say anything is for their own good.

You're late leaving your job that evening. Which means you miss Melissa’s call, unfortunately. You’re setting your things down once you walk in the door, preparing to call her back. You notice she left a voicemail so you quickly hit the button to have it play. Your phone held to your ear with your shoulder as you made your way to your bedroom to change from the clothes you’d had to steal from Mel for today.

You stop short, pausing in the doorway to your bedroom. Your hand reaches to grasp your phone properly. You quickly stop the voicemail playing. You don’t want to listen to the rest of it. You quickly dial Mel’s number, pressing your phone back to your ear.

“Hey.” She answers after only a few rings.

“Hey my ass.” You return, your anger starting to simmer. “You’re going to dinner with Gary? You said you’d deal with all of that today.”

“I was going to! I told him we needed to talk but then he had to take that as a sign to have the conversation in the break room in front of everybody! I’m not tryna embarrass or humiliate him, Y/N. It woulda been pretty fucked if I had done it then.”

“It’s pretty fucked you didn’t, Mel!” You toss back. You know, on some level, you’re being unreasonable. She’s trying to do a good thing. A kind thing. Yet you can’t help but feel like it’s an excuse to have you both.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I told you as soon as I could so you wouldn’t be surprised. It’ll be done with Thursday, I promise.”

“Then call me Friday.” You snap, hanging up before you can hear her say anything else.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #like i can

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piratesfromspace · 4 months

Text

After the rain (141xReader)

Pairing: Reader x Soap (& implied Reader x 141)

Rated: Mature

Word count: 900

Summary: After being kidnapped and rescued, Rain needs to make sure Soap is still alive

Note: In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic, it is the epilogue of the part 4. Some people requested this chapter, and I was happy to write a little something to offer some comfort to our poor Soap. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself).

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of torture, medical setting, happy ending (kinda)

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

Rain has a hard time opening her eyes. She’s not quite sure where she is, she’s slow to wake up, her brain still foggy from the sleeping pills. But then she moves in the bed, and everything starts hurting. Her muscles are so sore, bruises are painfully blooming under her scratched skin. Her head is heavy, throbbing. She feels like she’s been run over by a humvee. With the pain, everything comes back to her in a second. She rises with a gasp, a shot of adrenaline wringing her guts to the point she thinks she’s gonna puke.

The light of day is peaking through the half-opened curtains of her room. She’s back on base, and everything is so vividly painful she’s sure it can’t be a dream. The memory of the past few days invades her - their capture, Johnny’s sacrifice to protect her, her crawling on the floor to rest her cheek against his bloody leg when their captor finally stopped. The sudden thought that Soap might not have survived the torture is suffocating her, she can’t breathe, it’s breaking her mind and her heart. Last she saw him he was laying on the heli floor surrounded by medics.

A flash of white in the corner of her eyes attracts her attention when she finally gathers enough strength to get out of her bed. There is a crisp white strip of paper on her night-stand. It only says “he’s OK” in black ink, and she instantly recognizes Simon’s angular writing. Soap has made it. Tears wet her cheeks without her realizing she’s crying.

—-

She tucks her fists inside the pocket of her hoodie. A black one that belongs to one of the boys, she can’t really tell which one. She keeps her head down, doesn’t want to cross the panicked gaze of colleagues at her face. She’s sporting various scratches, a mean bruise on the side of her jaw, her skin has a sickly yellow-ish undertone - she looks like shit and she knows it.

She crosses the base in a hurried bee-line for the medical bay. She probably should call up her captain for further instruction, report to debrief or go see a doctor. But the only thing on her mind is finding Soap. She had always liked him - it was hard not to, he was funny, kind, quite handsome, always laughing. But she knew that he was growing obsessed with her, and it had frightened her at first. Situations like those could easily delve into unpleasant territories for everyone involved. Except it was Soap, smart-ass Soap, kind-hearted Soap, and he made it work even when it was obvious he was sad Rain had chosen Simon instead of him. After Siberia, things didn't really change, they rather shifted. The group was tighter, Rain was not shy with her attraction to the other guys, with her attraction to him. She let Johnny more into her bubble, into her heart.

And here she is, the wet tracks of tears drying on her cheeks as she leaps through long corridors in search of Soap, when she should get checked for her own injuries, when she should maybe not stay alone like this. Her brain is still drowning in diluted stress hormones and the end trail of painkillers, the mix giving her a distant headache that will probably force her down in a couple hours. For now, she persists.

When she finally finds him, she’s simultaneously disappointed and relieved to find him alone. Ghost, Gaz and Price must be somewhere else, maybe they just went out for a quick break. She doesn’t know how much time she has on her own with Soap, before someone, a nurse, or one of the boys, comes back. He looks like he’s sleeping. Bandages are wrapped around all his visible limbs, snaking around fingers, his wrists, part of his right arm. Around his head also, his already short hair clearly shaved for access to wounds. One of his eyes is hidden by a plastic shell. His lips are swollen, split in a few places. Skilled hands have been at work here, in dressing his wounds, wiping out dried blood, setting up electrodes and drips. It’s easy to forget how simple it is to destroy, and how labor-intensive it is to heal. The regular bip of the heart monitor is the thing that prevents her from spiraling further down. Alive. Her sergeant is alive. No need to explore the devastating thought of him being gone.

She climbs on the bed, finds a place against him. His warmth makes her want to cry again. Her own scratched fingers hover over his cheekbones - the skin there is purple - then over his neck, she needs to feel his pulse under her scorched skin. Alive. She tucks her face next to his shoulder, tries to find the familiar smell under the antiseptic. Rain holds him the best she can without risking hurting him more, and decides that’s all she wants to do for the time being.

That’s how the boys find them when they arrive some time after that. They had been looking for her after Simon had discovered her empty bed. They weren’t really scared. They knew she would be here. Where else? They swore to take care of each other - and that’s what they will keep doing, no matter what.

MASTERLIST

#ghost x reader #cod fanfiction #soap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #poly 141 #141 fanfic #task force 141 #141 x reader #tf 141 #poly tf141 #polyamory #hurt/comfort #whump writing

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persage · 2 years

Text

CAN YOU STAY WITH ME TONIGHT?- S. HARRINGTON

Summary: It's a rainy night when Steve Harrington knocks on your door for help. This time, however, it has nothing to do with the upside down and its monsters but that doesn't make things any easier.

Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Words Count: 2.5k

Warnings: None, just Steve's shitty parents, some angst with comfort and the breakdown our boy deserves. Hopper!Reader. Let's pretend Hopper never "dies" at the end of season 3. (set between s3/4)

He can see it in the distance, warm and familiar. At every step the Hopper house is closer and you with it. In the dark of the night Steve Harrington needs you like never before. The rain beats quickly against his jacket as he runs fast, regretting not having taken the car and having decided to run away on foot, like an unconscious stupid child. If he lived in a normal city, he might be afraid of catching a cold or a fever at most, but he lives in Hawkins since and November 6th 1983, the day Will Byers disappeared, he has much more to fear. He knows that rationally nothing has happened for months, that you are theoretically safe, that you have overcome the Russians and the Mind Flayer, but every time something terrible has been thrown at you it has been when you felt the safest. He trembles. He should have at least taken the bat, which he keeps under the bed, but he ran away from that hell of the house without thinking and immediately found himself running to you, like an unstoppable impulse.

To say you've had a hell of a night would be an understatement. His tear soaked face is red and puffed, his hair disheveled and even if he's been running he's cold, lips chapped and he just wanna stop moving and sleep. It seems like an eternity goes by before reaching the familiar doorstep. Though the hour, he knocks at the door and it doesn't even occur to him that the Chief Hopper can open it in your place. Also he is ashemed of being seen this way by you, but by your dad ... It would much more embarrassing.

Luckily what he sees after a few minutes and a few reminders is your sleepy and confused face.

"Steve? What's wrong?" You ask as you open the door. You haven't looked at him well yet, not enough to realize he just cried, you rub your eyes to wipe out sleep, your hair is unkempt, the pajama you are wearing is turned upside down and you seem to have the pillow still glued to your face . Guilt grips Steve's heart.

I shouldn't have come. He thinks. He needs to go away, is nothing important.

Sorry y/n, it is nothing, I'm going home. But what comes out of his lips is something else. "Can I stay here, tonight?" He asks, his voice trembling. Idiot Steve.

Your brows knit together with concern as you let the door open fully. "Of course. My dad is working late so it's just us. What happened?" You look him up and down, resting yout hand on his chest once the door is shut. You finally notice his eyes swollen with tears, despite the rain you can clearly distinguish his tears. Something between his chest and stomach tightens. A lump rises in your throat.

You never saw Steve cry, not when Billy beat him, not when Nancy left him, not when he was tortured by the Russians. Something very serious must have happened and you are afraid to know it, because the person in front of you, even if he does not know it, is the human you care about most in the world. The same one you were willing to die for so many times. When you stood between him and Billy, when you stood by his side in the tunnels, when you offered to take his place during the you never managed to stop him from hurting himself.

And now, again, something has already happened to him and you are here, helpless. You can only listen to him.

"I.. I shouldn't... I didn't know and... I just. It's raining." He avoids eye contact as his voice shakes as well as his hands. You grab them, squeezing them with both of yours. They are cold and wet. "You're all wet Stevie, you're gonna catch a cold." You say in the sweetest tone. He lets out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have come".

"No, no don't say that. We're gonna get you into some dry clothes and get that cut cleaned up, alright?" You rub your thumb over his cheek, pulling it away to show the trail of crimson liquid. Steve haven't even noticed he was hurt, he is just so used to it.

Even if you are shorter then him, you awkwardly try to put an arm around his shoulders to warm him. Steve lets out a little laugh and you let an arm slide along his side and bring him closer to you as if you need him to have both hands on him in fear that if you let go, he'll fall completely apart.

You walk him to your room signing him to be quiet for El who is sleeping in the near room. You pick out a red sweatshirt that he lent you once and you never gave him back and some unlikely basketball shorts that must have belonged to your dad when he was young and they certainly won't fit him well but as they are but it's your best option. Steve doesn't know how to describe the feeling while he hold the clothes in his arms waiting for you to leave him, it is just that they make him feel safe. They have your scent.

"You change and I'll get some stuff to clean the cut, yeah?" You say, gently caressing his face and regretting it a second later. Sometimes your releshionship confuses you: he's not your boyfriend, not even near to be, but you are way more tan friends. And he ran to you. In the moment of need he ran to you, it must mean something. But on the other hand then there's Robin ans this symbiotic relationship that she and Steve share that you don't understand and it scares you, also because she's awesome in so many ways and you really really like her. You don't wanna be jealous, you just can't help it.

Steve nods and watches you leave hesitantly. He knows he must have scared you, showing up out of nowhere, late at night, and he knows you must have understood something is very wrong. Steve feels weak near you, like he doesn't need to hide his fears anymore, like he can finally break down and that's what worries him the most. He doesn't want to be a burden and he doesn't want you to change your mind about him. When you return Steve is sitting shyly on your bed, twiddling with his fingers.

"Alright, here we go." You state, walking back into the room with hands full of band-aids, gauze, hydrogen peroxide

"What happened Stevie?" You ask sitting beside him, so close you can feel his still cold skin against yours.

He takes a deep breath and remains silent.

"I am ready to challenge my father's wrath and let you stay tonight and you know he will kill me for it but you must confide in me, please. You can trust me." You continue while with dedication you cleanse his cheek of stale blood.

"I hit a mirror. And I broke it." He explains in a low voice, finally finding the courage to look into your eyes.

"Yeah" You hold stare back at him, his eyes full of shame, fear, a broken heart. "And how did you hit a mirror with your pretty face Steve? "

He clears his throat to stop the trembling of his voice. "I had a fight with my father"

When will you grow up?

When will you work for real?

You make me regret having you, stupid boy.

You're useless

You're a shame for the Harrington name.

" He ... He found out that I'm not going to leave Family Video soon and ... He freaked out. You know my, my cousin Trent has just graduated he'll have to take care of the family business and I... I'm just too stupid for this shit."

"What did he do to you?" You struggle to control the anger in your voice and squeeze the gauze too tightly. This time it's Steve grabbing yours hands to calm you down.

"He didn't do anything to me. He didn't beat me Y/N if that's what you are thinking, he never did and he never would"

"But you hit a mirror" Your voice holds pieces of breaking heart and anger.

"He pushed me, I slipped. I swear to you"

"It's not that better anyway. He pushed you, he makes you feel stupid, he... Doesn't even try to understand you Steve. This is not fair, you deserve better" Your voice goes up an octave, you just want to scream at Steve's parents, to make them see how wonderful thier son is. You always knew that his family never protected, loved or valued Steve as he deserves but seeing him in this state annihilates you.

" You're the only one who thinks that y/N. Sometimes I've got the feeling that you don't actually see me for who I am" Steve chuckles, but behind that sound there is nothing happy, just a lot of loneliness. "Steve we all believe you deserve the world. Robin, Dustin, the kids. Me. I've seen you fight monsters, Russians, I've seen you save everyone. I know you, I've seen you take care of Dustin and the others and be the most generous and courageous person in the world. You don't want to run a company, and that's okay so it doesn't make you any less important, less strong or valuable. Please, please believe me "

"I can't" He murmors voice breaking. He brings his hands to his face to calm down. He feels like crying.

"I can't y/n" You hang your head slightly with disappointment, while caressing his soft hair.

"He kicked me out of the house." He adds, whispering.

His chin wrinkles, his eyes burn ready for tears to start streaming as your heart falls with his.

His pain is yours.

You no longer care about keeping appearances and distances. You throw yourself on Steve stepping him in the tightest of hugs, tying your arms around his neck and resting your head on his, kissing his hair while Steve Harrington lets himself go against your chest, collapsing into a cry that has been held back for years. He cries for Barb, for Nancy, for himself and the little boy he was. He cries for the blows he took, for the mistakes he made, for Jonathan with whom he was an asshole, for the mistakes he has not forgiven himself. For high school Robin. For the Russians, for Billy and Max, poor little Max. He cries because the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he is not even able to be a worthy son, to be strong and now he throws it all on you. He cries for you, because he knows that now he can do nothing to keep you away from him, to give you better. You love him, otherwise you would have already kicked him out, you would see his flaws. Like his father you would find him useless.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispers against your body, sobbing his heart out.

"No, no, no don't be. Ever.

We'll find a solution I swear my Dad will help us"

"I don't want ... I don't want Chief Hopper to get in the way ... I don't want ..."

"Steve my father adores you and is grateful to you and will be happy to help you. You have saved my life a thousand times. You save me every day to be fair"

You move away wiping his tears with your thumb, looking at him with admiration, as if he were the most precious thing on earth. Steve lets himself be lulled into this unknown sensation. "We will talk about it tomorrow with my father and we will solve everything"

"Yeah." He agrees softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you y/n. Thank you"

"Don't ." Your voice is soft but scratchy. "Don't ever thank me for this Harrington. This is what we do. We're there for each other, no matter what."

He nods once as you hold his head in your hands

"And listen to me, please. You are worth, you are precious and you deserve the world"

"It's you, you are precious" he leans to you, his forehead now touching yours.

Your voice shakes "You are loved" You murmor as you help him lay down on your bed, arms wrapped around him, hugging him tightly. "Now sleep, you need it Stevie boy"

"If your father finds us like this he'll kills us"

"Oh Harrington I'd be ready to die for a night with you"

You answer ironically. Or maybe not.

"I left him a note on the door. He'll know you're here and you need us." You continue.

"y/n"

"Yes Steve"

"You are loved too."

He smiles while closing his eyes, letting himself go to the peace you give him. He loves you, he really does.

You make him feel better even if he still has a dad outside who hates him and a mother who can't stand up for him and even if his problems are not gonna disappear this night, for a few hours with your breath against his skin and your hands on him the seem to weight less on his shoulders and he he feels a little less useless and unworthy. You're his saving grace and the light of his life and maybe one day he will be able to tell properly.

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brbsoulnomming · 8 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 13

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Eddie wakes up in the morning - or at least, he thinks it's morning, though he guesses he could still be losing track of time, and it might still be the same day. His head lulls automatically to the side, gaze seeking out the hospital bed next to him like it's second nature, and -

Steve's gone.

There's no one there, the bed clean and empty with sheets all tucked and a pillow still in plastic, like no one was ever there in the first place.

Fuck, what if he wasn't there? What if Eddie's doped up brain imagined all of this, giving himself the comfort of a circle of friends that would stay with him in the hospital, that promised they wouldn't leave him and meant it? What if he really is alone now?

His breath is coming in short, desperate gasps, and he recognizes enough to know that he's hyperventilating again - though it feels distant, fuzzy, like it's happening to someone else and he's just observing.

Somewhere through the thick cotton obscuring his ears, he can tell someone is saying his name.

It's Dustin, fuck, he knows that voice, and he knows that means he's not alone, that they're still here with him, but he can't quite seem to get the rest of him on board with that thought, can't make it cut the panic racing through him.

There's a loud squawk by his ear, a hitch-pitched whine of feedback and a rush of static, and that startles him enough to focus in on Dustin urgently asking someone to do what they did before.

"Hey, Eddie, can you hear me?" Steve asks, voice tinny but still there, and Eddie tries not to feel pathetic about how hard he latches onto it. "You're all right, you're safe. You're not alone. We've got you, Eds, everyone's okay. We all made it out, we're all with you."

He keeps up the mantra as Eddie's breathing slowly evens out, as he feels himself settle back into himself. Dustin's sitting next to him, eyes wide and panicked, clutching a walkie-talkie and holding it up close to him as Steve's voice sounds from it.

"I'm-" Eddie starts, then has to swallow a few times around how dry his mouth feels. "I'm here. I'm good. Just - saw your bed empty when I woke up, kind of panicked."

"We've all been there," Steve says. "I got myself discharged a few hours ago - I'm out getting things ready. I'll let Dustin take it from here, okay? See you guys soon."

Eddie hums an affirmative, and Dustin lets go of the walkie, tucks it back into his pocket. There's a moment where Eddie has no idea what the fuck to say, but then Dustin shoots a little smile at him.

"It's okay," he says. "It happens to all of us. We skipped school to be with Will the first time this all happened, and I spent the night at Steve's for a week straight once."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "Your mom let you sleep over at Steve Harrington's place for a week?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "She loves Steve, it's kind of annoying. I told her he got his concussion defending us from bullies that time, and he needed someone to stay with him and make sure his brain didn't bleed out of his ears in his sleep."

There's a pause, and then the kid's eyes go a little bit earnest, like he's trying to sell him on something. "It was great, though. Steve made breakfast every morning, and he let me get whatever I wanted on my pizza, and he cooked dinner sometimes too, and he's got a huge TV and a ton of movies on tape, and he only complains a little bit if you-"

The door slams open, and Eddie jumps.

"We gotta go," Robin says as she and Lucas crowd into the room. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Eddie asks, eyes darting around the room, fully expecting to see clocks or vines or fucking bats. "Is it Vecna, did that fucker recover already?"

"No, Max says he was in pretty bad shape. He's gonna be down for a while," Lucas replies.

"It's the cops and the rest of the town looneys," Robin says, taking up a post by the door while Lucas paces across the room, looking out the window. "We heard on the police radio channel, they found out you're here. We gotta get you out."

"Fuck." Eddie swallows, tangling the fingers of his good hand in the sheets of the hospital bed so tight it makes his knuckles creak. "I'm kind of out of options on safe places to lay low and recuperate here."

"What?" Dustin looks affronted. "No you're not. I told you, you've got us."

"All of us," Robin says, as Dustin comes to stand by her at the door.

He cranes his head down the hall. "Is there a doctor coming to release him?"

"Yeah, Erica yelled at him until he gave in, he's on his way." Lucas glances away from the window to look at Eddie. "We hid El in Mike's basement for days without anyone knowing, you think we can't do the same for you?"

Robin snorts. "It's not going to be Wheeler's shitty basement, Eddie, don't worry."

Eddie stares at them. Part of him is aware of what they're saying, is processing that he needs to get out of the hospital and he's not going to have to do it alone - that even though the world isn't technically ending right now, they're all going to stand by him.

But he feels like he did when they came back from sticking up for him with Carver and the others - overwhelmed, like he hasn't done anything to deserve this, like he doesn't know what to do with such clear, undeniable evidence that they've made him one of this party now.

"Eddie?" Dustin asks, stepping in a little closer. "You okay?"

Eddie snaps himself out of it. "Yeah. Just - fuck, all right, let's do this."

Robin helps him stand up, stays by his side as he steps into a pair of loose scrubs that someone's scrounged up for him - he doesn't ask, and he's assuming the clothes he wore in the Upside Down are trashed - and lets him lean on her shoulder so he's somewhat steady on his feet by the time a harried looking doctor makes it into the room.

"You realize you're not ready to be discharged?" the doctor asks immediately.

"I'm over eighteen," Eddie replies. "You can't keep me here if I want to leave, right?"

The doctor sighs. "You'll be leaving against medical advice."

"But I'm not going to, like, die of blood loss or infection or something if I do?" Eddie presses.

"We can't answer that question with any surety without another few days of observation," the doctor replies, then relents when everyone glares at him. "It's highly unlikely."

"Just tell us what we need to do to keep an eye on him," Robin says.

The doctor goes over the cliff notes - soft foods for a while, showers are okay but no soaking, no lifting things over five pounds, there's a page of stretching exercises for his shoulder and leg, a timeline for recovery, and a prescription for the rest of his antibiotics and a smaller one for some painkillers.

"That's all I can give you since you're leaving against medical advice," the doctor says, which Eddie knows is a load of bullshit, but he's too exhausted and itching to get out of here to call him on it.

They herd him out of the room and to the elevator, standing in a little half circle around him like he's got his own little string of tiny bodyguards, and the thought makes him giggle, just a little bit hysterically.

"You guys look like little lion cubs," he says.

"You think we can't protect you?" Dustin asks, sounding hurt.

Eddie shakes his head. "No, no, I'm feeling very protected right now. Thank you."

The elevator dings, and Eddie takes a deep breath as he steps off - into a controlled chaos. The waiting room is packed, some gurneys set up right out there with nurses tending to what seems like minor cases, and even some people sleeping on the floor. Eddie feels a moment of swooping panic, but no one even looks his way. They shuffle him out of the hospital to where Nancy and Erica are waiting in the Wheeler station wagon.

Eddie gingerly climbs in, and Lucas and Dustin slide into the backseat with Erica.

Robin holds up his prescription. "I'm gonna get this filled. Swing back and grab me after you drop them off?" she asks Nancy.

Nancy hums an affirmative, eyes flicking around to make sure everyone's wearing their seat belts before she takes off.

Eddie thinks about asking where they're going, but his stomach and chest and legs and arm ache, and he's wiped just from the walk out of the hospital and to the car. So he just tips his head back against the seat of the car, closes his eyes, and tries to hold himself still enough that the seatbelt doesn't rub up against his wounded gut.

Eventually, the car stops. He expects more talking, but there's a tense silence in the flurry of activity, until someone pulls open the car door and is unbuckling his seatbelt for him.

"Shit," Dustin says. "Is he out again?"

"M'up," Eddie mumbles, though admittedly, he's not entirely sure he's up for moving.

"Go get Steve," Erica orders imperiously. "Someone needs to drag his sorry ass around again."

Eddie forces his eyes open. "M'up, m'up, I got this."

In the time it takes for him to get oriented well enough to notice that the car is in a garage, and then shuffle around to get his feet pointed in the direction of out, though, Dustin's apparently managed to collect Steve, who emerges from what Eddie assumes is the door to a house, wearing a pair of sweats and a Hawkins swim team sweatshirt.

Eddie waves his hands around, preemptively slapping Steve away before he can even get to him. "No," he tells him, as he comes to a stop just out of slapping range. "I know you've got stitches, too. No heavy lifting."

"We're not going to lift you, Eddie, we're just going to help," Nancy says, coming around to his other side, and -

Hmm.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees, lowering his arms for a moment before changing course, and holding one hand out to each of them.

Nancy takes one hand, and Steve the other, and they both step in closer to help guide him out of the car and to his feet. They promptly sling one of his arms over each of their shoulders, and start shuffling their way into the house. Eddie pretends the sharp hiss and the sting of tears in his eyes are due only to the edge of pain from the movement, and not to the fact that he's feeling overwhelmed again by just how willing all of them seem to be to help him when he needs it.

The house that they shuffle him through is fucking pristine, a laundry room that feels bigger than Eddie's kitchen right off the garage and into a hallway, a closed off double door to the right and then a massive living room. There's an l-shaped sofa all made up with pillows and blankets, and that's where they take him, letting him settle down on it with a sigh of relief.

"Robin's filling his prescriptions," Nancy says to Steve. "I'm going to go get her, we'll be back soon."

She heads out as the herd of children Eddie apparently belongs to now troop into the living room, their voices all clamoring together.

Steve whistles, sharp and clear and making Eddie wince, though it does cut through the noise.

"You two," he says, pointing at the Sinclairs. "With me, we're calling your parents from the kitchen. Dustin, you're after them."

The noise picks up again, and this time Eddie can make out loud protests. Steve puts his fingers to his mouth again, and nope, nope, Eddie does not want that sounding off this close to his ear again.

"Hey!" he roars, and even though it makes his throat hurt, it works to shut them up. "Thank you."

"Parents," Steve repeats. "Or they're going to come looking for you, and maybe no one else will think to look for you guys here, but they will."

Dustin groans, but he doesn't protest again.

"What are we even supposed to tell them?" Lucas grumbles.

Steve shrugs. "What do you usually tell them?"

Dustin considers. "…yeah, okay, the babysitter cover will probably still work."

"Add in the Starcourt special," Lucas says.

Eddie looks between them all. "Is any of that supposed to make sense?"

"I told you, our parents love Steve," Dustin says. "He's been beaten up enough protecting us that they think he's some kind of defender against bullies and natural disasters."

Unwillingly, Eddie remembers the headlines after Starcourt, puts it together with what Robin'd told him and how beat to hell Steve looked when Eddie saw him. It doesn't sit well with Eddie, how casually Dustin talks about Steve getting beat up protecting them, but he also remembers Dustin holding onto Steve like he was a lifeline back in the hospital, so he thinks maybe it's a coping mechanism as much as it's a belief that Steve is invincible.

"We'll just tell them Steve was with us when the earthquake hit, and he kept us safe, then we waited with him at the hospital until he was discharged," Lucas says. "It's not even technically a lie."

Erica snorts, unimpressed. "And how does that explain you three sneaking out of the house when the cops were there and running away?"

"The cops? Oh, fucking great," Steve mutters. "What'd they say to you, are you guys okay?"

Max waves her good hand. "They didn't have anything on us. We weren't under arrest, they didn't tell us not to leave the house. They've got nothing."

"Question," Eddie says, holding up a hand. "How does that fit in with Steve carrying my unconscious ass into the hospital and telling everyone we were attacked?"

"You were attacked by the real killer, obviously," Dustin says, rolling his eyes. "But we're not going to bring that out until things have settled down a little."

Eddie considers if it's worth protesting exactly how flimsy that cover story is, and how much it won't hold up to anything, but - well. If he thinks too much about how deeply screwed he is with this murder stuff, it just makes him panic, and he doesn't really have room for all of that right now considering he's barely able to physically function.

He's pretty sure their parents will be too focused on their kids being safe after the "earthquake" for now, so he lets it go.

Steve seems to agree - or comes to an entirely different conclusion with the same result, fuck if Eddie knows, because he just points at Lucas and Erica again. "Kitchen. Now."

The Sinclairs reluctantly follow him, leaving Max and Dustin alone with Eddie.

"They're probably going to make us come home," Dustin mutters.

Max gives him a disdainful look. "At least you probably have a home to go back to."

"Wait, what?" Eddie asks when Dustin winces.

"The trailer park's a wreck," Max says flatly. "The earthquake or whatever it was hit the worst at the gates."

The gates. One of which was on the ceiling of his living room, right where -

"My uncle," Eddie says, trying not to freak out. "Is he okay, has anyone-"

"He's fine!" Dustin says hurriedly. "He was already out of your guys' place, cause, you know, crime scene. The school's been set up as a temporary housing until they can get everything sorted out, he's there."

Fuck if that doesn't make Eddie feel guilty all over again, but knowing his uncle is at least physically safe calms him down.

Max looks a little abashed, like she'd forgotten that she wasn't the only one in this little group who lives on that side of town anymore, which makes his heart go out to her. It's easy to forget about the things that should divide them, when they're all focused on saving the world and just trying to survive another day. He wonders how she deals with it when they're not all caught up in the Upside Down - wonders if she just hasn't been dealing with it at all, considering he knows she's a new resident of Forest Hills and that she'd been pulling away from the group before this.

She doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't ask.

Steve comes back before it gets too awkward, eyes automatically landing on Max in a way that, for a ridiculous moment, makes Eddie wonder if the guy is actually psychic.

"Mrs. Sinclair is asking for you," Steve says. "Do you want to come talk to her?"

His voice is soft, gentle, and he gives Max time to think it over - Eddie gets the feeling that Steve already has an excuse prepared for the Sinclairs if Max says no.

Max's eyes dart over at Eddie and Dustin for a moment, like she's not sure she wants to say anything in front of them. Then she deflates a little and looks back at Steve.

"My mom call back?" she asks.

"Not yet," Steve replies. "We can try again."

Max's jaw sets, and she shakes her head. "No. I want to talk to Mrs. Sinclair."

She stands, and doesn't push Steve's arm off of her when he grabs her in for a side hug as he guides her back into the kitchen.

Dustin leans back in the recliner he'd claimed, propping his booted foot up on the footrest. "I'm going to see if Mom'll let me stay over here a few days," he declares.

"Good luck with that," Eddie says. "Your mom's love of Steve aside, you've been gone for days. I think she's entitled to a day or two of hovering over you."

Dustin's nose scrunches, like he really wants to protest that but he's pretty sure Eddie's right.

"Fine," he mutters. "But you guys have to agree to walkie me every night. Every night, Eddie. And you have to make sure Steve leaves it on, and charged up, and I'm going to make him promise to check in as soon as he wakes up in the morning."

His heart - his stupid, not nearly cynical enough heart - cracks a little. "I'm okay, Dustin. Steve and I made it out okay."

"This time," Dustin says, and he won't meet Eddie's eyes, his voice thick enough that Eddie suspects he's holding back tears. "But you almost didn't. You almost died, Eddie, if El hadn't been ready for Vecna maybe you would have. And Steve - he's my brother, and I know he thinks he's invincible but one day he's not going to be, and he doesn't know how much I need him, how much I need you both -"

"Hey," Steve says.

Dustin yelps at the same time that Eddie jumps, hissing when that pulls at his stitches.

"Shit, Steve, make some noise next time!" Dustin complains.

"Sorry," Steve says, then reaches out to ruffle Dustin's hair. "I know, Dustin. Eddie and I both know, okay? We need you, too."

Part of Eddie wants to wheel back, to tell Steve that's awfully presumptuous of him, but - the part of him that he doesn't want to acknowledge, the bigger part right now, really fucking likes the way Steve says we, the way it makes Dustin stop looking so broken.

"Go home for a few days, then you can tell your mom that you're worried I'm going to rip my stitches trying to take care of myself and come stay over for a while, okay? We'll do it just like the first time."

Dustin considers that for a moment, then nods. "Okay."

"Good," Steve says. "Because it's your turn. You want me to bring the phone out here?"

"Nah, I can make it." Dustin lets down the recliner and slowly shuffles his way to the kitchen.

Steve shoots Eddie a look, and there's something quiet and intense in his eyes, something that Eddie feels like he can almost get, if he just -

Then Steve's moving, following Dustin back to the kitchen, and it's gone.

Eddie's alone.

This is the first time since he spent that long, shitty night in the woods that he's actually had some space to himself without one of the others in this strange little party right there. Part of him thinks he should enjoy the reprieve, taking in a breath and letting it out without worrying about what anyone else might see. Part of him thinks he should be panicking, like he did every time he thought he might have been left alone in the hospital.

He doesn't know what he actually feels.

There's a faint murmur of voices from the kitchen, low and soothing, and he thinks - he thinks about how if he yelled, any one of them would come running for him. He thinks about how if he heard yelling from them, he'd be launching himself up off this sofa and scrambling for the kitchen, bloody bite wounds or not. He thinks about how he ran, and how he didn't, and how none of them seemed to blame him when he ran from an invisible monster that turned a girl who was nothing but nice to him into a broken doll, and how they yelled at him for almost dying when he didn't run from a mob of demon bats who almost tore him to pieces. He thinks about how not one of them ever called him a coward, thinks about how they dragged him out of hell and slept in his hospital room and whisked him off to safety.

He thinks, maybe, they might just keep him, even if he isn't Steve's soulmate.

Steve comes out of the kitchen, shoots him a little wry smile and says, "Kind of figured none of us really want to be alone right now," and Eddie -

He thinks, fuck, he still really wants to be Steve's soulmate anyway.

Taglist (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

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Part 14

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie soulmate au #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #nancy wheeler

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azsazz · 9 months

Text

Dead By Dawn (Part 14)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism, SMUTTT

Word Count: 2,686

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13)

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Day 194 Part 3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sun is setting and Cassian’s ass is numb.

He hasn’t felt his legs in hours but the way you’re clinging to him so tightly has him going strong. He had found the bunker that caused you to feel this way, so he’s going to suffer the consequences.

Though, with you in his lap, it’s not really suffering.

You’ve fallen asleep against his chest, his fingers tracing the same soothing pattern across your scalp as he had begun doing when he’d led you outside. He’s thankful you’re asleep. He was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep with the thought of what you’d seen down in that basement running through your mind.

He can’t stop thinking about it; the blood, the bodies, the message. A desperate man seemingly wanting to keep his family safe for as long as possible, only to be their end, selfishly grasping to stay alive until madness drove him to his death.

Cassian doesn’t know if he’ll ever sleep again.

Sure, you’ve all seen things on par and worse—fuck, the dead are walking these days, but still, this particular instance has shaken all of you to the core, and there must be a reason why.

Azriel is leaning against his shoulder, as if needing the support himself. Cassian will gladly take the burden, even though he knows this is Azriel’s way of showing he understands, that he is here for him even if he doesn’t have the words to reassure you nor Cassian.

He rests his head atop Azriels.

“You okay?” Azriel asks softly, nudging his head against Cassians. His voice is scratchy and low, the first time any of the three of you have spoken in hours. He’s eyeing the stray zombie that’s groaning loudly just outside the gate. Its bony arms stick through the iron fence, jaw gaping and snapping loudly. It’s far enough away that neither of the men see it as an immediate threat, but he’ll take care of it before you leave.

Cassian nods, swallowing thick. “Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.

“I think we should leave,” Azriel suggests. A part of him really thinks that you shouldn’t—that you need to wait here for Rhys and Feyre. They’re going to reach the van, they’ve found gas and might already be at the car by now. They’re probably just having a quick fuck in the backseat. But he’d written them a letter and left it in plain sight, right on the kitchen counter where they won’t be able to miss it.

He can’t help but run his fingers over your hand, curled tightly in Cassian’s shirt. You’ve whimpered in your sleep once and he thought you might wake, chased by the nightmares he’d seen you have the first night you met, but you didn’t. Cassian’s soothing touch had calmed you right down, signing into his neck.

Cassian hums his agreement. There isn’t much else to say, he doesn’t want to stay in this place. It’s like a bad omen, he thinks, if you all stayed under the same roof as the atrocity.

It’s bad enough you all fucked in their bed.

You rouse, lifting your head from the crook of his throat and squinting against the bright sun to meet their gazes. You stare at them for a moment, drinking them in, how they’re touching you, touching each other, searching for something they’re worried you won’t find.

But you do. You know that there is no staying, and you relax against Cassian’s chest for a moment more, letting him tuck you in tighter for a final hug before helping you to your feet.

You’re a bit unsteady, still shaken, and Azriel helps right you with firm hands on your hips, pressing close into your back so you can lean against him if you need. You take what he’s offering, placing your hands over his.

He goes still under your touch.

You want to flinch, apologize profusely for touching his scars, but you don’t. You soothe your thumb across the textured skin and tip your gaze over your shoulder to meet his, showing him that you are not put off by his scarring.

Azriel’s mouth is set in a firm line, eyes hard and closed-off. You can’t get a read on him and it's like the both of you are locked in battle, but you won’t back down. You refuse to.

Eventually, he relents, slowly melting into you, as if you’ve become a shoulder to lean on instead of something reminding him of his scars. You grin proudly at him.

“We’re leaving,” Cassian says quietly, testing the waters between you and Azriel. He looked uneasy for a moment there, worried about Azriel completely flipping his shit, but he’s smiling softly at the both of you, heart full in his chest.

You nod, agreeing with their decision. Azriel pulls away from you to head back into the house. He’s going to find something to write a note to Rhysand and Feyre, letting them know exactly where you’ve gone.

Unsheathing your knife, you hold it firmly in your grasp, preparing for departure. It feels like it’s been a century since you’ve wielded it, but it’s hardly been a day.

Cassian wants to snatch the knife away from you and replace it with his fingers, twisting them together like they’re meant to be.

“We’ll find them,” you say it more to assure yourself than anything else, but Cassian nods nonetheless.

Azriel returns with your packed bags, sliding it across your shoulders so it sits nice. It’s heavier than it was the other day, and if it's because he’d haphazardly stuffed things into it in a rush to leave, you can’t blame him. His fingers trail down your arms as he retreats, and shivers race down your spine.

Cassian’s blade slides easily into the temple of the moaning zombie on the other side of the gate. The decaying creature goes silent, slumping forward to crash into the fence before sliding into an unmoving pile of rot on the asphalt.

You grimace, watching him wipe the blood on its torn clothes before sheathing it and shoving the gate open. He lets Azriel take the lead.

No one talks as you make your way back towards the van. You’ve agreed to start there and then head north, sticking near the main road in case Rhys and Feyre have managed to make it to the car.

All is quiet as you walk. Only the sounds of your own footsteps skidding across the ground can be heard, and you’re saddened at the thought of how happy you all had been to find a place like that to take shelter in.

It had been a perfect house. There wasn’t much to do on your group's end, tasks that any homeowner would have to make anyways, normal upkeep like fixing the hole in the fence and boarding up broken windows. But that basement…what you found down there will never part from you.

You glance at Cassian from the side of your eyes, admiring his perfect profile, wondering what the normally jovial man is thinking about.

It’s not pretty, what’s going inside of his head. He’s thinking about what that father had done to his children and he’s reminded of Beron—the crazy redheaded man who had set fire to Azriel’s hands and kidnapped you.

He was going to do to you exactly what the man in the house had done to his sons.

Cassian’s fingers curl into fists.

You open your mouth to speak, to reassure him or ask him if he wants to talk about it or something, when Azriel asks, “Do you both see that?”

You whip your head around, looking at where he’s pointing. It’s an old billboard, a panel missing and fallen on its side, but it's shining bright red letters across the green read:

Eryef—15 miles north.

“It could be old,” Azriel comments. You would glare at his pessimistic answer, but you realize that he’s only being realistic. He doesn’t want anyone getting too excited over something that could be months old.

Cassian takes his knife and runs the tip of it through the bright red paint. It curls, lifting with a wretched screech that makes you cringe and look over your shoulder, checking your surroundings. Azriel’s gritting his teeth but Cassian is too invested in examining the paint.

“Can’t be more than a few days old, I’d say,” he says, sheathing his blade. “Where do you think it leads?”

The three of you turn to the message again. Eryef…could be the name of a newly founded town, like the ones you’d heard rumors of: communities filled with survivors, coming together like people should have before the world turned into this festering shithole.

Something is telling you it's not though. The name sounds too familiar for it to be that easy. You wrack your brain for solutions, wondering if Rhysand and Feyre had stumbled upon this very sign while they were out—

“Feyre,” you exclaim, clamping a hand over your mouth. Both men turn to you, looking down at you in confusion.

“We’re going to find her soon, sweetheart,” Cassian says, soothing your hair from your face.

You roll your eyes playfully, batting his hand away. He’s so sweet you feel butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His scowl turns heated at the look you’re giving him, and you know he wouldn’t say no to a quick fuck in the woods. Maybe Azriel could keep watch.

But as your gaze flicks to the other man in your group, you know there will be no keeping watch. The hazel is molten, mouth pulled slightly in a corner to smirk at you like the cock man you know him to be. You want to preen beneath their full attention, and you jump as a branch cracks loudly in the woods.

Azriel shoves you behind him, his reflexes quick. You shove his back in annoyance, swallowing thickly as you feel the corded muscles through his shirt. Now is not the time.

You move your attention to the woods. Cassian’s blade is out again and Azriel’s removed the shotgun from his shoulder, taking in the scene, sunlight streaming through thick branches and lush grasses.

A buck stands not too far away. It’s frozen still just as the three of you are, taking you in like you are it, debating if it should deem you a threat and retreat into the thicket.

You sure hope it doesn’t.

You hardly even breathe as you watch it, and seconds feel like an eternity. Finally, the buck returns to its grazing and you wonder if Azriel will take the shot.

It will be loud and zombies for miles will filter your way. There is no turning around for you, you won’t dare to seek cover at the house of horrors you’d left. You need to find Feyre and Rhys, and you need to start moving north.

If only you knew where to find them.

It’s Cassian who kills the buck. Surprisingly skilled with the blade in his hand, he tosses it with a strong arm, and you watch it soar through the trees like a spear. Bright sunlight reflects off of the shiny blade—you’ve caught Cassian sharpening and cleaning it more than once, with all of their stockade from the van—and it lights up the forest, spooking the animal, but too late.

“We’re going to be eating good tonight, my sweets,” Cassian grins, chest puffed with pride at the sight of his kill. He takes off into the forest, not a worry in the world about anything else lurking around, ready to pounce, and Azriel grumbles, hooking the gun back over his shoulder in favor of pulling out his own blade, taking your hand with his free one, and following Cassian into the woods.

“If we can afford to start a fire,” Azriel grunts, and your stomach gurgles in response. He glances down at you, a slight frown on his face in worry. You blush, squeezing his hand in reassurance. You never quite thought you’d have someone like this, let alone two, one hunting to feed you and the other worried about your well-being. You can admit, it’s mighty nice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Earlier,” Azriel starts, making sure you’ve had your fill of cooked deer meat before taking some of his own. He offers a thick slice to Cassian, who’s still hanging meat over the makeshift spit he’d created, hands bloodied up to the elbow. He wouldn’t let Azriel anywhere near it, even though the other man had protested that he was fine around fire. Cassian wasn’t having it. He takes the food with a playful nip at Azriel’s fingers, winking at him before continuing his work. “You said Feyre. You didn’t just mean that we had to find them.”

You nod, chewing the meat in your mouth. It’s delicious, and Cassian complained the whole time he was gutting the animal that if he’d had his garden, dinner would be accompanied by a fresh salad with all of the pickings.

It had only made you hungrier and pray for a solace where he’d be able to do just that.

You swallow, the food filling a part of you you hadn’t known was so neglected. You need to pace yourself. You don’t want to get sick off of the meat before your body can soak up the nutrients. You’ll be damned if you let Cassian’s hard work go to waste.

“Eryef, it's Feyre spelled backwards,” you explain, watching the way their eyes light up. “I think it's them—her sisters, I mean.”

Azriel looks thoughtful, considering your words as he takes a large bite of food. It makes sense, but what’s the possibility that they’re in the same area? That they’re searching for her as well?

“My smart little bird,” Cassian compliments, crouching before you to place a smacking kiss on your forehead. It makes you blush and offer him a bite of your food, but he seems more interested in your lips, though he is mindful enough to keep his bloody hands off of your clothes.

You give in, rewarding him with a kiss and a bite of deer meat. He thanks you with a grin, then slides over a foot to where Azriel is settled beside you, pouting for a kiss from the man as well. Azriel rolls his eyes but obeys, leaning forward to meet Cassian’s tongue with his own.

It makes your body stir with need, watching the two of them like this. Cassian’s fingers curl against the log as he tries his best not to get the gore of the animal on his beloved, but Azriel looks like he could care less, biting at Cassian’s lips in a feral sort of way that has you pressing your thighs together tightly. You watch their tongues clash, fighting in the loving way that they have, chests heaving together and apart, together where they’re supposed to be.

You see the moment Azriel snaps back into reality. His spine goes still and his fingers are still in Cassian’s hair. He’s probably got a load of buck fat in his thick locks but Cassian couldn’t give a shit less when you’re both looking at him like that, all bedroom eyes and squirming bodies. He leaves the both of you to tend to the small fire, needing it but not wanting to draw any attention. Cassian will be up all night smoking the meat at this rate, and you intend on staying up with him.

There had been debate about returning to the house, building the fire within the fence, but you had vetoed it, not only because of the harrowing scene in the basement, but also because of the note you’d left Rhysand and Feyre should they come back. A 911 message that you were heading in this direction, sticking close to the main road and keeping an eye out for a beat-up pink Volkswagen.

“You truly think it’s them?” Azriel asks, tone taking on a softer note.

You meet his gaze, nodding firmly. “I do. And I think Rhysand and her went that way.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36 @bionic-donut @que-serasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamer @secret-ly-here @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @harrystylesfan2686 @poppyalice2001 @fall-myriad @sstrohma @i-am-infinite @tcris2020 @jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism

#azriel x cassian x reader #dead by dawn #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #acotar zombie au #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #acotar au #dbd

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