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sp0o0kylights · 5 months

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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all.

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”

Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

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notjustjavierpena · 2 months

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Swelter

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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ssahotchnerr · 1 month

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omg could you maybe write something about reader going to one of jacks soccer games and all of the moms are jealous of her bc she’s with hotch

not so friendly competition

omg i absolutely can cw; fem!reader, jealous suburban moms, one tries to make a pass at aaron, established relationship, small angst?, pettiness, aaron being adorable <3 wc; 1.3k

from the moment you arrived - a hand clasped in aaron's, jack excitedly sprinting ahead the two of you - you could feel the target on your back.

the warm, refreshing morning suddenly felt quite stuffy. as if strangely enough, there wasn't enough air to go around. the feeling especially solidified when aaron gave you a sweet, parting kiss - him off to uphold his coaching duties, you off to find a spot on the grass to set up your chair.

you half expected it, the feeling out of place and self consciousness; this was jack's second season playing soccer, aaron's second season coaching, and most of the players had returned from last year. long story short, and entering a relationship with aaron only a few weeks after jack's season had concluded, you were the new face.

not only that, you were missing a common trait amongst the others. you weren't, by definition, jack's mom.

it was a silly, technical notion, and it was quite possible you weren't the only outlier, but you simply wanted to belong there just as much as the others. to feel as if you belonged.

and that's definitely not how you currently felt.

despite your perception - hoping you had falsely and quickly misjudged the atmosphere - you offered the moms a smile and a hello as you got settled. you got maybe one, two responses in return, before they resumed their ongoing conversation without you. any hopefulness that remained, deflated as you sat there silently.

and while you weren't exactly listening to them, you could still make out bits and pieces of their conversation. however, your ears fully perked up at the mention of aaron. which also brought you into the discussion.

"you're with the coach?"

her question wasn't based on genuine interest, a getting-to-know-type basis, a friendly conversation starter. but, it was rather accusatory, as if you'd done something detrimentally wrong.

you nodded, your eyebrows furrowing briefly in confusion. "yes?"

"like... with him?"

oh.

the standoffish environment wasn't due to you being unwelcome, or, at least not in the way you had previously anticipated. it was jealousy, plain jealousy. they must've spent all of last season ogling aaron, and here you were, getting in the way.

again, you nodded in confirmation. a few grimaces were produced amongst several faces, igniting something deep within you, suddenly feeling very protective of aaron and your relationship.

you casually shot back, relentlessly, "why, is that a problem?"

the mom shrugged, pulling her eyes from yours annoyingly, as if you'd done her an injustice.

she didn't stop there though, uttering something under her breath. while you didn't hear what it was exactly - the low tone definitely indicated she had just insulted you in one way or another.

and choosing to remain on the civil side, you held your tongue.

the whispers continued sparingly; as much as it stung, and as much as the red-hot feeling that had settled in your body was uncomfortable, why should you let it affect you? they weren't a threat, they were suburban moms - probably peaked in high school, probably relied off their husband's salary, probably thought they were better than each and every person they came across.

you could be annoyed, but you weren't worried. the bigger picture, you had what they wanted; you had aaron. you've already won, despite any fights they attempted to pick.

"i need to stretch my legs." the same woman abruptly said, loudly to gain your interest.

she promptly rose, walking towards the team's bench. or more specifically, right up to aaron.

she was quick to strike up a conversation with him - overdramatizing her already-shrill laugh, displaying open body language, the sweetest smile she could muster up.

what did you in, a 'friendly' touch to his arm before she retreated, whenever she finished saying whatever the hell was so important she had felt the need to interrupt his coaching for.

and throughout such, aaron appeared as his typical friendly self as he engaged with her, as expected. although a look of confusion did flash across his face when she graced his arm.

your jaw clenched in anger, but you kept reminding yourself: her actions were just to spite you, just to piss you off, and you refused to give her the reaction she seemingly so desperately craved.

so when she returned, with an awfully smug look plastered on her face and dropping into her chair with a sense of pure satisfaction, you kept your focus forward. you came to watch jack's game, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

but during the mid-game break, once aaron had finished talking with the kids and they sprinted back onto the field to practice some goals, did you approach him.

"hi sweetheart," aaron mumbled into your skin as he kissed your temple, one of his hands comfortably finding your back. "enjoying the game?"

you nodded, offering him a timid smile.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing." you lied, tucking yourself into his chest. you took a deep breath and sighed, smelling the traces of light sweat and grass clinging to him.

"you don't think i buy that, do you?" he asked, a gentle, almost comical tone to his words - all to lighten up your present tension. "what is it?"

you shook your head, "i don't want to talk about it..." your eyes shot over to your new best friends, whose eyes were glued to the two of you. "here."

aaron glanced over at them, profiling immediately. "are they giving you a hard time?"

after a moment's hesitation, an annoyed huff escaped you. "let's just say they're not too happy that the coach is taken."

"what?" aaron laughed breathlessly, his face scrunching the smallest amount in confusion. "half of them are married."

"clearly that doesn't matter, they're still over there undressing you with their eyes." you arched an eyebrow, the scowl on your face only deepening.

"c'mon, you're too pretty to make that face." aaron lightly teased, kissing your pout gently. at the touch, your face did relax, the ends of your lips itching to turn upwards into a smile.

"oh they're gonna hate that you did that."

aaron shrugged, kissing you again. "let them."

you surrendered yourself to your smile, but you still frustratedly crossed your arms in front of your chest. "it's ridiculous."

aaron was quick to untangle your hands, holding onto them and applying a gentle squeeze. "you know you don't have competition. you have me."

"i know. that's why i feel so stupid i'm letting it bother me." you gritted through your teeth. "what did that one woman even say to you?"

"truthfully, i couldn't tell you. i wasn't paying attention." he answered honestly, his eyebrows drawing into a line as he even attempted to mentally recall it.

you couldn't help but laugh, pressing yourself more into him. "you're insufferable."

"i try." aaron joked, but his expression switched tactics, to genuine concern as he moved in front of you, "in all seriousness, are you going to be okay?"

"yeah." you brought your hands to his chest, running your thumbs against his pecs affectionately. you already were. "i have you, don't i?"

"and you could always stay here with me." aaron playfully, but earnestly offered. "and be my beautiful, thoughtful, astounding, beautiful assistant coach."

"you drive a hard bargain," your eyebrows rose, feeling his chuckle underneath your fingers. "but it's okay. i'm not gonna let them think they're running the show, or that they can step on me like that." you shook your head. "and as needed, i might have to flaunt you around."

aaron grinned, proudly. "that's my girl."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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luveline · 2 months

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Hi honey! I hope you’re taking care of yourself ❤️ I love love LOVE how you write! Can I please request bombshell reader x Spencer telling the team she’s pregnant 💕

thank you for requesting! <3 fem, 2k

“Spencer?”

Your quiet tone has his attention faster than any shouting would’ve; he expects high energy from you, and your murmur scares him half to death. He backtracks from the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth, toothpaste dripping down his fingers as he yanks it out and asks, “What?”

“Is this okay?”

You chew your lip and turn to the side, illuminating your problem with a hand framed under your tummy. Your skin peeks out from the bottom of your shirt.

The wonder of you is that you’ve always been beautiful, always, in Spencer’s eyes at least if not the entire world’s, because of how you present yourself, and of course because of your big heart. Your smile, the way you talk, all of it is beautiful and, most of the time, measured. Your clothes are carefully picked, and now you’re changing and your clothes need to change with it —your bump has appeared faster than Spencer realised it would, and you haven’t had time to upgrade your wardrobe. The cases are endless and you’d been more interested in doctor’s appointments and house viewings than clothes shopping.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, perhaps a bit useless, white frothy paste sliding down his chin.

You smile momentarily, nervous on your feet as you adjust your shirt. “I think I look very pregnant.”

Spencer goes back into the bathroom to finish brushing. “You look mildly pregnant,” he agrees loudly over the rush faucet. He spits, wipes his face, and rinses his toothbrush.

“Compared to my usual non-pregnant look, I mean,” you say.

“It’s just that shirt’s a little tight,” he promises. “We’ll find something.”

You probably aren’t going to find something, you both realise. You stand in front of him in one of your soft bralettes, the ‘S’ of your pendant on your rising chest, shirtless and likely to stay that way. “Oh,” he says, tapping your bump gently with his knuckle. “Maybe it got bigger overnight.”

“I think so,” you agree, taking his hand where it hovers to press to the top of the slope of the bump. You’re holding his hand more than you’re protecting the bump, a perplexed frown on your lips as you kneed his fingers in yours.

“We don’t have time to go to the store, but we could be late,” he says.

“What if we have a case?”

“That’s a better reason to go shopping.”

You pout for a kiss, leaning up to press your lips to his wry smile. “No. Do you still have that maroon sweater? The one that didn’t fit you right, with the v-neck?”

Spencer helps you into said sweater though you don’t need his assistance, smoothing down the wrinkles carefully. It hides the too-short hem of your white shirt underneath, and paired with the collar, Spencer couldn’t be more in love with you. “You’re dressed like me five years ago,” he says.

“Like it?” you flirt, your cheeks apples with your smug smile, your hands under your chin.

“You really are glowing.”

“Don’t tempt me into kissing you stupid,” you say, still flirting, voice dipping into that warm, sweet place that probably caused the bump between you in the first place.

“You’re lucky I don’t kiss you stupid,” he jokes, putting an arm around you for a quick hug. “Too bad we need to work to save to buy a stupid house instead.”

“Have a stupid baby,” you mumble happily, your face pressed to his chest. He kisses your cheek.

You’re both in incredible moods when you finally make it to work, tethered together from the parking lot to the elevator to the BAU office. There’s been a lot more hand holding since you found out you were pregnant, though you’re trying to keep it private just a little bit longer. Hotch gets antsy about pregnant people in the field (though he’d never force you to stay home), and the others can tend to be overbearing.

You are excited to tell them. Spencer’s your family, the team is as good as, and they’ll all be so, so happy for you. At first you’d been waiting for the twelve week milestone for practicality’s sake, but now you’re just waiting for the right time.

“Clothes get lost in the move?” Morgan asks.

You aren’t telling them about the pregnancy, but you’re honest about other things. They know you’ve moved in with Spencer, and that you’re looking for a house. Morgan would’ve been offended if you hadn’t told him. He’d offered up a bunch of his properties to you both for viewing and promised a very good family and friends price point, but they hadn’t been perfect enough. It’s just a starter house, he’d argued, mostly unoffended at your pickiness.

He doesn’t realise that you and Spencer wanna raise a baby, and you want as perfect a home as possible for at least the toddler years before you start looking to move up the ladder. A family home.

“Very funny,” you praise, letting Spencer pull back your chair for you as you sit down. You feel the new extra roundness of your bump and wonder why nobody else has noticed it either. Spencer certainly can’t stop looking at it. You catch him all the time, and at night, alone and in bed, you let him run his hand up and down the hill of it, clearly amazed.

“It looks good on you, mama,” Morgan says.

You laugh. “Doesn’t everything?” you ask with an exaggerated smirk.

“Yes,” Spencer says.

You dip your head back in your chair. “This is why I love you.”

“Devotion,” Spencer guesses, wiping at a smudge of makeup under your eye tenderly.

You put your hand on your stomach. It’s weird how things change and don’t at the same time. You feel like you love him so much more now you’re a family with him, but you loved him endlessly before. Moments like this were plentiful and warm as sunshine, the undulating care in his touch a practised exercise at this point. You let your eyes close. He strokes your cheek.

“Hotch wants everyone in the conference room,” JJ says, announcing herself and her towering cup of coffee as she breezes past the bullpen.

You follow her upstairs to the conference room. Rossi, Hotch and Penelope are already waiting, everyone accompanied by their own creature comfort (coffee, coffee, and tea, respectfully). You and Spencer take seats opposite Hotch and Rossi, hands held together as always, his left in your right, his thumb kind against your knuckles.

“The jet is still pre-loading from last time, so we can’t leave until late tonight, but we will be leaving,” Hotch begins, nodding at Penelope. “Until then, we’ll work the case from here.”

She nods back and clicks onto some severely disgusting photographs.

You work through the facts together. Emily arrives late with apologies soon forgiven, your team a well-oiled machine. Of course, without being there, there’s only so much you can do, but it’s never not useful to have these discussions and to spitball with one another.

Spencer gets stuck in his head. You fight the urge to kiss his cheek as he’d kissed yours this morning and decide on a more work appropriate show of affection, popping down to the kitchenette to make him a cup of coffee.

You aren’t drinking coffee or anything caffeinated for the baby. You aren’t thirsty, but Spencer will worry if you don’t make yourself a drink too. You fill a glass with water from the sink and make your way back up the steps to the conference room.

“It looks like there’s a racial motivation,” Spencer’s saying to Morgan.

“Sure, but with only two victims so far, it could be coincidence,” Emily says.

“Or not,” JJ says with a frown.

“I think our killer would show it more, if it were,” you suggest, “there’s usually some aspect of overkill with hate crimes we aren’t seeing here.”

You put the cup of coffee down in front of Spencer and sit in your chair. The sleeves on his sweater are too long. You push them up for the tenth time.

“That’s Spencer’s?” Emily asks, having noticed your struggle.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been sort of scatterbrained, I forgot to put a load in the dryer.”

“Is your go bag ready?” Hotch asks.

No. “Yeah, it’s fine. You don’t like my new look?”

“I’ve never known you to wear clothes that don’t fit,” Morgan says.

“What are you trying to say, Derek?” you ask, propping your face in your chin.

“You’re getting sloppy in your old age.”

You turn to Spencer, beaming, and he shakes his head at you immediately.

“And what’s with the water?”

Your smiling turns deer-in-the-headlights. “What?”

“You don’t drink coffee anymore?” Morgan prompts.

That piques the interest of Emily and Hotch simultaneously, but you know you’re caught when realisation colours JJ’s gaze. She stares straight at your glass, then your face. You can practically see her profiling your behaviour these last few weeks, the sudden trips to the bathroom, the worse than usual reluctance to be away from Spencer, and the sudden propensity for safer practice in the field.

You smile. You’re caught. You see Hotch’s expression and know he knows it, too.

You give Spencer a little nudge with your thigh, as though telling him, You say it. You know he wants to.

“You can’t have more than three hundred milligrams of caffeine when you’re pregnant,” Spencer says, his pride unmissable in the slight lift of his chin, “it disrupts midterm foetal growth. Our baby might come out too small, which isn’t what we want, obviously, so she can’t drink coffee. Not for another six months, at least.”

“Wha– wha– what?” Penelope asks, the physical manifestation of a kettle about to boil over, excitement bubbling and raring to explode as she grips the table. “You’re pregnant?”

“With Spencer?” Emily asks, though she’s laughing before she’s finished.

You frame his cheek with one hand and lean in to kiss it gently. “Who else?” you ask.

The best part is watching everybody hug Spencer. You’re happy they love you and you accept their congratulations and their love with pleasure, but seeing a room full of people thrilled for him finally getting the life he’s wanted, and knowing you’re at least part of the reason, is pretty sweet. You put your hand on your baby bump and take a mental picture of him under Morgan’s arm, his cheeks pink, his smile achingly wide.

Still, he cuts through his moment to reach for you. “Maybe someone else will be able to convince you to slow down,” he says, hand moving to your stomach protectively.

You pretend to think it over. “Maybe in a month or two.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer and bombshell reader

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ceilidho · 5 months

Text

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours.

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet.

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you.

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you.

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing.

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock.

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console.

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff.

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him.

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning.

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away.

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?”

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under.

The first week of December hits town like a truck.

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance.

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue.

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first.

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you.

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that.

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark.

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake.

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress.

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water.

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there.

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out.

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance.

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed.

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering.

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur.

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again.

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan.

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up.

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch.

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip.

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back.

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you.

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside.

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized.

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured.

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble.

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly.

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache.

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle.

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor.

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you.

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky.

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs.

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body.

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you.

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #cod price #john price #price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader

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ellielatinagf · 1 month

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Lacrosse Ellie!!!

Summary: your best friend Dina invited you to a lacrosse game her boyfriend was in. Then you see someone who catches your eye.

Warnings: some mild profanity, I think that’s all

Part 2 | Part 3 | part 4

“Cmon Loser!!” Your best friend, Dina, giggled.

“I told Avery we’d both be there!” Dina said “And besides what else do you have to do other than watch tik tok?” You couldn’t bails on Avery. She’s been your friend since middle school. You loved Dina to death of course, but sometimes Dina was such a good friend she pushed you out of your comfort zone. She meant well.

“Fine…I don’t even know anything about rugby or whatever it is..” you hugged as Dina was picking out a cute outfit from your closet

“Lacrosse” Dina corrected “ and don’t worry about it, just cheer when everyone else does. That’s what I do” she joked causing you two to giggle. After getting ready you and dina walked to your high school football field. There was a huge amount of people which surprised you at how many people actually like the sport.

You and Dina sat in the bottom of the bleachers towards the middle for the best view of the game. Finally, someone on the PA system started to announce the players as players started to flood into the field.

“Ladies and gentleman please welcome the Santa Monica Wolves and the home of the Jackson Mustangs!” The man boomed. Everyone was cheering including yourself.

“GO AVERY!” Dina yelled and you laughed. Avery looked over and waved at you both in the stands and smiled. The whistle blew and in a flash the players started running and all you saw was the flash of the ball

“Wait Dina, what side is ours?!” You yelled over the loud roar of the crowd. Dina laughed at your confusion of the game.

“The right side. Our team is wearing blue and yellow” Dina said. You made an interesting face at the fact. Blue and yellow? Interesting choice. You watched the game, now starting to understand the rules. It seemed simple enough but you knew it must be more difficult to physically do. You watched players throw the ball with precision and speed. You started to think about how you would do on that field. Horrible? Probably. But worth a shot. Then your thoughts got interrupted.

*crash*

You looked in front of you last the railing used the seal off the crowd and field. In front of you was a player from your school under a player in grey uniform. The girl in grey got up and spat on the girl in your school uniform

“Watch it..pal” the girl shouted. She sneered and walked away

Damn she’s buff you thought. You saw her grip her lacrosse stick and wipe the small trail of blood off her nose.

You looked back at the other girl. The first thing you noticed was her auburn hair. It was short, maybe shoulder length. It was in a half up half down style. Then your eyes averted to her build. She wasn’t super buff like the other girl, But she had some muscle. You saw her get up. She was taller than you. You look at her face. Finally. Her face was sprinkled with freckles. Her pink lips were the shade of a cherry blossom. Those eyes. God…those green eyes. They looked like two shining emeralds. Her expression was angry, no, more than angry. She wiped her face. The sweat that made her baby hairs stick to her face were scattered around her hairline.

“Ellie?! Are you okay?!” Dina yelled at the girl. Ellie. A name for that gorgeous face. On second thought, the face was a bit damaged. Blood was gushing out her nose and trickling down her mouth. You looked at the back of her jersey. Williams. Ellie Williams. Hm..what about Y/n Williams? You shook your head at the thought.

“M’good” the green eyed beauty shouted back. She looked back at you. The eye contact was enough to make you faint. You felt your cheeks get warm. She gave you a smirk. A goofy, bloody smirk.

She ran back to the field. Unfortunately she got substituted for another player, but that didn’t stop your eyes from being glued to her.

“Dina…how do you know that girl?” You asked

“Els? She’s in my art class” Dina replied. Art? You love Dina but art isn’t really her style. She attempted to draw you in 8th grade and you wounded up looking like if peppa pig had a long lost sister who was secretly a crocodile.

“You take art?” You asked in a teasing manner

“Shut up I need the credits” Dina said playfully shoving your arm. “That’s where Ellie comes in”

“Okay Picasso” you chuckled and Dina gives you a sly smirk. The rest of the game your eyes are fixated on Ellie. Thinking about her. Her voice. How her lips feel. Her touch. You caught yourself and shook yourself back to reality. Just in time too as you saw the people in the bleachers start to walk off.

You and Dina wait outside the locker room for Avery. You and Dina talking about how to correctly spell gray. The door opens and it wasn’t Avery who walked out.

It was Ellie

“Hey Els!” Dina smiles and inspects Ellie’s nose and bruise

“Hey Din” Ellie replied. Her voice. God it was so raspy. The way she talks so non-chalantly almost made you obsess with her even more. You smiled at Ellie.

“Hey You” she smiled. Your heart did a backflip and summersault at the same time.

“Hey…bud” You cringed. Even Dina have you a sideways look.

Wtf? What did I just say…? WHY?!

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Um hi. I’m so dumb I’m sorry” you said starting to laugh out of nervousness.

Ellie chuckled and looked into your eyes again. Your breath hitched as she gave you a warm smile. You felt so…enamored by her you forgot everything. You forgot where you were. Hell you even forgot Dina was there. Who in fact was enjoying the show of watching you stutter over your words.

“You enjoy the show?” Ellie asked you softly.

“Me? Oh yeah it was cool. I mean until you got hurt but it was a good game” you said.

Nice one. Look at me, the rizz master.

“We lost princess” ellie chuckled

“I-I mean…we put up a good fight!” You stuttered. Ellie laughed and Dina was trying to hide her smile.

“I’ll catch you later babe” Ellie said walking away smiling and laughing. BABE?! That did it for you. Your face was so red you were gonna faint and have a stroke.

“Ooooh…Ellie Williams huh?” Dina asked smirking after Ellie left.

“Huh? What do you mean?” You asked knowing exactly what the brunette was talking about

“As your best friend, I approve of Williams” she giggled. Your face somehow got even more red.

“Dina…do you have Ellie’s insta…by chance?” You asked. For some reason, you needed that gorgeous woman

Okay it’s off to a rough start but bear with me😭 I might make a part two where reader makes an excuse to study with Ellie and learns more about her. Thanks for reading! Free Palestine 🇵🇸

Credits for artwork: Izabesos TwT on Pinterest

#ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou2 #dina tlou #ellie williams #tlou fanfiction #tlou #ellie x y/n

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jazzyoranges · 3 months

Text

Pinky Promise - drabble

Tara Carpenter x gn!reader

Summary: cuddly Tara strikes again

Words: 0.9k

A/n: very much inspired by this fic, please go read it i beg you

This was your worst fucking nightmare. Well, something close to this.

You’d expect maybe Anika or Mindy to set you up for failure, but your own mother? You were her kin, for christ’s sake!

Not to mention the woman knew what she was doing. Once she pulled the “Oh, it seems there isn’t enough beds for all your friends! My, I must’ve counted wrong!” You knew it was over from the start.

Mindy and Anika shared a bed, Chad and Ethan shared an air bed, leaving Tara to sleep on the couch. Which, you offered Tara to sleep in your room while you slept on the couch, but god did she make it fucking hard. The brunette insisted you sleep on your bed since you were the one driving most of the time during the road trip, but unfortunately your urge for hospitality rivaled her

You argued Tara looked far sleepier, and you thought it was settled when she didn’t respond

You were pretty fucking wrong.

When the time came and you eventually left your bathroom to go to the living room, you don’t expect to see a Tara in a band tee that was about two sizes too big on her, Hello Kitty shorts that barely poked out of her large shirt, and a bunny stuffed animal you gave her not too long ago

She grabbed your hand before you knew what was happening, and pulled you into your room. Half of the reason why you didn’t want to sleep in there was because of how you could distinctly tell your teenage self wore too much eye makeup and chains. The thought makes you cringe, and Tara only laughed at your expression

“Let’s go to bed, please?” You should’ve fucking said no. But how were you supposed to? Tara was looking up at you with her big brown eyes, a shirt that was probably yours, and a sad expression. You couldn’t have said no if you tried.

So here you were, looking at the ceiling in a small bed with Tara’s back touching your arm. A blanket covered her entire body while it only covered your midsection with your hands fidgeting on top of it

You feel the younger Carpenter shiver due to your close proximity, and you realize it’s actually cold in the house. Well, you were awake and you did live here, so it was probably your responsibility to make sure everyone was comfortable. If Tara was cold, everyone else probably was too

It takes a little maneuvering to get up with as little squeaks as possible, but you’re eventually successful. You think so, until you feel something around your wrist

“Don’t sleep on the couch…” You hear Tara mumble half asleep

“You were shivering, I’m changing the temperature” You whisper back, leaning towards her as she huffs

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

Your forehead wrinkles as you think, but you eventually have an idea

“I pinky promise” You stick out the small digit of your hand, and Tara eventually meets you halfway. When she lets go you assume she approves of your leave

The journey to the thermostat isn’t a very long one and you’re back in about a minute, the only challenge being not running up the stairs because you’re afraid of the dark

Tara acts like you’ve been away for years when you come back. Once you’re in arm distance, she pulls you down very quickly

“S’not enough, still cold” Tara mumbles into your chest as she crawls on top of you like it’s nobody’s business. Her arms trap you on both sides after she pulls the blanket over you both. You can tell she’s warm when she sighs and makes sure you know how comfortable you are

“You’re like a teddy bear… my teddy bear” You don’t know how to respond, but Tara obviously does

“I can’t believe you got up for nothing”

“The others might’ve been cold, you know”

“The others can fuck off” Tara yelps when you pinch her nose

“Don’t be mean”

“Mmm… whatever” The brunette sighs again, who’s now in a position with you that resembles a cheetah and their support dog

Now this was your worst fucking nightmare.

Tara, god bless bless her, was a light sleeper. If you moved an inch she’d feel it but now that she was on top of you, you were really fucked

“You’re tense”

“Go to sleep” You whisper

“Pillows are supposed to be soft, not hard” She whispers back, looking directly into your eyes

“Last time I checked, people aren’t supposed to be pillows” Tara snickers at your dumb joke and you resist the urge to poke at her dimples

“Now you’ve got me all awake”

“Be so for real, you’d fall asleep instantly if I stopped talking to you”

“Yeah, you’re right. I would” The brunette rubs her cheek against your shirt, almost like she’s trying to burrow into your chest. A few moments pass, and you’re finally feeling the effects of driving for most of the day. You can feel your body relax more every second

“I love you” Tara whispers so quietly you don’t know if you’re hearing her correctly. You fall asleep before you figure it out

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #scream #tara carpenter #scream 6 #jenna marie ortega #ethan landry #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #anika kayoko

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hogwartsfirebolt · 2 months

Text

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

#quidditch rivals but ohh they’re secret lovers bet NOBODY saw that coming #kinda unsure about the tone shift at the end but ITS LATE I’m sorry ok #I just wanted earnest Harry which is MY FAVORITW THING #drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #my writing #mywriting

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luvhughes43 · 7 months

Text

the beginning | jack hughes

au masterlist⭐️

summary: jack and yns relationship is super lowkey, but what happens when yn starts doubting why their relationship is so private?

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 5.6k

The first time you met Jack Hughes you were job shadowing a colleague of yours. It was your first real week of working at the New York Times, and with how busy the team's schedule was you were sent down with Lewis from the sports column to report on… something hockey related. You weren’t really sure, and Lewis didn’t care to fill you in.

You had never given hockey two thoughts when you were growing up. Your father wasn’t interested in any sports aside from the usual football game on thanksgiving (which you had a theory he just watched to get out of festive activities and house work). And anyway, there was only one local ice rink where you grew up so you’d never really had the opportunity to learn about the sport.

All that to say, you had no idea what you were doing. You watched Lewis pin his “The Athletic” reporters badge, and you fiddled with your visitors pass as you waited for the press conference to start.

When the conference did start, you jotted down notes absentmindedly on your notepad. About halfway through the meeting, your attention is immediately pulled to a side door where a few men stood, snickering and whispering to each other.

One of the men noticed you though, smirking half-heartedly in your direction as he nodded his head towards you. That small action caused the rest of the boys to look over in your direction. Your face flushed, and before you could look away your eyes connected with those of maybe the cutest guy you’ve ever seen. His hair was brown and overgrown, and his whole face lit up when he laughed.

“Ow!” you whispered, rubbing your arm to try and alleviate the pain that was Lewis elbow knocking into your side. He pointed to the man speaking at the front of the room, and immediately looked away from you with an annoyed expression etched onto his face. “i’m sorry,” you whispered to Lewis but he shook his head in response. “pay attention.” his harsh tone brought you back to reality, and with one more glance at the cute man in the corner, you return all your attention back to the conference.

⋆ ★

“Journalists still use notepads?” a teasing voice asks, and when you lift your head up from your notebook you see the same man from earlier staring at you.

“We use recorders too but I'm just job shadowing so I didn’t think I needed it. Lewis the-” you stop your sentence short, well aware of the fact that this guy probably didn’t care about your writing tools or your coworker.

The guy surprises you though. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and nods at you to continue.

“Lewis, he works for the athletic paper. anyway, i was assigned to shadow him today because the woman who i was going to shadow had this breaking news story she had to cover,”

“why didn’t you go with her?” the man asks, genuinely curious.

“Well it's my first week and the woman is really particular about how she works. She said if I followed her she’d only get distracted,” you finish your story with the shrug of your shoulder.

the guy nods in understanding before he pushes himself off and away from the wall. He squints a little and points to your name tag.

“Oh, i’m Y/n” you say, adjusting your name tag so he could read it properly.

“I'm Jack” he smiles at you, and before either of you has time to say anything else, Lewis walks over to you grumbling.

“It’s time to go,”

you smile politely at Jack and he reciprocates.

“See you around, Y/n” he raises his hand in a boyish fashion before retreating out of the hallway.

⋆ ★

“It's so cold!” you shivered, voice quivering as you try to warm yourself up with the palm of your hands. you decided not to wear a coat tonight, against your better judgements, and now the frigid Manhattan air came to bite you in the ass.

your friend nodded, teeth chattering as you two ran across the street and down the next block.

your friends apartment came up first, and so she rushes out a quick goodbye before you set off down the street again.

“Fuck! Where am I?” you hear a mans voice ask off in the distance. You wouldn’t normally try and investigate, but when you looked up and saw the familiar mop of brown hair, you made the decision to go over and talk to him.

“Jack?” you asked, hands still rubbing up and down your arms to try and provide you some warmth.

Jack looks up startled, and once he recognizes it's you he relaxes again.

“Y/n right? From work?” he asks, and you nod as you step closer to him. The street lamps illuminate his face perfectly, hues of yellow and orange highlighting his features well.

“Yeah,” you nodded, face twisting in confusion as you watch Jack shrug out of his jacket.

“I’ll let you wear my coat if you help me get.. here” Jack points to the blue destination point on his phone.

You weigh your options, you could take his coat and help him out.. Meaning that you got to spend more time with him.. or, you could go home to the warmth of your apartment..

You hold your hand out for his jacket, and Jack smiles as he passes it over to you.

You peer at his phone, taking a mental note of where he’s trying to go before leading him in the right direction.

“Have you ever used google maps before?” you laugh teasingly, watching as the direction changes and the walk time gets shorter. “you were going in the complete opposite direction”

Jack chuckles, “my bad”

The walk is silent for a minute, before Jack starts questioning you. “So… Do you usually take walks with strangers?”

“You're not a stranger, I met you like two days ago” you joke, knowing full well it's probably not wise to walk the streets with a man you've only ever spoken a few sentences to.

Jack nods, and when you glance in his direction you see the hint of a smile grace his lips. “So, have you lived here long?” Jack asked at a stoplight.

“I’ve lived in Manhattan for a year now. I did an internship last year for journalism and then they hired me” you explain as the walking light turns on and you both cross the street. “What about you? How long have you been in jersey?”

“I live in Jersey for the hockey season. I've been in Jersey for 4 years now? I think?” Jack speaks, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his NJD hoodie. “I grew up in Canada though, and I live in Michigan during the summers'' he explains.

“I’m from Denver, but I don't go visit much. I went to college here on the east coast and ended up staying through the summers to work” you speak, surprised at how easy it is to talk to Jack.

“I didn’t go to school,” Jack blurts out, and you bring your arm up to try and disguise your giggles as a cough. Jack seems embarrassed by his small outburst and quickly clarifies, “like I was drafted and went straight to the nhl”

“That must’ve been hard” you hum, and Jack quirks an eyebrow at you. “Like, having to be in the real world so soon”

“you moved on your own at 18”

“Yeah but I moved for school. You were straight into the pros. That must've been a lot of pressure”

Jack doesn’t respond, but you can tell by the way he’s carrying himself that your words rang true.

“Anyway,” you pick up the conversation. “I really like living here. Yeah my hours are kind of insane, and rent is beyond… but I really like the city”

“I think i’d live here,” Jack replies as he surveys the mostly empty streets. “there's always so much to do”

You nod, getting ready to cross the next street. “Uh, where are you going?” you call out, as Jack starts walking down the wrong street.

“There's a pizza place!” he says simply, and you stare at him confusedly before he explains. “I’m going to a bar, I can't drink without eating something” Jack shrugs and you walk to where he paused. He points to the small 24 hour pizza shop he wants to go to, and you both walk inside.

After you both order, and you're sitting at your table with your food, you start to question things. “So, why were you wandering the streets? How did you get here from Jersey?” you ask, blowing on your steaming pizza before you take a bite.

Jack mirrors you, taking a bite before he answers. “My friends and I all came together. They went out for dinner first but there was this shop I wanted to check out, they’ve got sick shoes, anyway that's not the point. they dropped me off at the store and so my plan was to just walk and meet up with them after but I… well got lost”

You and Jack continue talking, time completely slipping by both of your minds as you let the conversation flow. You learnt that Jack did in fact like to read, and you made sure to give him a few recommendations before you both parted ways.

“Do you want your jacket back?” you ask, already starting to shrug out of the warm material.

He holds up a hand to stop you, “No you should wear it its cold-”

“I'm just walking back to my apartment I should be fine,” you say, shimmying your shoulder and letting the sleeve fall from your arm.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Jack's question stuns you.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

Jack only shrugs, “it’s only like 12 i’ve got plenty of time to catch up with them”

You nod slowly as you readjust Jack's coat on your body.

“Plus, wouldn’t want you to take up any other stranger if they ask for directions” Jack jokes, “might make me jealous”

You knew his comment was supposed to be a joke but… butterflies. Literal butterflies.

Fifteen minutes later and you were outside of your apartment building.

“Thank you” you say, “for the pizza and for letting me wear your jacket”

Jack smiles at you brightly, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. It was like a natural reaction.

“Thank you for taking me to where I needed to go,” Jack takes his turn in thanking you.

“But I didn't..”

“It's the thought that counts” Jack grins as he pulls out his phone. “But, since you didn’t walk me to where i was going… i’ll accept your number as an apology”

“Apology?” you laughed, placing a hand over your heart and pretending to be shocked by his words. “If I recall you were the one who wanted to stop for pizza and to walk me home”

“You're right, you're right,” Jack says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“But I will give you my number,” you say, holding your hand out to accept Jack's phone. When you pass his phone back, your contact fresh in his list, Jack beams.

“I’ll call you!” Jack yells out as he starts walking down the street.

“How about you text me when you make it to the bar!” you shout back. “And by the way! You're going in the wrong direction!” you shout again, and Jack sighs loudly. He dramatically turns around before walking your way again.

Before he has the time to say anything more, you give him a few directions so he doesn’t get anymore lost.

Less than 30 minutes later, while finishing up your skincare routine, your phone lights up with a notification.

Jack H: I made it! Thanks for tonight and for the directions

You went to sleep that night with a smile plastered onto your face.

⋆ ★

After that first “date” you and Jack routinely made plans to hang out. It started off with Jack texting you whenever he happened to be in the city, which then translated to you inviting him to all the new places in town you wanted to try.

“I don't know how I feel about that,” Jack speaks in between spoonfuls of his ice cream. You two had just gotten out of an exhibit, something about ancient rome.

“What? You never think about the roman empire?” you retort, thinking about Jack's interview that was posted earlier in the year. Jack rolled his eyes at you, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Like, how do they even have all that stuff? It's been so long”

“Yeah.. the armour was cool though,” you respond, shuffling across the crosswalk with Jack trailing after you.

There’s a brief pause as you walk up White Street towards the little italian restaurant Jack wanted to stop at.

“So, I was looking online and there’s this new exhibition popping up soon. Something about the elements and sensors… I don't know, it looked cool” Jack breaks the silence, and you have to bite back your smile. He was looking up exhibits for the two of you to go to? Last week he was talking about how much he didn't understand modern art!

“Since when are you interested in the arts?” you tease, knocking your shoulder against Jacks playfully. He looks down at you, eyes crinkled as he smiles.

“It’s something to do,” Jack shrugs, “plus, let's not lie here! You’d love to hang out with me more,” Jack laughs teasingly, but you can sense the hope that lies beneath his words.

“I’d love to hang out with you” your hand brushed against Jack without your knowledge. Your hand feels like it's on fire from the small contact.

“It's a date then!” Jack cheers, grabbing ahold of your hand to steer you in the right direction. You could only hope he meant a real date.

⋆ ★

The exhibit was great, but your time with Jack was even better. He always found ways to make even the most mundane things light up with colour. By the end of the night, you were positive that if you didn't ask Jack out on an official date, you’d lose your mind.

Jack, ever the gentlemen, walked you up all 6 floors of your apartment. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” you say as soon as you reach your front door.

Jack nods, easily agreeing with you. “I think i’m a changed man, that art thing was so cool”

You laughed lightly, leaning against your door as you watched Jack ruffle his hair with his hand. “My turn to pick the activity next time?” you ask.

“Yeah but no more ancient rome things” Jack easily jokes.

“How about something more…” you hedge, unsure of how to ask Jack out. Of course you’ve asked him to go out places before but… this was very different.

Jack leans against the staircase railing, tilting his head signalling for you to continue.

“Like…” you contine, all words escaping you as your attention is suddenly caught to the sight of his bare arms.

“A date?” Jack prompts, smirking as he catches you staring at him.

Upon hearing the word date you're immediately crashing back to reality. Your hearts beating wildly, something you hadn’t felt since the early days of university.

You nod, “yeah, yeah.. Like a date” you shake your head to clear it, and when you meet Jack's eyes he beams.

“I’ll be waiting for you to text me the location then…” Jack's voice trails as he walks closer to you, leaning in as he presses a quick kiss to your check.

You stand there momentarily stunned, watching as he slowly walks backwards to the top of your floor's staircase. “I’ll see you on our date?” Jack calls out, and you mirror his bright smile.

“I’ll see you on our date!” you call back, watching as Jack starts walking down the stairs.

you were falling hard.

⋆ ★

The big date came and went, and you and Jack continued dating silently. It was nice just being with him, away from all the pressures of his fans and his large social media presence. You had a small private account, so you would post some pictures on there, but you never officially went “public” with your relationship.

Ynuser

Liked by jackhughes, claudia, and others

Ynuser life recently...

Tagged: jackhughes

That didnt mean there weren’t close calls though. With Jack being extremely popular, there were a few times when the two of you were photographed out by fans.

After the first incident, you thought nothing of it. Of course someone would see you guys eventually. Although you weren’t sure how you felt about being photographed by random people out in public… Jack was always quick to reassure you that people would eventually forget about the photos.

It wasn’t the forgetting you were worried about though. After being with Jack for a few months, your twitter feed started recommending you hockey content. Which was fine at first, until you saw all the speculations of yours and Jack's relationship.

You muted all the hockey terms you could think of on your twitter account… but that didn’t stop you from thinking of all those accounts words. Was it true that you weren’t Jack's type? Is that why he wasn’t posting you on his social media accounts? Did he actually prefer going to small coffee shops and art exhibitions? Or was he trying to hide you from the outside world?

Even though you knew you liked your relationship being private… Was there an ulterior motive on Jack's end? Did he not find you pretty enough to post on main? You started to spiral.

⋆ ★

The bar was much more crowded than you would've liked, but when your boyfriend invited you out you easily agreed.

You sat in the corner of the booth all night, sipping on your vodka sodas and listening in on the conversation around you. The devils were doing good so far this season, and as a result, Jack had decided it was time to drag you out with him to the bar. You wished he hadn’t.

It’s not like you were an insecure person… (that was somewhat a lie), but when every girl was gorgeous and hitting on your boyfriend… it made you doubt things.

You watched all night as Jack looked at other girls, and your spiralling started to feel a lot more real.

“Who is she?” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as your boyfriend of two years stared at you in shock.

“Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! I swear! It's you who-”

“When was the last time you slept together?” you shouted, your boyfriend winced at your biting words.

“Last weekend…” your boyfriend finally admitted the truth. You had your suspicions that he was cheating on you for weeks now… and each time you brought it up he convinced you that you were crazy. “But baby!” his voice was frantic as you grabbed your bag and started shoving things into it.

Your eyes were wild as you stared into the eyes of the boy that you had loved. When he had nothing else to say, you zipped up your bag and left. Your chest arched and your heart burned… you promised that you would never let yourself get cheated on again.

A blonde touches Jack's arm. You know this because you're watching it happen, right in front of your eyes. You swig your now warm soda, blinking hard to will away the tears.

You look away from the sight, causing you to miss the way Jack's eyes immediately try to seek yours after he brushes the girl away.

The drive to your apartment was quiet.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Jack asks, and despite how much you want to call him out, you feel juvenile about it.

“Nothing,” you sigh, shifting in your seat so that you can look at Jack. He looks at you tenderly, as if whatever mysterious thing that's hurting you is hurting him too.

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?” Jack speaks up again a minute later, this time his eyes are trained on the road.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m just tired. Work was busy today”

Jack hummed in response, and that was the end of the conversation. As usual, he walked you up to your apartment, and then you kissed him goodbye.

When he left you stayed up in bed and questioned everything. You knew you were being insecure, but were you paranoid too? You didn’t want to be hurt again and you were fearful that you would be cheated on again. It was irrational, you knew. But your ex was always being hit on and he took one of the girls up on… no. You wouldn’t let that man ruin anything else in your life.

Everythings fine… you whisper to yourself, and soon enough you fall asleep.

⋆ ★

Things got worse from then on. Whenever Jack was gone on roadies you would read through every comment you could find about Jack’s types, his ex gfs, anything that you could find. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to them. It was like some cruel, sick addiction that you needed to keep up with.

user82

Liked by jackhughes, and others

user82 recently… 🍸

“She's just a friend! What are you talking about?” Jack was immediately defensive when you brought up his liking habits.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be some insecure girlfriend but-”

“You are insecure!” Jack's voice is loud and his words slice through you like swords.

Your eyes immediately start to water, “baby, I didn’t mean it” Jack rushes to your side, hand on your shoulder as he tries to get a good look at you.

“I’m sorry…” you cry, your hands coming up to shield your face away from him.

“No, I'm sorry. You're not insecure you’re right” Jack tries to soothe you but your mind goes numb.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

You let Jack drag you over to the couch, where you spend the rest of the night cuddling and watching some movie that was really just static noise.

Your chest aches and your heart burns, but you knew that Jack was right. You were insecure. You didn't think you were as pretty as the girls who wanted him, and now you certainly didn’t think you were deserving of an instagram post.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

⋆ ★

After that night, you tried to distance yourself from Jack Hughes. When he was on roadies, you would take extra long to reply to his texts. You were also suddenly picking up more hours at work, volunteering to cover stories nobody wanted to cover.

On the other side of things, Jack was confused. He had thought after his apologies that everything would be fine? He thought you needed space, so he gave you plenty. But now it seemed like the two of you weren’t even together anymore.

“Dude, just talk to her” Trevor's voice was somehow still loud over the phone.

“Yeah but she wants space” Jack sighed, as if Trevor had no idea how girls worked.

“Okay… and did she tell you that?”

“I can tell”

Trevor shuffled on the other end of the line. “Okay Jack, listen. You guys have been together what? A year now? You can’t just throw away your whole relationship because she may or may not be a little insecure. Why don't you talk to her? Like actually sit and figure this out”

For the first time, Jack thought, Trevor was making some sense.

“I want to be with you! Do you want to be with me?” Jack's voice was unintentionally rough and loud as he questioned you.

“Of course I want to be with you!” your voice is just as loud.

“Then what's the big deal!” Jack is visibly annoyed as if you're some person that's wasting his time.

“Well, don’t like other girls' instagram posts and stare at models in public!” you retort, crossing your arms childishly. Jack throws his hands up in the air, sighing loudly.

“I like you, what don't you understand?” Jack enunciates each word loudly and waves his hands around wildly in some effort to make his point clear.

“Why can't you understand that I just need some reassurance!” you cry out, completely worn out by this conversation.

“Reassurance? I’m not going to cheat on you! Why do you think so low of me?” Jack pauses, seeming to connect the dots in his head. “Oh. this is about him” Jacks voice turns cold and you feel the oncoming sting in your throat.

“Just because you’ve been cheated on before doesn’t mean that it's going to happen again.” your cheeks felt wet. Were you crying?

“I don't think you’re going to cheat on me” you whisper, arms wrapping around yourself in a bad attempt at trying to calm yourself down.

Jack stands still, staring at you with glaring eyes.

“I just want… I want…” you can't even finish your sentence. You didn’t know what you wanted. You just felt so bad about yourself.

Jack stares, nodding his head in exasperation as he watches you cry. “Yeah, well, when you figure that out call me”

“Jack please,” you call to him through tears, following him down your hallway as you watch him walk away.

You never called.

⋆ ★

A month went by, and you felt the breakup in every aspect of your life. Work reminded you of that first day with Jack. Your apartment reminded you of all the times he would walk you home… you missed him.

“We’re going out tonight! Enough being sad” your coworker, Claudia, exclaimed as she walked into your apartment. She was holding a saks bag, no doubt filled to the brim with outfit options for the night ahead.

“I’m not feeling it” you mumble, eyes immediately finding focus on your tv screen.

“It's been a month yn.. If you don't go out now, you're never going to” Claudia's voice is soft. She sets the bag of clothes beside you on the couch, and she silent starts showing you your options.

“That ones cute” your voice is muffled but Claudia hears you anyway.

“Perfect!” She smiles, setting your choice to the side and pulling out a plastic bag full of accessories.

You felt ridiculous. You were wearing heels much too small, and your dress was way too tight. The drinks though… definitely hit the spot. And after a while, you didn’t think of Jack at all.

“I’m having so much fun!” your words were slurred as you slung one of your arms around Claudia's shoulder. She smiled happily at you, tipsily swaying your hips so you were both dancing to the beat of the music that was blasting throughout the club.

“Is that…?” Claudia starts but then abruptly stops, almost as if she had seen a ghost.

“Is that what!” you shout cheerfully, spinning yourself and Claudia around so that you could see what she saw.

“Y/n don't!” Claudia tries to reposition you but it is too late.

In the middle of the dance floor stood Jack Hughes, your Jack Hughes, and some girl that looked oddly familiar. As if sensing your gaze, the girl turned. It was the girl from instagram.

“I’m going to be sick!” you moaned, hand covering your mouth as Claudia quickly rushes you outside of the club. Luckily, the two of you make it outside rather quickly, and then you're heaving onto the streets of New York.

“I am so sorry! I had no idea that he’d be here!” Claudia speaks apologetically, holding your hair out of your face as you continue dry heaving.

“He's with.. Oh my god” you emptied out what must've been everything in your stomach. “Claudia, he's with her!” you cried, drunkenly leaning into your friends side. Claudia grabbed hold of you, walking you down the street so that the two of you could hail a cab. “I know, i’m so sorry”

Once you were situated in the cab, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You pictured the look on Jack’s face when he saw you. Surprise, then shock, was it regret next? You weren’t sure. Then you imagined the girl he was with. Pretty, and perfect, and you wanted to cry all over again.

“I'm blocking him!” you slurred, pulling out your phone and heading straight to your contacts. Claudia nodded along, concern etched in every feature on her face.

Your hand hovers over the block button. “No! I’m deleting him! He's done. I don't ever want to talk to him again!” you cry, ignoring the cab driver's face as he looks on in disapproval.

“Do what will make you feel better hun,” Claudia speaks to you softly, giving you the courage to block and delete Jack from your phone and life.

⋆ ★

After that night, you were steadily getting sick. You thought nothing of it at first, chalking up all your symptoms to stress and your recent breakup. It wasn’t until you checked your email that your world stopped spinning.

Amazon: Upcoming Delivery

Hi Yn Ln,

This confirms your purchase from Tampax

Your visa has not been charged yet - we’ll email you when it has been charged.

Thank you for using Amazon Pay.

Your phone fell to the ground with a large thud, and you ran to your kitchen to check your calendar. You flipped through the pages, looking for the little red dots that signified the days that you had gotten your period. You flipped through the months.

February

January

December

You couldn’t think as you stuffed your feet into your ugg boots. You put your jacket on while you half-ran down the stairs, and if it weren’t for the man on the 3rd floor grabbing your arm to steady you, you would've crashed down the remaining flights.

Your nearest bodega was only one block away, and when you got there a minute later, panting and trying to catch your breath, reality had finally set in.

Your breathing was laboured and loud as you came to a stop in front of the pregnancy tests. How was this your life?

You bought one of every kind, and you tried to ignore the burning gaze of the cashier who rang all your items through.

“That’ll be $65.24”

It seemed like less than a minute later you were back in your apartment. All of your surroundings blur into nothingness as you pull the tests out of your coat jacket.

You stumble into your bathroom, slam the door shut behind you, and peel off your leggings.

You decide to take all the tests at once, leaving only two for backups in case you did something wrong. The last test shook violently in your hand, and only then did you realize that you were crying.

Positive

Pregnant

Two lines

⋆ ★

The first thing you had done when you found out you were pregnant last night was block Jack Hughes. He was the only person you had slept with in the past 3 months, and in your frustration you blamed him. Your relationship was over with, he had moved on, and now you were pregnant? Life was cruel.

After a long debate, a night full of crying, and an afternoon of rest and relaxation… you decided it was best that you told Jack about the pregnancy.

You type in Jack's contact: a nickname, two white hearts and a sword emoji that represented something you couldn’t quite recall in your panic induced state. When his nickname showed no results, you hit the backspace button and typed in his full name, which you assumed you might have switched to when you saw him out with another girl.

No result.

You dropped your phone into the sink with a loud clatter.

fuck.

That night's events replayed in your mind like a bad film. You had blocked and deleted Jack's contact.

You wipe the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand, breathing in deeply as you reach into the sink and pick up your phone. Everythings fine… you have him on instagram. You can just message him there.

jackhughes

unblock

Life truly was cruel, you thought, sobs racking your body as you let yourself slide onto your bathroom floor.

You unblocked Jack, only to find that his follow was removed.

It's fine… you reassured yourself as you hit the unblock button and started drafting your message. He’ll see it. He has too.

⋆ ★

You checked to see if he had seen the dm the next evening, and to your surprise, you were blocked.

Tears immediately started blurring your vision and you couldn't help but cry out in pain.

What the fuck were you going to do.

part two

#journalist au!#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes fic #trevor zegras x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic

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helen-with-an-a · 25 days

Text

Black Eyes

Hi. So this was a request that I got for a teen!R getting jumped by a fan and the team looking out for them. So here it is - again, I have aged R up a little bit (18/19 rather than 15/16) but I hope you enjoy it.

Barca Femeni x Reader

Description: R gets attacked on her way home and the team come to her aid.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: Injury, violence

You hurt. That was the first thing that you noticed as you woke up. Everything ached. Your toes, your legs, your hips, your waist, your chest, your face, even your hair hurt. You knew you shouldn’t have walked through the alleyway on the way home. How many times had Lucy and Alexia drilled it into you? ‘Don’t walk where there are no streetlights’. You had initially dismissed them as the overprotective worriers that they were, but now you really wished you had listened to them.

It was a rare rainy day in Barcelona, and you were trying to rush home. You hadn’t brought an umbrella with you, because why would you? You live in warm and sunny Barcelona now, not wet and windy London. You had your doubts about going down the alley, but it would cut your walk home in half, and you were already starting to shiver.

You hadn’t seen the man hiding at the end; otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone down it. But by the time you realised someone was there, you were basically at the end, and it would’ve been more awkward to stop and turn around.

“Oops, lo siento. Gracias.” You smiled weakly as you hurried past him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you continued your walk home.

You could hear his footsteps as you picked up your pace.

You could smell the alcohol on him as he drew nearer.

You could see the large Real Madrid tattoo on his bicep.

You could taste the blood in your mouth as your head hit the ground.

You knew you should move. You needed to get up and go to training. You needed to assess the damage done to you. You needed to do a lot of things. But you just couldn’t. It hurt to blink, so the thought of the pain that would consume your body if you tried to sit up, move off the bed and walk was unfathomable.

You don’t know when you feel back asleep – somewhere in between hoping someone could take away this pain for you and trying to work out what to say to people, probably. But your phone startled you. The loud, shrill noise made you twist painfully away from the sound. You just let it ring out; whoever it was and whatever they needed from you would not be worth the pain that it would answer it. The silence was almost just as painful as the ringing – your ears buzzing in the quiet.

LUCY (5 missed calls)

ALEXIA (3 missed calls)

KEIRA (1 missed call)

The herculean effort it took to open your eyes – well, one eye; the other refused to open – was not a good sign. The buzzing started again.

JONA

“Hello?” You answered. You almost didn’t recognise your own voice for how scratchy it was.

“Hola, solo queria ver donde estabas,” Jona explained, clearly anxious over the sound of your greeting. “Son casi las 10.30 y aún no te has registrado.” You didn’t understand what was happening; your head hurt too much for Spanish.

“In English, please,” you begged. There was some shuffling on his side before a different voice answered.

“Pollito?” That bloody nickname—Lucy had christened you ‘Chick’ (short for Chicken) when you first arrived at national camp; your gangly arms and legs, too long for your body, and your timid nature suited the nickname well. And it had followed you to Barcelona. “Where are you? It’s 10.30, and you’re not here.” Ona seemed calm, if a little stressed.

“Oni?” You sounded horrific.

“Are you sick? Oh, Déu meu, you sound awful, no offence.” The stress levels in her voice sounded more intense now and did little to help the pounding in your head.

“Ow,” you croaked out.

“What? Are you ok?” You could easily imagine her face pinched with worry and concern as she tried to find someone who could help. The sound you let out did not help her calm down—you think it was supposed to be another complaint about your pain, but it was definitely an indiscernible high-pitched squeak instead.

“Vale, vale, vale. Just … just stay there, sí?” like you could move, even if you wanted to. “I’m going to get Lucy … and Keira … and Alexia,” she started listing the names of people that would be helpful in this situation. Lucy and Keira were your national teammates; you had known them for most of your professional career. You often looked to them for guidance and reassurance. Alexia was your captain; she wouldn’t take kindly to Ona leaving her out of this - she also considered you a little sister, maybe even more so than Alba. You think she ended the call, but you were slipping back into dreamland before you could be sure.

The knocking at the door was what next woke you up. It was loud and incessant. You groaned, wishing they would stop and go away. You were out of luck, however, when you heard the tell-tale signs of a key being placed in the lock and your door opening. Only one person had a key.

“Chick,” Lucy called out. You groaned even louder and pulled the blanket over your head, trying to hide yourself from the world. You hadn’t seen what you looked like, but the right side of your face hurt more than the other, as did your hands and knees, so you assumed they took the brunt of the damage.

“Chick, you in here?” Keira shouted, her voice sounding like it was coming from the kitchen.

“Pollita?” Alexia sounded closer, too close to be in any other room besides your bedroom. You moaned in response. “Ella esta aqui,” she shouted to the others, the thundering footsteps echoing painfully as they barged into your room. You felt the blanket being tugged down, and you tried to resist it, holding onto it fractionally tighter.

“Hey, no, Chick. C’mon, lemme see you,” Lucy said softly, slowly working her magic as she rubbed your shoulder, thinking you were ill and didn't want her to see you like that. You let her pull the duvet down, not liking the loud gasp she let out when she caught a look at your face.

“What happened?” she asked tightly. You mistook her firmness for anger and couldn’t help the tears as they broke free. “Hey, no, no, no. Don’t cry,” she looked like she wanted to hug you but didn’t know where or what would bring you comfort or just more pain—her arms flapped helplessly mid-air.

“¿Qué sucede? Vas a estar enferma? Necesitamos ir al hospital? Qué está pasando?” You had never heard Alexia so panicked. Keira was quiet—too quiet. She didn’t like Lucy's look of fear or the tension in her voice.

“Chick?” Lucy asked again.

“I fell,” you lied. You don’t know why you lied, but you did. You couldn’t tell her that you ignored her concerns for your safety just because of some stupid rain. You were English – you dealt with rain all the time.

“Lucía, què està passant?” Alexia marched over, gasping loudly when she saw you. “Oh, honey.” The switch was dizzying. One moment, she was angry that no one was telling her what was wrong with you, and the next, she was as soft as a feather, gently coming to kneel by the side of your bed.

“Te caíste, sí?” She didn’t believe you; no one got this amount of bruising just from a fall. And there was something about how you avoided eye contact and scratched at your nails—your go-to trait when lying. “No creo que lo hicieras, pollita. Tell me what happened.” The gentleness was unlike anything you had ever heard from Alexia—she often provided solutions, playful aggression, and (brutal) honesty. Something must have really scared her to make her behave like this. You must have really scared her.

“I—I went through the alleyway,” you said weakly. You expected her and Lucy to look at you in a disappointed way, but no such thing was shown your way—just faces full of concern and worry. “There was a guy … I don’t really know what happened.” You weren’t intentionally vague; you genuinely did not know what had happened to you.

“Ok, Chick. That was very brave of you to tell us.” Lucy rubbed a soft finger over your cheek, wiping away the tears whilst avoiding the most apparent bruising. “We’re going to help sit you up, ok? I’m on your right, and Alexia’s on your left. We’ll get you to the bathroom and we’ll have a look at you properly, ok? Keira’s in the kitchen and will get you some food and drink.” She explained what would happen before she did it, helping to guide you to sit on the toilet.

Getting up with their help wasn’t as painful as you had expected, but maybe it was because you had rested your entire body weight on them. They held a mirror up for you as you began to examine yourself. Your eye was swollen, and a deep dark bruise was beginning to appear, and your cheek had a nasty red mark on it, but the rest of your face seemed unharmed. Your hands were cut, and so were your knees. You don’t know whether it was the pain or the tiredness or the events of the last 24 hours catching up with you as you slumped forward, your brain quietening as Lucy’s soft smell encased you and Alexia’s warm Spanish flooded your senses. You could her Keira’s hushed tones as she made her way around your kitchen, clearly on the phone to someone.

“Chick, it’s okay. We’ve got you,” Lucy said, smoothing your hair down as you rested your head on her shoulder.

“Nadie te va a hacer daño, lo prometemos.” Alexia added.

And you believed them. They would definitely keep you safe.

I wasn't quite sure about the ending, but I hope you liked it <3

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lovebugism · 4 months

Note

HI BBY COULD U WRITE A grumpy!steddie x sunshine!reader , they are all moved in together & its nearing christmas SO reader is the one whos decorating , maybe the boys neglect to see how excited she is & they end up feeling really guilty cuz they just see her putting all of it away 🥹🥹

ty for requesting :D — the boys catch you taking down christmas decorations after not being supportive about your love for the holidays (ditzy!reader, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.3k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Eddie rouses in the early morning, weightless and unusually cold. The first thing he notices is that you’re not wrapped around him like a koala and snoring softly in his ear. How could he not? The lack of you has always been innately palpable.

With his eyes still closed, he reaches across the mattress in search of you. He figures Steve must’ve pulled you into him at some point during the night. The two of you are probably tangled together and hogging all the covers at this very moment.

“Ow,” Steve winces groggily when Eddie accidentally smacks him in the face.

The boy turns towards the voice and squints through the haze of leftover slumber. He squishes Steve’s scruffy cheeks together with a pale hand. “You’re not Sunshine,” Eddie observes gruffly, still playful despite being half-asleep.

Steve swats him away with his eyes still shut. “Obviously not.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” the honey-haired boy slurs, right before leaning forward to shove his face into your pillow. His next words are muffled and nearly inaudible. “Bathroom, maybe?”

Eddie goes to call for you. His chest inflates with a deep inhale, prepared to shout for you like a needy child. Something clatters distantly in the living room before he can. It’s so obviously you — clumsy, well-meaning you. The always doing things you shouldn’t be doing on your own because you’re too sweet to ask for help you.

Both of them know this, so they rise from their sleep without a word shared between them. They find you trying to steady yourself on a rickety step stool, halfway crouched on the highest level with sparkling tinsel in your hand.

The two boys catch your eye, one as equally sleepy as the other.

Eddie’s hair has been extra fluffed by the cotton of his pillow. The wild curls halfway conceal his swollen features. He’s in one of Steve’s sweatshirts and a pair of thin boxers. Steve, meanwhile, is in a shirt so tight you’re almost sure it’s yours. The fabric has risen with sleep and his plaid pants hang low accordingly. The bottom of his tummy and the tip of his happy trail are on display for you.

They’re effortlessly beautiful. Both of them. But their presence makes you grimace.

Your attempts to do all this quietly have obviously failed.

“Did I wake you?” you whisper, just in case.

“Yeah, you woke us— what the hell are you doing?” Steve wonders as he rushes to you, very suddenly alert. He helps you off the old, uneven ladder with hands that are impossibly warm, even over your shorts.

Eddie stands ahead of you and takes the tinsel from your hands.

“I was un-decorating,” you shrug.

“Un-decorating?” Eddie scoffs.

Steve squints at you, features swollen and lined with indentions of sleep, still not quite understanding. “Okay… Why?”

“’Cause you guys said you hated it.”

“Hated what?”

“All of it!” you retort, still a bit vaguely, and gesture all around you.

The living room looks a little like the North Pole puked all over it. There’s an intricately decorated Christmas tree in the corner, perfectly fluffed and packed to the brim with vividly-colored ornaments. String lights are draped over the ceiling, and you’ve hooked ornaments over them, too. Every doorway is lined with sparkling tinsel and lit-up stars and ribbons tied into bows.

It was beautiful. Well, you thought it was, anyway. No one else seemed to agree with you.

You try not to let it hurt you too much, but the subtle ache in the pit of your chest is almost impossible to ignore.

“We didn’t say we hated it!” Steve insists with a wavering voice. “…Did we?”

Eddie makes a vague I don’t know type of sound. He leans his wild head to the side and shrugs once. “I’m pretty sure you did call it tacky, actually.”

“Well, you said it looked like a Hallmark movie threw up in here!” Steve argues without thinking twice.

The older boy squints his puffy, chocolate eyes. “Shut up, dude.”

“You shut up!”

“See, this is why I’m taking it down,” you laugh over their bickering. You smile despite your distant hurt. “You obviously hate it. Both of you.”

Steve sighs. He stops being annoyed with Eddie for a second to give you his full attention. He goes distinctly soft when he looks at you, structured and sleepy features visibly melting. His long fingers give your sides a squeeze.

“We don’t hate it, babe. I promise. We’re just not, like, as into it as you are.”

“And that’s okay! Right?” Eddie blurts from beside him. He crosses two arms over his chest and shrugs. “I mean, we don’t have to like all the same things as each other, you know? What’s important is that we all support each other…”

Steve glances over his shoulder and sends the boy an incredulous gape, half confused and half impressed.

Eddie cowers beneath it. “…Or whatever. I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Well, I feel super supported right now.” You laugh but it’s a little bit forced, weighed down by hidden emotion. You’re obviously still upset about the whole thing — even if you’re trying to pretend that you’re not.

“Shit, babe. I’m sorry,” Steve sighs and wraps you up in his arms. He presses you into his chest, palms spreading over your back and rubbing gently along the length of it. He buries his nose at the crown of your head — you smell like a mixture of your shampoo, his hairspray, and Eddie’s body wash.

You hold him back but shake your head at his affection.

“No. It’s okay. It’s just Christmas decorations— it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Steve insists before the words can properly leave your mouth. He pulls back from you, just far enough to hold your face between his palms. He smiles softly down at you, so quiet it’s barely there. His thumb swipes over the sleep lines pressed into your cheek. “You were really excited about it, and we were assholes. And we’re sorry… Right, Eds?”

Eddie’s face scrunches from where he stands beside you. “Hey, I was preparing my own I’m sorry speech over here, Harrington.”

Steve’s hands drop from your face when you turn around to smile at the wild-haired boy. “Yeah? Let me hear it.”

Eddie brings you into his arms next. His hug is tighter than Steve’s, borderline smothering as his arms cross over your shoulders rather than your back. He hides his face in your hair when you tuck yourself into his chest.

“I love you,” he starts, muffled from where he’s pressed against you. The end of each sentence is followed by a soft kiss to your head. “And it’s not stupid. And we’re sorry for being assholes.”

Your laugh is stifled by his t-shirt. He smells like smoke and Steve’s body wash and your perfume.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Steve whines, his pout evident in his voice.

“Yeah, but I said ‘I love you,’” Eddie argues like a child. “So I win.”

“Well, guess what— I love you too, babe.”

You laugh again. It’s more audible this time when you pull away and turn to Steve, grinning all stupid as you grab his arm to drag him over. “I forgive both of you, so you both win,” you assure when the honey-haired boy towers over your back to join your embrace. With both of them holding you like this, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so safe.

“Ha!” you hear Steve scoff, followed by a smacking kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

The wild-haired boy rolls his eyes and pulls slightly back to look at you. “Want us to help you hang all this stuff back up?” he wonders, then cuts himself off. “Actually. Nope. We’re gonna help you hang all this stuff back up. Whether you like it or not, Sunshine.”

He’s always called you that. He said it was because of your smile, but when you beam up at him, he realizes he might’ve gotten it all wrong. You’re brighter than the sun — than a thousand suns — and if he had to choose between sunlight and the way you’re looking at him right now, he’d choose you in every lifetime.

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haeryna · 3 months

Text

in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

← previous | ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | next →

summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru x suguru x reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo

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amoreva · 2 months

Text

GHOST IN THE WIND

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: after a rough turnout of the quest assigned to you, you began to see your ex-boyfriend as the poison slowly kills you.

warnings: angst, post luke betrayal, poisoning, mentions of effects of poison

a/n: so sorry, was taking a slight break on requests for this fic and the fic series that is in the works. I promise i will answer the requests at some point.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

“Medic!” The door to the medical cabin slammed open. The door knob made a hole in wooden walls at Annabeth’s strength. “Will…”

She rasped out, carrying your dead weight. Your breath coming in short bursts as if your lungs couldn’t hold any more air. Veins darkened to the color of night, crawling up your flesh like a parasite itching to take over the host.

“Oh my gods…” Will Solace, head counselor of Apollo Cabin, gasped and helped you onto one of the uncomfortable cots.

You were mumbling nonsense as black liquid dribbled out of your mouth. Will called out your name, desperately trying to grab your attention. Annabeth was standing over you, concerned.

“Oh gods! Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” The other Apollo kid on duty piped up, scrambling to find the ambrosia. It was scary how you looked.

It was like something from the Underworld took hold of your body. There was a puncture wound on your abdomen, which was the probable entrance for the poison.

“Hey, hey—stay conscious for me, okay?” Will spoke as your vision began to get cloudy. He can see you withering away and demanded for information.

“Will…” You managed to croak out. Your friend looked at you with worry, to see the brightest camper succumb to an unknown illness was…bone-chilling.

“Don’t sleep—just don’t black out.” Will muttered as you tasted your favorite fruits as ambrosia slid down your throat easily. “Please…I don’t know if you’ll wake up—”

You were out like a light. The ambrosia combating the poison overwhelmed your body. It was too much for your mind to even find a sliver of energy to try and stay conscious.

Your name was shouted, but sleep pulled you away from the medical cabin and throwing you into a different scene.

It was dark, like you were walking in an empty void. “Judgement.”, you think. You must’ve died and was waiting to get judged on whether you can enter Elysium or not.

What a shitty death. Dying from poison, it wasn’t hero worthy nor significant to a war. Just death to some ghastly poison that you were careless to figuring out what it was.

But…it’s not Judgement. It’s not because you see him. He’s walking around in clothes you last remember him in. Orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, khaki pants and sneakers. The beads on his necklace moving each time he walked.

You know he isn’t dead. He Iris-messaged you yesterday to apologize for his betrayal. He can’t be dead. You wouldn’t have it.

“Luke!” You tried to call out, but no sound is made from your mouth. It terrified you. You tried to scream your lover’s (ex-lover’s) name again as you saw claws wrap around Luke from the ground and drag him in.

You tried to scream his name again, running to him, but your legs felt like sludge. He stared at you indifferently, accepting his reality—maybe…maybe just maybe you could save him if you run fast enough.

He slipped between your fingers. His chocolate curls disappearing into the floor of whatever abyss you’re in. You let out a silent, dry sob. If…if you had just noticed sooner…you could’ve saved him.

The same hands wrap around your limbs, tugging you down into the floor. Crying out for help, your heart tightened as if someone had a grip on it—squeezing ever last bit of life out. A sharp pull engulfed you into the void.

You gasped deeply. Body launching forward as you grabbed at your chest. You expected the familiar wood floors of the medical cabin or even Will’s warm smile, but…you were on Half-Blood Hill.

Soft, calloused hands were gently placed in your spine. It doesn’t take an Athena kid to figure out who it was.

“You alright?” His deep warm tone filled your head making yourself dizzy. For moment…you allowed yourself to believe he was here, truly.

“Yeah.” You spoke, surprised to hear your voice again. What happened before becoming less and less memorable as you turned to look at Luke.

“You can tell me, y’know? What’s bothering you.” Luke reassured and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

A familiar smile graces your lips, allowing yourself to relax, you lean up against his chest. “I know.” You mumbled as his toned arms wrap around you. “I just…miss you.”

“Miss me? I’m hardly ever away from you.” Luke playfully teased.

The breeze blew against the two of you causing Luke to squeeze you a little tighter. You always claimed he was a human body heater.

Everything dropped. Faded in an all too quick manner before you could even scream for Luke. He was ripped away from you—but you were supposed to be in his arms.

“Hey! She’s up!” Someone called out.

You mind felt fuzzy. Mumbles, moans and groans tumbled out of your lips. You felt like you were outta your own skin—you jerked. Uncomfortable with this sudden irritation.

Annabeth yelped. The sudden reaction from you almost hit her in the face. Another groan of discomfort and pain escaped. Accompanied by it was another struggle to get whatever was out of your body.

To you, it felt like you were shifting a little to get comfortable. In reality, your body was violently twitching and reacting you hit a few Apollo kids. The veins darker than before, your skin paler than usual. What did this poison do?

“Get her—restrain…I—” Will demanded, worried you’d end up hurting yourself.

You screamed as something grabbed you, someone grabbed you. Your brain could only register it as danger and hurt and agony and—

“Stop it—!” You begged. Your voice sounded demented, as if it was the poison talking.

Black liquid oozed out of your mouth as you begged for whatever to stop. Ambrosia was forced down your throat. Lights were too bright. The panic was defeating.

You fell.

But you felt no pain.

It was “Judgement” again. The endless void surrounding the distinct figure, you. “There you are…” Luke grinned once he spotted you. Your legs carrying you to the Hermes’ counselor before you could think of the action.

The void morphed into the familiar forest used to play Capture the Flag. Luke laced his hand with yours. “S’just up ahead.” He tugged you along.

Once more, you let yourself relax like this was the reality that fate has set and not one where Luke betrayed Camp, betrayed Percy, betrayed Annabeth, betrayed…you.

“Where are you taking me?” You laughed. A bright smile on your face as you maneuvered through the forest.

Slipping through the trees and branches, Luke brings you to the dock. The water washing up on the small beach.

A small cliche red and white checkered blanket laid out across the wooden dock, masking the potential splinters. There was chips and two soda cans on the blanket and six roses bunched up to make it look like a bouquet.

“Oh Luke…” Any confusion or anger evaporated when you saw the scene.

He smiled, smiled that charming grin and pulled you to sit down on the blanket. “Used up the rest of my money for the snacks and to bargain with a Demeter kid for these.”

He held up the six roses. The petals a delicate red, soft as a baby’s bum. They smelled nice. He went through all this effort for you?

“Luke…” You repeat in the same tone and took the roses from his hand. You noticed the thorns were cut off and a couple of band aids were around his fingers.

A show of his effort to rid the thorns so you didn’t prick your fingers.

“This…this is all wonderful.” You said, albeit a bit breathless. The roses, the snacks, the blanket—all the thought put into this date. It made you forget you were dreaming. You should’ve known…this was too good to be true.

But you stayed oblivious and in denial, tackling your (ex) boyfriend in a grateful hug. Luke laughed and wrapped your arm around your waist.

Yet, your subconscious pulled you from the happy moment. An uncomfortable feeling itching to tear your guts and organs to shreds. It was as if your own organs and nerves did not belong there—like they were in the wrong body. A warbled scream left your throat. Hands desperate to claw at your flesh.

You wanted it to stop—you would do anything to get this feeling to stop. Your heart breaking. To be ripped away from Luke again and again. In both subconscious and reality was cruel.

Your veins now tendrils crawling up your face, stopping just a little above your eyebrows.

“Hey, hey—breathe!” Someone comforted. You couldn’t recognize their face. It was like as if your sense of familiarity disappeared, triggering your fight or flight (mostly fight) response.

“Will—the antidote?!” A girl called out. Her voice somewhat familiar.

You struggled against binds. You wanted to run far, far away and stop this pain. The pain in your body, the pain in your mind…the agonizing ache in your heart.

“Luke—” The name left your lips desperate for any sort of answer to what was happening.

A small pinch.

Fire. White hot pain sprouting in your body. Burning your insides out. Another cry for help. Another scream of desperation. His name leaving your mouth. It hurt—it hurt all too much. Both the burning in your body and the reality of him being gone. Truly, gone.

“Luke! Please…please—help!”

Overwhelmed, you were sucked back into the dream. This time on a cabin bed. It was unclear on whose cabin you two were in. Luke had his arms around your waist, head on your stomach. The pain fleeting, but lingering.

The stars shined brights whilst the moonlight blessed you two. It was peaceful, almost…dare you say—normal. No gods, no goddesses, no prophecies, no quests, no betrayal, no hurt. Nothing.

You found yourself humming, running your fingers through his curls, and feeling your eyes close with fatigue.

“Falling asleep there, sweetheart?” You could feel his smile against your skin. He pressed a kiss to the flesh nearest to his lips.

“Mhm…” Your body flared up due to a burn—but there was no fire in the cabin. You stayed put. “I—I could spend all of eternity with you.”

“I could spend all of my time in Elysium with you.” Luke mumbled and turned his head to look up at you.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his hands, so he was close to you. Lips connected like hands clasping for prayer. It was soft, yet it spoke a lot of words that he could not get out.

“I love you. Never forget that, okay?” Luke whispered against your lips.

His beaded necklace hovering over you. You placed your arms around his neck slowly and kissed him again. Never wanting the moment to stop.

Even then, you never had the courage to say those three simple words to Luke. Realizing this might be the last time you see him, dream or not. It made you sad he never heard it from you.

Maybe this will make up for it?

“I love you—I love you. I love you.” You repeated. Your voice shaky, holding back tears. This wasn’t real and you know it’s not real—but…you missed Luke. You missed him so much that it hurts. You didn’t believe he would betray Camp Half-Blood and you without Kronos’ manipulation.

“Hey…” Luke cupped your face and kissed your forehead. He grabbed your arms to sit up. It wasn’t good to cry laying down. “Don’t tear up. Everything will be okay, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you—?”

“I’m sorry, but you have the wake up.” Luke sighed and pressed his forehead with yours.

“Wait—“

“You have to wake up.” Luke grasped your hands. He held you as if this was the last time.

“What?”

“I love you very much and—and I’m so sorry for leaving you there—“

“Luke—wait!”

Your eyes shot up to be met with wooden walls of the medical cabin. Will and Annabeth shot up, ready to take necessary precautions. A dry sob left your mouth.

“Hey…” Will spoke softly.

You sat up, tears cascading down your face. You started to helplessly wipe them. You could feel his touch lingering. His hands grasping yours. Will pulled you into a soft hug when he deducted the poison was out of your system.

The mind is cruel, the poison was cruel. Fate was cruel, life was cruel.

You missed him.

You buried into Will as if it was him. Will and Annabeth thought you were crying because of the overwhelming feelings of what happened when you were poisoned.

You missed him.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagine #percy series #luke castellan fluff

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pixiesfz · 4 months

Text

Vegas k.m x reader

plot: a group of your closest friends decide to go to Vegas for the weekend

warning: mature themes

You woke up with a pounding headache. You even believed that your past ACL injury didn't hurt as much as this but you are also very dramatic.

You went to grab at your head when you realized there was a warm body on top of it, a half-naked body, you faced the other way before you looked down to see that you too were also half-naked.

No wonder you were hungover.

You were in Vegas and of course, you got drunk enough to sleep with an absolute stranger though when you finally dared to turn your body around you realized that she was not a stranger.... not at all.

You thought back to when the plane landed. You were sat in an isle seat with Katie in the middle and Leah in the window. You sat and waited for the people sitting behind you to exit because you felt uncomfortable cutting in the line.

Standing up you faced the inside of the plane and met Caitlins eye who shot a sarcastic smile, obviously still tired from sitting next to Beth who probably didn't stop talking about random stuff. Hearing a gruff behind you Katie’s arm stretched out and latched onto your waist as she laid her head on your shoulder.

“Just bump into them it will be fine” she whispered “Katie I’m not doing that” you said “see this is why we never let you sit in the isle seat” Leah said from behind Katie as Katie turned her head “she said the window made her feel sick.”

“What if I said I felt sick in the Window seat” Leah smirked “then deal with it” Katie shrugged and Leah scoffed.

You just rolled your eyes at the twos antics.

Sure you knew Katie was touchy but she was also getting out of a break up so you thought it would stop after a little bit.

But it hadn’t stopped.

You and Katie had always been close but Katie was dating Ruesha when you had met even though you had the biggest crush on her at the time you never acted on it.

Now she was single and all your feeling you thought you pushed behind you were coming back again.

Her holding your waist right now did not help.

“Okay now we can go” you said as only a few people were left to leave. Caitlin cheered as she went through with Beth and Viv following behind as you, Katie and Leah followed soon after that.

When you finally went to the hotel you all found a partner to share a room with, Leah purposefully not picking you so you and Katie shared.

Leah sent you a wink as her and Caitlin walked past you into their room.

“Ready for Vegas” Katie smiled as she opened the door to your room and the two beds. “Never ready for Vegas” you laughed as you both put down your luggage.

“I’m more excited for tonight and what it has in stall for us” Katie said as she opened up her suitcase “what’s your plan Mccabe?” You asked with a smile and she looked up to you “I don’t know maybe I’ll leave with someone”

A green envious monster creeped up on you with that sentence as you tried to push it away “not in this room you aren’t” you told her “I dibs it” you said “you can’t dibs it” Katie cried out but you shrugged

“Already did sorry babes”

Katie looked at you baffled “alright how’s this” she started “whoever gets a girl to leave with them first gets the room the other doesn’t get it”

“Deal” you put your hand out to the Irish woman who shook your hand.

When you all went out you purposefully wore the hottest outfit you could muster out from your luggage, your top was practically lingerie and your skirt was short.

Katie had to stop herself from launching on you then and there when you walked out of the bathroom “You- you look nice” was all she could stutter out.

“Who’s shouting?” Caitlin asked as you got your first round of drinks “We’ll shout in age order, youngest to oldest” Leah smirked as you rolled your eyes “first round on me then” you said before getting up.

When you got out Leah, Caitlin, Beth, and Viv all turned to Katie “if you don’t sleep with her I will” Caitlin scoffed and Katie rolled her eyes “what?” She asked “Katie I have never seen you so hung up on someone. I never saw you look at Ruesha like that!”

“Too be fair Ruesha never wore that” Viv piped in and Beth nodded “she looks hot”

“Can you’s all not” Katie said as she looked over at you again and at how the bartender was looking at you.

Well looking at your breasts.

“Green monster” Leah sang out and Katie huffed “okay she’s stunning is that what you want me to say?” She asked and the girls laughed.

“We made a bet anyways to see who could pull someone back to the apartment back first” Katie shrugged and Beth gasped

“What about the other person?” she asked and Katie shrugged “I guess they have to find somewhere else”.

“Yep” your voice piped up with a tray of shots “which is why I am winning” you smirked “which is why I got Katie a second shot, I thought you might need the confidence”

“Ha Ha” Katie fake laughed “I think I’ll still be winning” she smiled “really” you asked “cause that bartender finishes in an hour and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind coming home with me” you smirked as Katie’s eyes wondered to the bar.

“I think you can do better” she said “oh can I now”

Leah couldn’t handle it anymore. “Alright!” She yelled “everyone take a shot then get on the dance floor”

And everyone did.

You and Katie both watched each other and watched each others hands roam around random girls bodies in the club until you met eachother in the middle of the club again, very drunk by now.

“Do they feel good?” Katie asked and you furrowed your brows “what feel good?” you said “your hands, do they feel good on the body or are all those girls faking it?”

“You can’t say anything” you slurred “you have your body pressed up against all those girls but not taken one back to the hotel why is that?” You asked and Katie stepped forward.

“Maybe cause I don’t want to go home with them”

Your heart fluttered at her words as your face grew hot to how close she was to you, she looked down at you which made you feel vulnerable “who do you want to go back with then? You asked

“Would you believe me if I said I’m looking at her” she whispered as she leaned into you.

You didn’t know what was taking over you the list or the alchahol but you grabbed onto Katie’s hand and dragged her out of the club “where we goin?” She asked, her accent getting thicker as she had more drinks.

“You wanna take a girl home yeah?” You asked, getting close to her “only if that girl has y/c/h and y/e/c” she smirked and you called over a taxi.

“Then you’ll get it” you softly smirked as you and Katie entered the taxi.

The drunk two of you entering the elavator was what cut the string you two had been setting since you landed in Vegas.

“You know” Katie started “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” she smirked as you two were in different sides of the elevator.

As soon as she finished talking you stepped closer to her and brought her face into yours. Her lips tasted like tequila and yours vodka.

You were both fighting for dominance but Katie lifted the back of your skirt to grab your ass causing you to groan that gave her access to your mouth.

“Fuck” you whispered as the elavator rose up to your level, the doors opening, Katie gave no thought as she lifted you up from your ass as you spread your legs across her body.

She carried you to the door blindly as your kiss never broke apart. “You have the key in your jacket” you whimpered out in between kisses and Katie rolled her head back “grab it for me I don’t think I can live with myself if I let go of your ass right now” she whispered into your ear and you giggled.

God your giggle turned Katie on so much.

You grabbed the card from her jacket and opened th door for the two of you to enter.

They’re may have been two beds but you only ended up in one.

So much for the bet eh’” Katie smirked as she let you down on the bed, her towering over you.

“What if I said I set this up?” You joked

“Then I would say thankyou” she breathed out before attacking your mouth again.

That was last night and now you were awake with your team mate who you had now slept with.

Fuck.

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wonysugar · 4 months

Text

sorry | yoo jimin

synopsis : her hands were always warm.

pairing : childhoodbff!karina x fem!reader

genre : all of us are dead au, angst (i’m sorry), childhood friends to lovers (?), high school au?

tags : zombie apocalypse, spoilers to the show?? it’s better if you watched it, so you get the refs ykyk, flashbacks, the entirety of aespa are in this, only karina is relevant tho

warnings : blood is mentioned, injuries are mentioned, implied dissociating i think, gross zombies, eating humans and stuff, you get it

word count : 2.4k

a/n : this was so self indulgent LOOK I FINISHED THE SHOW TODAY AND I SOBBED I NEEDED TO GET IT OUT ONE WAY OR ANOTHER💔💔also not proofread uhm looks around if you see any mistakes no you don’t! :]

“y/n, barricade the door.”

you stared at aeri as she yelled from across the classroom, fighting off another braindead zombie, barely winning and almost getting bitten. as a result, ning groaned, gathered up her courage and threw a chair at the walking dead that lunged at her friend. then, she stabbed the being’s neck before it got the chance to get up.

eventually, once she was spared a few moments to inhale and exhale, the japanese girl’s gaze met yours, eyebrows immediately furrowing afterwards.

“what are you staring at— barricade the fucking door, you dumbass?” she yelled, somehow louder this time, before having to stab another zombie in the neck with her pocket knife.

as if snapping out of a trance, you mentally slapped yourself, quickly looked around and rushed to grab the nearest desk, despite struggling to pick it up. then, you pushed it towards the sliding doors of the classroom afterwards. minjeong, the incredibly athletic girl she is, while also having heard the dozens of zombies running towards your location, quickly slid the other door shut and stacked another desk on top of the one you put.

you both reluctantly backed away, glancing at each other as if to seek reassurance from the other’s stare. you both listened closely for the sound of the impact from the zombies hitting the door, then unconsciously sighed from relief when you did hear it.

“thanks, sports girl.” you teased the short girl, snickering when she hit your shoulder playfully (which kinda hurt considering the strength she had, despite being seemingly petite.)

you felt the tension in your body fade away with each breath that was taken, you crumbled to the ground and allowed your body to get rest.

“also,” minjeong turns to look at aeri before addressing her, “you didn’t tell me you knew how to fight, who taught you?”

the girl in question runs her fingers through her hair as she groans, seemingly annoyed by the stupid question, before cheekily smiling, “i guess when you have to fight bitches every once in a while, you end up learning a few things.”

you all laughed, glad to be finally able to breathe and take a break from the constant amount of attacks you’ve endured up until this point.

“wait—“ placed ning before any of you said anything, readjusting her glasses nervously as she stumbled on her words,

“where’s jimin?”

“fuck fuck fuck fuck—“ she mumbled to herself in panic as she ran at full speed through the different hallways of the school, carrying the hard metal rod she found on the ground as a weapon whilst also escaping the army of things chasing after her, occasionally hitting unexpected obstacles left and right as hard as she could.

she felt her legs slightly giving out on her as she sprinted, the numerous injuries on her body bringing her a clear and not at all appreciated disadvantage. in a normal situation? she’d probably be limping and be annoying about it, asking her friends to carry her to class and whatnot,

however, this was a life or death situation, about 15 different zombies were behind her trying to devour her and half of her friends were probably a part of that same pile,

limping and being annoying to her friends wasn’t really an option right now.

“what do you mean she’s still out there???” you shot up, your blood running cold upon hearing that your best friend might’ve ended up being a 5 star course meal for the zombies, “you couldn’t have made sure she was with us before closing the door??”

“i couldn’t have done anything, genius, calling out to her while she’s trying to draw the attention of those fuckers from the other side of the school would just defeat the whole purpose.” sternly said the japanese girl, giving you back the same energy, also panicking for jimin in the process.

you walked back and forth in the room, pacing and trying to figure out where she possibly could have went, eventually groaning and stopping in front of the mean girl again, grabbing her shoulders, “so what?? she’s just dead now?”

“look, y/n, she’s probably just hiding in some classroom safe and sou—“

“i’m going after her. i’ll bring her back, you guys stay here.” you declared, immediately rushing to the backdoor.

“no, y-y/n—“ is what ning said, stuttering, before you bolted out of the classroom at full speed.

“okay well.. she’s definitely dying.” concluded minjeong before getting hit by a worried ning. “don’t say that—“ responded the latter.

“die you stupid fucking bitch diediediedie—“ exclaimed jimin, hitting the zombie that was clinging onto her foot and hissing at her with the same metal rod that she was carrying for what felt like several hours, grunting desperately with each hit, using every fibre of her body to kill it, until all of its blood splattered onto her.

after a while of it being unresponsive, she shakes its hand off of her shoe and watches its lifeless hand hit the ground. then gripping onto her femur injury trying to stop it from abundantly bleeding, shutting her eyes closed in hopes of making it somehow less painful. somebody on the level below her was screaming for their life, so all those braindead whores were away for a while. she was contemplating on how to run if they ever came back faster than expected, now that her brain has actually acknowledged the pain in her limbs, it was gonna be harder.

during that time, jimin couldn’t help but think about you, wondering if she was gonna be able to see you again, wondering if you were even alive. wondering if—

“jimin?”

that was your voice.

she recognized it better than her own.

“y/n.”

she immediately turned her head to look at the source of the noise, not being able to keep her flinch contained upon hearing it. then, upon realizing that you seemed fine, she couldn’t help sighing from relief.

but then she noticed that you were crying.

and you noticed that she was hurt.

rushing towards her, you quickly put your arm under hers for support and help her walk to near safety before the undead figured out you were here. you could think about the rest later, all that mattered was that she was okay.

walking into a seemingly empty classroom, you waited until something potentially jumped at you. after watching out for a couple of seconds, you set jimin down onto the ground carefully as you closed the door behind you. before you could even turn around, the older girl spoke,

“how did you even know where i was?” she asked, still huffing from the sprinting she’s been doing while trying to survive.

“your shoes are covered in blood, footsteps are not hard to follo—“

her nose.

blood.. was dripping from it.

it was bleeding.

her nose was bleeding.

she curiously raised her eyebrow at your sudden change in expression, “what happened? did a zombie scare you or something? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she giggled.

“j-jimin?”

“what? seriously y/n, you’re scaring me. what is it?” she continued giggling only nervously, this time, in hopes of making you feel better, whatever it was that suddenly got you like this.

“y-your.. your n-nose..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper,

“it’s.. bleeding.”

“oh come on.. tell mee. your secrets are safe with me, i promiseee—” she pleaded with you, making a joking hand rubbing motion as you subtly laughed at her unfunny attempts to try and win you over. you could never let her know that she was funny; her ego would be too flattered.

“we’re in the middle of some sort of a zombie apocalypse and you’re still somehow managing to be annoying.” you joked with her, to which she pouted in response.

“ugh you’re no fun..“

“sorry that i’m trying to survive, jimin??” you said back using a sarcastic tone. she groaned and rolled her eyes before speaking again,

“look y/n, we’re probably gonna die anyway, okay? might as well die knowing everything about the other, don’t you think?” she tried reasoning with you, and yeah, while it did make a little bit of sense why she’d think that way, just in case you did survive, you had a dignity to keep.

you couldn’t just tell her that you’ve had a crush on her ever since you were kids.

“…what?” she said, her voice suddenly matching the volume of yours. blinking at you as her smile drops, distraught from the piece of information you just gave her, you can see a small nervous smile forming again as she approached her hand to her nose. “come on, you can’t make jokes like that they’re not funny at all man—“

red.

was that blood?

no, no, it couldn’t be. of course it wasn’t.

right?

when she looked back up at you, she noticed that you slightly backed away from her, still staring at her with nothing but pure fear in your eyes.

you weren’t scared of her, were you?

why would you be?

“man that doesn’t even taste that bad.” you affirmed, still not done chewing the fresh bibimbap, the taste of the absurd amount of wasabi you put on it not having fully hit you yet. she simply looked at you with hooded eyes, nodding at your claims like they completely made sense. she was patiently waiting for it, she was waiting for you to jolt at the actual taste.

and god was it funny when you did.

“f-fuck?? jimin oh mai fuck— jimin wawer— path me the wawer oh my—“

the sound of her own laughter resonating in the food court, everybody was staring at you two like you were crazy, and it was fortunate you physically weren’t able to laugh.

cause your two laughs mixed together sounded like one incredibly loud laugh, people knew you for it.

“next time, maybe don’t claim to tolerate something spicy when you’ve never even tasted it, got it?” she advised you, digging her hand into her bag as she looked for her water bottle, watching you eagerly nod. at that point? you needed to consume something that wasn’t wasabi.

“y/n i swear i didn’t get bitten i promise you it’s— it’s probably my blood pressure. yeah! m-maybe it’s too high or something i’m— i’m sure running was the c-cause.“

you quickly grabbed her hand as she was still sitting down.

cold.

it was cold.

“why are your hands always so fucking warm all the time? like— it could be -10 degrees celsius outside and your hands would still be warm.. i just don’t get it.” you questioned, holding onto her hand and observing it like it was some sort of rare object that needed to be analyzed.

your hands were always cold, it was no fair.

“maybe it’s just cause i have a really warm heart.” she said in a dramatic manner, naturally making you roll your eyes at her. then, when your eyes went back on her, you noticed something.

“hey jimin?” she hums in response, indicating you to continue, “where’d your name tag go?”

she chuckles, “oh, i was supposed to give it to someone, but then i ended up just losing it somewhere.”

you giggled as a reply, “fucking idiot.”

you choked back tears as she tried justifying herself, backing away further as she eventually got up from her seat on the ground. you heard the bones in her limbs slightly crack in the process, and you know she heard it too,

she just wanted to pretend like she didn’t.

tears rolled down her face as she stumbled on her words and her steps, the struggle to get air in her lungs growing bigger by the second, “y/n i swear— please listen to me i— i’m fine i-i just—”

how did she get infected? she didn’t even get bit.

“i-it’s impossible.” she thought aloud, “i didn’t—“

then she remembered,

the blood that splattered.

the injury on her leg.

fuck.

“jimin.” you whispered, the tears that you were holding back finally dripping down your face as you saw her. her veins slowly popping out as blood came out of her mouth, slightly drooping.

you saw her turn right in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do.

you just had to leave her there.

her eyes were bloodshot by this point, and she was fighting back only god knows what to not let her neck crack in front of you. she couldn’t see anything anymore, the only thing she thought to do at that moment, before anything was too late, was to reach into her skirt pocket, grabbing something small, you couldn’t tell what it was. you didn’t know what it was,

until she deployed it onto your palms.

“oh stop it.. not my fault nametags are so small, it’s a pain in the ass trying to find something so tiny, so i kinda just stopped looking for it.” she tried justifying, but you just kept laughing at her.

“who were you even planning to give it to, anyway?” you added, trying not to seem too hurt about her having a crush. you had to be supportive, because jimin wasn’t just the person you loved,

she was also your best friend.

“now you’re doing a little too much.. i’m so obviously not telling you that.”

“w-what are you..?”

yoo jimin.

“m-my nametag. it’s yours n-now.” she said, eyes twitching from the pain she felt, her bones cracking with each movement she made.

what?

her nametag?

what?

“i’m s-sorry i couldn’t— t-tell you sooner.” she stuttered, clutching onto her bloodied up shirt like it was gonna help her feel better. “i p-pussied out.” she giggled, still sobbing.

“sorry.” was the last word she could muster up.

you stared at her.

and she stared at you back, smiling before leaving the room and sliding the door shut behind her.

it all went by so quick.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

wasn’t this all just a bad dream?

you were gonna wake up right?

the zombies running, they weren’t running.

the screams in the hallways, they weren’t hers.

they weren’t even real to begin with, right?

the zombies weren’t eating her.

you stared at her bloody nametag, tears falling down onto it.

yoo jimin.

the zombies don’t even exist either, do they?

you made all of it up, right?

right?

“ugh lame.. i’m your best friend, you should be telling me.. booo tomato tomato..”

she laughed, hitting your shoulder playfully before laying her eyes on you, smiling tenderly as she watched you pout.

“sorry.”

#kpop gg #female reader #aespa #aespa karina #karina aespa #aespa angst #all of us are dead #all of us are dead au #karina x female reader #karina aespa x female reader #yoo jimin #yoo jimin aespa #yoo jimin x female reader #i’m gonna cry #i felt so fidksodkkwdk #writing this

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mydearesthrry · 4 months

Text

right back home to you - h.s.

a/n: had a hard time deciding if i wanted to put this out since im not too happy with the outcome but i wanted to feed u guys. in the future ill probably go back in and edit it but for now i hope you all enjoy this little angsty girl xx im also working on part 2 of love in secret !!!!!!!!!! she should be out fairly soon <3

wc: 4.8k

warnings: none, angst, fluff, flight anxiety

“Hello? ‘M home,” Harry shouted into the cold house. Not that he would even notice, but the air was dull and the atmosphere was still, hues in the normally vibrant house now gray and lifeless. “Baby?”

“Oh, hi Harry,” A dulcet smile was on her face as she walked around the corner with sweatpants and a baggy hoodie on, a baseball cap on top of her head. She had her dirty and beat up air forces on her feet that Harry loved to make fun of, small dollops of paint on the soles of the shoe. She also had a pair of sunnies that lay stagnant on the dark blue visor, a tell tale sign for Harry that she was going out. “I didn’t hear you come home.”

Harry hummed, holding his arms out for her to walk into. She did, but only embraced him with half of her body, one arm curling around his waist loosely while the other stayed swaying by her side. In both of their opinions, it was way too short to even be considered a hug, not even close to being an embrace, but Y/N did it purposely. Harry frowned, feeling a twinge of hurt at her unusual lack of affection. “Um… Are y- are y’going out?”

She laughed falsely, shaking her head and turning her body to face the large windows in their apartment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Harry was still confused. “What d’you mean?”

It’s now or never, Y/N thought, and mustered her bravest smile as she pivot turned to face him again. “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m going up to New York to stay with Eliza. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, is that okay?”

A few beats pass, Harry staring at her in disbelief. “What the fuck? No, no, s’not okay! Why- why are y’leaving? Y’didn’t even tell me? When were you planning on telling me y’were leaving?”

“I’ve been planning on leaving for a long time, Harry. I was actually meant to leave before you even got home, really, but you’re early.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple and knowing the fight that was about to ensue.

“Why are y’leaving?” Harry’s voice started to grow in volume, becoming harder and harsher as he tightened his hands into balled fists, trying to channel his feelings in another way rather than yelling at his girlfriend.

“I’m leaving because I can’t do this anymore, Harry. I cant keep arguing with you every day, it’s just not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either, really, so I’m just… taking the stress off of the both of us and making the bold decision to leave.” She explains, moving to grab her suitcases from the hallway and roll them into the living room.

“That’s wha’ this is about? The fight we had last night?” He asks, eyes widening and mouth drying at the sight of her multiple suitcases.

“Um— not entirely, I guess. I’ve meant to go up to visit Eliza, if you remember, we were going to but you had um— a party, that you needed to attend. So I just decided to book a flight last night after you went to sleep.” She's as quiet as a mouse, her words not staggering but it was physically obvious that she was nervous.

“So what now? Is that it? You’re just… throwing away four years of my- of our fucking life?” Harry spat. She’d started to shrink into herself quite a bit, sweaty palms running over the now warm black handle of her small suitcase.

“I’m not throwing away anything, Harry. We had a fight, you and I both said some nasty things, and I’m just going up to my sister's house for a little bit to clear my head. Like I said, I was meaning to go up anyway. This isn’t really about you, Harry, as much as you think it might be. I’ve been miserable here all alone and all I want is to be with someone who I know can provide me with love and attention right now, which is what I need. You need it too.” She tried to hold her ground but the tremble in her soft voice made her feel weak.

She and Harry had gotten into a multitude of arguments within the past weeks that he had been off tour. It started from little things, like a sock being thrown over the laundry basket and not inside of it, or one of them leaving their dirty tea mugs on the counter when the sink was right there! But as small and insignificant as these things were, they also grew into arguments about bigger issues. One of the more nasty arguments had pushed her to pack her bags and book a plane ride up to her sister’s house in New York.

The argument on the table this time around was that whenever Harry was home after an elongated amount of time on the road, he would treat Y/N as if she was his friend and not girlfriend of three years. She’d had a problem with this seeing as all she ever wanted him to do was love her and take care of her, and for some reason she couldn’t help but feel he found that hard.

“Bullshit. I know y’leaving ‘cause your feelings got hurt or whatever, but you know y’don’t have to leave, pup. We can resolve this, don’t we always?” He grumbles, taking a few small steps forward to meet her where she stood by the door.

“It’s entirely different this time, Harry.” She sighed, bending down to sit on the floor since she knew they’d probably be there for a while.

“How?! How could this be any fuckin’ different? We’re jus’ arguin’ are we not?” Harry runs a stressed hand through his hair, trying to channel his energy away from his voice. Though he tried to refrain from allowing his anger to seep its way into his voice, his girlfriend could still pick up on the edge that lined his vocal chords.

“No, baby. We aren’t just arguing. This is me trying to tell you how I feel, and you keep pushing it aside. So this isn’t just us arguing anymore, I guess I’m surrendering. I’m tired of doing this with you whenever you’re home, Harry. I’m alone every day, 24/7, and then you come home and it’s like nothing has changed. Which I love, I love how we can just bounce back, but sometimes I need more love or attention when you come back, and I just…” She starts to gnaw on her lips, trying to word her next thought carefully. “I’m tired of being treated like your friend rather than your girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Mhm. Besides me being alone all the time, whenever I do have you— or people around, you only ever want to keep me at arms length. The whole world knows we’re together, Harry. You’ve posted on my birthday and it’s no secret to anyone anymore. I… I just can’t understand why you do that, really. It makes me feel like I’m just your friend and not your lover.” She pauses, inhaling a sharp breath of air and willing her tears away.

“What do you— what do you even mean? I’m always with you whenever I’m home, I bring y’everywhere w’me?” His anger just kept growing and growing, but this time he noticed that the weight of guilt that was sitting on his heart had gotten heavier with every breath he took, the weight of the pull almost being able to bring him to his knees.

She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head before dropping it in defeat. “Harry… I hate to bring it up but— you’ve been home for what, three weeks now? We haven’t had sex, we barely have cuddled, you don’t put your arm around me in public or kiss my cheek. I— I feel like I’m losing you. It’s so hard to love you when you won’t let me. I’ve tried to be understanding and just trying to accept the fact that you’re readjusting to our normal life but… I miss you. The only time we talk for longer than a few minutes is when we fight, and that’s not okay. You know how much you mean to me, but I just can’t keep trying to love someone you aren’t anymore. It’s just too destructive to me and I just can’t. I’m sorry, Harry. I hope you can understand, and I’ll be back whenever we’re ready.”

Harry’s now shaking with sobs. Uncontrollable, messy, heartbreaking sobs. Her words were finally making sense to him. All of the arguments had finally made sense. She was arguing with him just so he would talk to her. He thought he could die with the amount of guilt squeezing his heart right now.

“I love you, isn’t that enough?” He whispered.

“I don’t think it is anymore, Harry.” Lifting herself up to her feet, she rolls her suitcase to stand behind her, taking a few small steps to be inches away from her Harry. “I’ll be back, H. I promise.”

Placing a kiss to his wet cheek, he watched her walk away with a damp smile, and against his will, engrained the image of her leaving to his mind.

This wasn’t how he imagined they would end.

He didn’t even entertain the thought of them ever ending; but now he feels like he just lost every single atom of his being in the quickest of moments.

—

It was hell.

Harry could say with full conviction that it was absolute hell to be in that house, that big house on the beach, alone.

Nothing felt right. From the second he woke up in the morning, to the minute he slid his legs under the covers at night, he almost felt nauseous because of how unusual he felt. How unusual everything felt.

And it was all his fault.

Picking up his phone, he goes to text his sweet girl again when he decides to scroll up to find the reprieve of gray amongst the sea of blue.

Harry: Please text me when you land.

Harry: I love you, please don’t forget that.

Harry: Take all the time you need, Angel. I’m here if you need me. I’m so sorry.

Harry: I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. Just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket.

Harry: Take your time though, please be safe. I love you.

Harry: Again

Y/N: just landed. kinda busy rn, talk to you later bug

Harry: That’s okay, be safe. ❤️

Y/N loved this message

Harry: I love you

Y/N: yeah love you too h

Allowing his head to drop onto the back of the sofa, his arm fell limp onto his thigh, his green eyes scanned the interior of the living room, twinges of pain and guilt panting in his chest whenever he’d land his gaze on something that was proprietarily hers.

Her growing orchids in a handmade pot that they’d painted together on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple.

The godawful mirror she thrifted from a random corner store back in her hometown that she begged Harry to put up.

A small canvas filled with tiny paintings of inside jokes and memorable dates that she gifted to him last Christmas. He allowed himself to trace over that painting for a little longer than the rest of the small things placed among their living room.

11/29/19. The first time they met.

1/16/21. When Harry asked her to be his girlfriend.

4/07/21. The first time they said I love you.

12/25/22. When Harry surprised Y/N on Christmas with a down payment on a house. The one he was now residing in, alone.

A red convertible figurine, the car they first kissed in.

A coffee cup and a teacup, symbolizing the first date they went on, where he learned she hates tea and preferred coffee, which led to an argument on whether coffee or tea was better.

A small tulip, representing the first bouquet of flowers he ever bought her.

And a small pearl ring, an exact replica of the promise ring Harry had given her on their 3 year anniversary.

He didn’t even notice the streaks of tears beginning to run down his face until he felt a teardrop fall onto his inner wrist, making him look down.

But as he canvassed the room once more, he perked up at the sight of a small snow globe that she brought him back from New York, and that was when he got an idea. He knew it was dramatic, and a bit of a stretch, but who said he wouldn’t go to extreme lengths to get his soulmate back?

Yeah, no one ever.

To: Eliza

Harry: Hey Liz, got a sec?

—

Harry hated flying alone.

Since he was a teenager and stepped foot on his first plane, he was anxious even being next to someone he barely knew even though his friends were two seats away. Though he would claim that he’s always been a bit anxious and just chalking it up to flight anxiety, he knew that the real reason why he hated flying alone was because he always feared that something bad would happen on the ground when he was in the air and vice versa, and that was always his greatest vice.

His hands began to tremble nervously as he looked out the window of the airplane, seeing nothing but fluffy white on the exterior and the soft red light of the aircraft’s wings blinking every so often. His headphones were placed over his head, smushing his curls down flat onto his head, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. His hood was pulled up as well, trying to conceal himself as much as possible. He hadn’t brought much, just a little carry on and a small tote to shove under the seat in front of him. It was wishful thinking that he wouldn’t be there for a long while, but he brought the keys to his apartment in New York anyway.

He kept his head hung in nausea, the speed of his shaking hands increasing tenfold. The pit in his stomach grew and he had to beg his own body to allow his eyes to not stray to the window next to him. Sure, he could close it, but he feared if it was too dark he would become more anxious than he was right now. The mask covering the bottom half of his face now felt constricting— as if he was being suffocated by the thin layer of fabric. The light douse of perfume that danced around the sunflower print of the mask couldn’t even distract him, and it only pained him more that his senses were fully encompassed by her. He bit down on his lip to distract himself by the whirling feeling of nausea that now swirled around in his throat, willing away the sick that begged to come out.

The rest of the flight was the same, his anxiety only decreasing when he allowed himself to take a small nap. However, when he woke up, his nerves had heightened when he flickered his gaze from the window to the screen in front of him, reading only 20 minutes until he was set to touch down. Grasping his phone from his hoodie pocket, he aligned it to his face then rolling his eyes when he remembered he had a mask on. Lowering his phone he typed in his password— Y/N’s birthday— and pulled up their messages again.

Harry: Good morning baby. I love you. I hope you have a good day today!!

Y/N: thanks h love you

He couldn’t lie and say that her being short with him didn’t hurt his feelings, because it did. He wasn’t going to avoid the fact, but that didn’t mean that he liked it regardless. He felt like a fool checking his phone so often, especially when he knew that she wouldn’t be making an effort to reach out first, but he could be hopeful, right?

At least that’s what he’s telling himself.

The plane landed safely, nerves rolling off of his back in waves and he was more than happy to leave his flight anxiety on the floor of the plane, relieved to not be miles high in the air. There was a lull that was obvious to Harry, and he felt himself switch to function in autopilot, waiting mindlessly to enter the aisle to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment.

The nippy New York air was the first thing to snap Harry out of his trance. Looking down at his phone, he felt a soft buzz and soon after felt his heart beat almost fast enough to eject from his chest.

Y/N: saw this in a store earlier, thought of u

Y/N: Attachment: 1 Image

Eliza: waiting near terminal b for you, lmk when you get outside

Harry: I’m outside, can you see me?

Eliza: yep. be there in a sec

Swiping out of Y/N’s sisters messages, he went to click on Y/N’s before a black car stopped in front of him, averting his attention from his device to the car that just screeched to a halt. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he trudged forward and grabbed onto the door handle, prying it open and avoiding Eliza’s deathly stare. “Um- hiiii.”

She scoffed. “Hi, H.”

He throws his tote to his feet, awkwardly buckling himself in and turned in his seat, avoiding eye contact but making sure she knew that conversation was open if she’d wanted to make it. “How— um… How are you?”

Silence follows his words for a few seconds, making him heat up in embarrassment. “Good.”

“Oh- that’s good… I, um— haven't seen y’in quite a while, Lizzy,” He says softly, guilt evident in his voice. “I missed you.”

Eliza was basically Gemma’s best friend. They were attached at the hip the first time they met, bonding over being the eldest sisters, and shared secrets. Y/N and Harry’s family had always been interconnected, close with each other even if Y/N and Harry lacked that communication.

They were basically soul tied in every sense of the phrase.

“Yeah, I missed you too, H. But,” Eliza starts. “You’ve been a right dick to my sister.”

“I know,” He whispers.

“Do you? Fuck, H, my fucking baby sister came to me crying because of you. And you know how much I love you, truly, you know I do, but I love her more. So, I just have to ask,” She pauses, gnawing on her lip and clicking her blinker on to signal her turn. “What the hell happened?”

“I,” He sniffs, trying to contain his emotions already begging to come out. “I don’t know.”

Eliza snorts. “Bullshit.”

“I— I really don’t, Lizzy. I guess I was really in m’head about… well, everything. I lo- love her so much,” Harry’s voice cracks, his facade shattering into more microscopic pieces than the most delicate sheet of glass ever could.

“I know you do, H. That’s why this is so confusing to me. To Gems. And most importantly, to Y/N. What happened, Curly? How’d we lose you?” She begs, trying to get him to explain where he was mentally. She loved him as she would Y/N, which was the hardest part. It hurt her as much as it hurt him to confront him about the issue.

“I don’t want her to hate me! Okay?” Harry sobs, chin falling to his chest in weakness. “I don’t want her t’hate me for being away all the time, and I’m so fucking scared. ‘M scared because the press is doing nothing but talking bad about me and I don’t know if I can equally protect her as much as she does me when this happens. When it happens t’me I jus’ ignore it, but I know she can’t do that. I know it, Lizzy, and so d’you.”

“I know, H. I know.” She whispers.

“I jus’ wanted to keep her as far away as I could so that if she did decide she didn’t want me anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” He murmurs so quietly, he himself even doubts if he said it out loud.

Silence followed the rest of the car ride, the only sound filling the space of the vehicle being the soft splatter of rain on the glass windows and windshield, paired with the crackly static of the stereo. The sun even seemed to be hiding away, the sky dark with clouds, little to no light making an appearance to greet Harry’s arrival.

Pulling up to her driveway, Eliza parked the car, keeping her ignition on so she could drive away after Harry got into the house. Turning to Harry, she chewed on her bottom lip as she traced his side profile with her eyes. “You need to tell her exactly what you told me. Word for word, Harry. You can’t keep her in the dark. She doesn’t even know I went to pick you up. So, just promise me that you’ll tell her exactly what you told me.”

“I promise.” Harry’s voice cracked in a broken whisper, vocal cords thrumming against each other as if they were rusted. “Love you, Lizzy. Thank you.”

Stepping out of the car, he knocked on the door thrice, and tapped softly on the doorbell for good measure. His hands had gone cold with anxiousness, but he wrote it off as the stark cold weather of New York.

“Harry? Oh my god, baby, get inside,” Y/N pulled him in immediately, pushing his thick puffer jacket off of him that was shiny with rainwater, hands coming up to pull his baby blue beanie from his hair, revealing his soft curls. They shared no words as she pulled him to the living room, where she sat the both of them down and covered the length of their torsos and legs with a big fluffy blanket. Y/N didn’t waste a second before she threw her legs over his thighs, grabbing his hands and rubbing over the cold and cracked red skin, trying to exude as much warmth from her own as much as she could.

She’s always been warm.

Her hands have always been graced with heat and more significantly, she always tended to carry around an aura as sweet as honey and as warm as a hug with her wherever she went. Bringing their hands up to his lips, he presses kisses all over the back of hers, kissing her knuckles and fingertips that moved erratically over his own. She could feel the dry chap of his lips on her hands and down to her wrists but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind one bit. She would rather commit the feeling of his lips on her hands to memory rather than not know what they felt like at all.

“What’re you doing here, baby?” She asks, concern etched in her face as she lifts her head to look at him, her movements on his hands not staggering or slowing.

“Came t’see you,” He whispers weakly. “Couldn’t bear it. I need t’see you, hold y’again… Fuck, do jus’ about anything to be near y’again.”

Her heart twisted with the most intense emotion that she could only describe as heartbreak. “You— you got on a plane by yourself just to come see me?”

“Would do jus’ about anything f’you, sweet girl. Of course I would go on a plane jus’ by myself if it meant I could hold you.” He admitted. He avoided eye contact with her, keeping his eyes trained on their conjoined hands that now lay stagnant on the soft fabric of the blanket.

“Harry,” She whispers. “Why are you here, my love?”

“I felt too guilty t’let you leave like that,” He says, gnawing on his bottom lip to will away the tears begging to escape. “I couldn’t let y’go without telling y’I loved you. And I didn’t…” He pauses, struggling for air as he over explained. “I didn’t even explain m’self. I didn’t tell you I loved you. I didn’t kiss y’back. I didn’t even tell y’to be safe.”

He’s fully sobbing now, Y/N tracing his side profile with his eyes, jittering with fear and anxiety. “It’s okay, hey, baby, listen,” Grabbing his chin with the tips of her fingers, she turns his head to hers, resting his forehead atop of hers. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just needed time to think and I didn’t want to lash out on you because I didn’t have time to. We’re okay, baby. I promise.”

He shook his head while she spoke, tears falling on the fluff of the blanket with every movement. His eyes were clenched as if he was in pain, and uneven erratic breaths fell from his mouth. “Nonono. I should— should’ve listened to you. I did- didn’t mean t’treat y’like tha’,” Harry’s accent had gotten heavier with how much emotion he was feeling, stumbling over his words as if he was drunk.

“And I should’ve explained myself more. It’s not your fault, H. Please baby, breathe,” She begged, tightening her grip on his hands as she pleaded with her nose slotted next to his, every whispered beg pushing her lips forward to lightly brush against his raw-bitten ones. “There, that’s it.”

His breaths began to even out, just the slightest bit. His hands still shook dramatically, veins in his neck that once protruded from the force of his cries now retracting. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry, stop apolog-“

“No. I have t’say this before I leave because if I don’t, I don’t think I ever will. I— I didn’t mean t’push y’away. I was trying to protect m’self but I didn’t see that it was hurting y’too. It wasn’t my intention, and now I realize it wasn’t the right thing t’do.” He sniffles, pulling back from her face to hold eye contact for the utmost emphasis on his words.

“I tried to keep you far away because if you ended up resenting me for being away all the time it would hurt less if you decided to leave me. Paired with everything that’s being said in the media about m’right now, I tried t’keep y’as far away as I could so that if everything came crashing down on me, I would’ve had to cope with losing y’less than everything else. And I kept picking fights with y’so that if— or when y’got too fed up w’me, you’d leave me yourself instead of something else forcing y’to leave me. I think it was all subconscious, seeing how I freaked out on y’when y’told me you were leaving. I guess I didn’t really prepare myself for when it was really going t’happen. I’m really, really sorry, Angel. I really do hope y’can forgive me.”

She’s silent. It scares him, he can’t lie. He takes her silence as an answer and pulls his hands from her grasp and moves her legs softly off of his thighs, standing up and brushing off his pants in an attempt to stall. She’s still mute, and he takes it as his cue to go. There’s still tears streaming down his face, but they’re silent. Like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that they’re falling at all.

“I love you.” He whispers, before turning and walking to the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turns it, and his heart follows the motion with a sharp twist that he thinks he feels in his entire body. He’s gnawing in his lip to avoid breaking down in front of her, even though she’s arguably seen him at his worst and most vulnerable times. Opening the door, he’s greeted with the harsh cold air, biting at his skin so aggressively he feels like his tears have now frozen to his face. Bearing the pain, he forced himself to take the step out the doorway and onto the porch, on autopilot as he let his feet decide his motions.

“Harry, wait,” Y/N pleaded, running out behind him, meeting him in the middle of the driveway in nothing but tiny shorts and a stolen crewneck of his that she'd haphazardly stuffed into her luggage. “I love you. I love you more than I could probably ever explain, and I— I just need you to know that. If you’re done with me or done with this, that’s okay, I just need you to know that I love you.”

“I love you. Always.” He whispers, lips trembling with sadness.

“You know I always will, right?” She asks, placing a warm hand onto his wet and cold cheek.

“I know, baby. I do.” He says.

“I’m here whenever you want me. I promise.” She pleads, coming up to reach his lips, placing a soft kiss to his cold ones.

“Come home, please.”

“Always, H. I’ll always come right back home to you.”

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