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stevie-petey · 1 month

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episode nine: the fall

You shake your head at the teen in disappointment. “Never thought I’d have to say this, but please stop licking your sweater, Steve.” He puts his hands up in surrender, albeit with a slight scoff. “Sue a man for not wasting food.”

Summary: surprise ! life still carries on even with minor brain damage from constant concussions :( on the bright side, you and the gang all become homies. meanwhile, steve grapples with the warm fuzzies and parental issues before his worst nightmare happens: you meet robin. the horrors !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, swearing, mentions of wounds

Words: 9.1k

Before you swing in: this is it !!! last official chapter of season 2 :) this chapter is pure fluff yall. just 9k words of utter disgusting bug n steve, so i hope it makes up for how long it took for them to get to this point lmao. enjoy !

True to your promise with Jonathan, nothing necessarily changes between the two of you; things just shift. You stop being so tactile with him out of respect for Nancy, now only reaching for his hand for comfort rather than to have him so near. It takes some trial and error, but eventually the two of you manage to strike up a good balance.

You still spend most of your days either together at his house or yours. Only now, Nancy accompanies you, and it’s lovely.

“Dustin told me that Steve practically drooled over you last night before the Snowball.” Jonathan teases you, hunched over his kitchen table scribbling a half-assed essay that’s already a day late.

Nancy giggles as you throw your pencil at the boy. “That did not happen, mind your own business.”

“I don’t know, Y/N. He kept staring at you today during lunch.” Nancy slides over her paper and taps her pencil on a particular problem she’s stuck on. She’s still getting used to talking about this with you, but she pushes aside her unease and tries anyway. “Do you know the answer for number five?”

Her words cause you to blush, your mind still reeling from your conversation with Steve last night. You told him you’d wait for him, and he looked at you as if you’d promised him the world and more. Then, today at lunch, Steve had boldly found you sitting with Nancy and Jonathan outside and joined.

It was a welcome change, and he sat so close to you that your thighs pressed together underneath the picnic bench you’d been eating at.

“He wasn’t staring at me,” you mumble, embarrassed and still feeling his weight pressed against you, before sliding your paper over to Nancy. “And I got Henry Ford.”

Frowning, Nancy erases her answer. “That makes no sense.”

“My answer or Steve not staring at me?”

“Both.” Nancy and Jonathan say at the same time.

You throw another pencil at Jonathan. “I wasn’t talking to you, write your late essay.”

He ducks, “Would you stop?”

“Not unless you stop speaking.”

“This is my house, bug–”

“And I can call your mom right now and she’d let me stay.” You cross your arms at Jonathan, knowing you’ve already won the argument. “Any more complaints?”

Jonathan goes back to writing his essay, grumbling under his breath about how you can’t keep pulling the mom card, and you giggle at his anger alongside Nancy. He’s the one who wanted the two of you to get along, he should’ve known that you and Nancy would just make his life miserable.

The three of you go back to working quietly at the table, you and Nancy occasionally asking each other for help on certain questions, while Jonathan grows more and more frustrated by his essay. After he’s angrily scribbled out his fifth line, Nancy snatches the paper from him and points towards the back door.

“Out,” she tells him.

Jonathan blinks. “What?”

“Go outside, take a small walk, and calm down. You’re frustrated and won’t get anywhere if you keep this up.”

They stare at each other, Nancy silently daring him to argue with her, and you watch in amusement. She has him wrapped around her finger, and after only a few seconds, Jonathan sighs and gets up from the kitchen table. “I’m doing this because I want to, alright?”

You snort. “Sure, buddy.”

He gives you the finger, presses a kiss to Nancy’s forehead, and then grabs a coat to go outside.

Once he’s gone, Nancy turns to you and sets down her pencil. “So, how long are you planning on pretending that Steve doesn’t like you?”

You whip your head up, dropping your pencil in the process, startled by her forward question. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“I…” Though you’ve slowly gotten used to Nancy being with Jonathan, it still feels too soon to talk to her about Steve, even if she’s given you her blessing. It feels too raw, too inappropriate, to discuss it with her. “I don’t think we should talk about this–”

“C’mon, Y/N. It’s obvious he at least feels something for you, and if anyone deserves Steve, it’s you.” Nancy gently takes your hand, her voice sincere. “He came outside for lunch looking for you today, he drove you to the Snowball, he’s been visiting you at work ever since you smiled at him last year.”

You look away from her. “It’s… complicated.”

“It’s not…” Nancy swallows, clears her throat, and looks away as well. It still has taken her time to adjust to the shift between the four of you, to finally understand that it’s now okay to talk about these things with one another. “It’s not because of me, right?”

A beat of silence passes, and when you don’t say anything, Nancy sighs. “Shit.”

“He’s still healing, Nance.” You admit, feeling bad for bringing this upon her. You don’t want her to feel responsible for any of it, it’s not her fault that the boys you’ve loved have loved her first. The wound of it has healed now, though the scar that it has left will never fade.

You both know this, neither one of you want to admit it to the other.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She shakes her head, the familiar guilt of somehow always the one hurting you clawing at her. “I wish things had been different between me and him.”

You shrug, you don’t see any reason to blame her. “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t wish things had been different between the two of you,” you admit, knowing how bizarre it may sound. When Nancy raises her eyebrows, you’re quick to explain. “What I mean is, if Steve had never been with you, who knows who he’d be now? Or if Jonathan had never been my best friend, would you still have found each other?”

Nancy bites her lip, still unconvinced. “I don’t know, Y/N…”

“I think, truthfully, that we all unwound with who we were supposed to.” You’re not sure how to explain this, to express your unusual way of viewing such complex situations. “Without our histories, without being so intertwined with one another, I don’t think we ever would’ve unwound how we were supposed to. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Nancy nods, although hesitant. “And Steve is still… Unwinding from me?”

You cringe, knowing how silly it all sounds. “I know it sounds dumb, but he is, and while I’m not saying he doesn’t like me… I told him to take his time.”

“You’d really wait for him?”

“I would.”

Nancy sighs and goes back to her assignment, continuously amazed by your selflessness. “You’re too good.”

You shrug again, now used to being told this by others. It doesn’t bother you like it used to, you’ve come to view your kindness as something wholly yours and no one else’s to understand. It took so much violence to become so kind, and you will never, ever apologize for it now. “It adds to my charm.”

Jonathan walks back in right as Nancy bursts into loud laughter, you do as well, the remaining tension between you and her now gone. He sees the way she clutches her stomach and how you have to grab onto the table so you don’t fall over as you laugh. “Did I miss something?”

You wipe at your eyes, still giggling. “No, bee. Sit down and do your work.”

“Yeah,” Nancy giggles again, feeling breathless. “What Y/N said.”

“You two are the worst.” Jonathan slumps in his seat and goes back to his essay.

“You love us,” you tease, knowing that he hasn’t told Nancy this yet.

He smiles shyly and avoids Nancy’s eye. “Yeah, I do.”

They both blush and there’s a childish energy to them, shy and soft and sweet. You watch them with a warm smile, endlessly happy for them both; they’re sweet to watch, still shy around one another.

As you watch Jonathan and Nancy giggle softly as they help each other with their assignments, looking over at you for help as well, you know that junior year is finally starting to look up.

–

Steve continues to join you, Jonathan, and Nancy for lunch. He makes himself a permanent seat next to you, never once straying far from your side, and eventually he even ends up back in the library with the three of you.

It’s reminiscent of your sophomore year, back when you’d just defeated the Demogorgon and Nancy had gone back to Steve. For a brief few months, you’d all study in the library together and formed your own nice, albeit tense, group.

Then lines and threads became tangled and unspoken feelings became harsh actions.

Now, Nancy and Jonathan are whispering about something, off in their own world, and you’re currently helping Steve with an English assignment.

It’s the last day before winter break, so it’s hard getting him to pay attention to what you’re saying. All he can focus on is the way you’ve pinned your hair up, some pieces of hair falling over your face, and how you look so lovely in your white sweater.

“Are you listening to me?” You ask him, narrowing your eyes.

Steve coughs, knowing he’s been caught. “Yeah, totally.”

“Okay,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, distancing yourself from the boy, which only makes him frown. “What did I just say, then?”

“C’mere,” he huffs at you, tugging at your chair so that you’re now pressed flush against him; just the way he likes it. You blush, your stomach flutters wildly at the idea that he can’t be more than five inches away from you. Steve sees this, sends you a wink, and tries to use this to his advantage. “We both know I wasn’t listening, angel.”

Angel.

It’s become his new name for you, though he hasn’t said it since the night of the Snowball; the name drips from his lips as if saturated in sunlight. Although you want to litter his face with kisses and call him lovely and handsome and wonderful, you know that in this instance, Steve has only used the nickname to get on your good side.

And two can play that game.

“I don’t know, honey.” You lean in closer to Steve, angling your head so that you look up at him while you use your own name for him. His breath always hitches when you look up at him like this, when you call him honey again for the first time all sweet and soft. “I was hoping you’d been listening.”

Steve gulps, he’s still not used to the way your voice dips low when you want his attention. How when you call him honey he swears he can taste the residue of it in his mouth. He leans closer as well, your faces inches apart, and he’s forgotten what the two of you are even talking about. “I–I’m sorry?”

As soon as he’s apologized, you pull yourself away, just before Steve’s lips land on yours, and go back to the English assignment. You’re immensely pleased with yourself, especially when Steve almost face plants against the library table when you suddenly move away. “Apology accepted! Now, let’s go back to Shakespeare, shall we?”

Steve’s jaw drops, only now realizing that he’s been tricked. “Oh, that was evil, Y/N.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You wink at him, and Steve has never wanted to kiss a smirk off of someone’s face more.

He’s addicted to it, honestly.

Later that day, once school has let out, Steve drives you to work. This was another shift that came with Jonathan and Nancy getting together. While your best friend still drives you to school, it’s now Steve who drives you to work and picks you up.

He enjoys spending the time with you, having you all to himself during the simple ten minute drive to Bookstrordinary. The two of you rarely say much during these drives, and it’s everything Steve could ask for and more; he simply has you with him, nothing else needs to be said or done.

Mrs. Waters greets him with a knowing smile, the woman has become more invested in Steve’s infatuation with you than even your mother. “Hello, young man.”

“Hi, Mrs. Waters.” Steve gives her a wave and walks over to his usual station: behind the counter, waiting for you.

You give your boss a quick hug and clock in. “Any new shipments today?”

“All the new books are in the back, so make sure your handsome man does all the heavy lifting, sweetie.” Mrs. Waters giggles at her own words before she slowly makes her way into her office.

“Well,” you nudge Steve. “You heard the woman, you’re a handsome man. Go do the heavy lifting.”

The compliment, though indirect, still rolls over Steve in slow, warm waves. He smiles bashfully at you. “Handsome, huh?”

“Oh, don’t pretend as if you didn’t know.” You flick his nose and walk over to the back door to start retrieving the new shipment. “Seriously, though. Could you help me with these boxes?”

Steve is quick to run over and help, he will always be happy to help you, but before he picks up a box, a thought occurs to him. Leaning against the doorframe, he smirks at you. “I’ll help, after you explain to me that little stunt you pulled earlier in the library.”

“What stunt?” A huff escapes you as you try to pick up a box, but Mrs. Waters had been right. The shipment is heavy, and Steve is currently useless.

“The whole ‘honey’ thing.”

You look up at Steve, knowing exactly what he’s asking, but you toy with him anyways. “Only if you explain the whole ‘angel’ thing.”

“C’mon, Y/N.” He groans, annoyed that you’re so good at dodging all of his questions. He doesn’t know what makes you Hendersons so great at deception, but it’s a terrifying thing to witness. “You’re an angel, it’s a fitting name for you.”

Though you’d been expecting him to say this, hearing Steve’s explanation still causes you to blush. Normally it bothers you when people call you an angel and act as if you’re some person above everyone else, but with Steve you know that he means it so genuinely. To him, you’re an angel because he knows you so well.

He doesn’t view you as this innocent creature that can do no wrong; Steve knows how you came to be, he knows the anger you once held, and it’s because of this that he has come to view you as angelic. It takes a lot for someone to become kind again, and Steve knows this better than anyone else.

“You’re sweet honey,” you finally respond, your face still warm from the vulnerability. You want to try for him, become okay with the feeling of being seen. “You asked for a nickname, and that’s what I’ve landed on. Any more questions?”

Steve practically melts against the doorway, and you almost giggle at the sight. “I’m honey?”

“Mhm, sweet honey, but honey sounds less dramatic.”

He laughs, his head is spinning and he’s so enamored with you. “Okay, I like that, but can I ask one more question before I agree to helping you?”

You roll your eyes but nod, secretly enjoying this moment with him. “Ask away.”

“Why honey? Not that I’m complaining, but…” Steve shrugs. “Not so creative.”

You gasp, “Are you saying you don’t accept my nickname for you?”

“No! I–” Steve frantically tries to correct what he’s said, but you grab his hand to calm him down.

“Relax, Steve. I was teasing,” you give his hand a squeeze, his fingers are strong against yours, and take a deep breath. The explanation is more intimate than you’d like, but he deserves to know. “Did you know that honey can be used to treat wounds?”

Steve shakes his head, silent as he listens.

“It’s a natural remedy, an unsuspecting cure, disguised as something only sweet.” You’re suddenly shy again, but you offer Steve more of yourself because you can; because he’s here, all warmth and love and summer. He’s healed wounds within you that you hadn’t known existed until you noticed their scars fading—cuts that have littered your skin from abandonment, guilt, and love. “When I was young, my dad would take me to this local farm on my birthday every summer and he would buy me honey. We’d use it to make sweet tea.”

You pause, the memory practically on your tongue as you remember the taste of the local farmer’s honey and how it would drizzle, slow and smooth, into your sweet tea. You remember your father’s laugh, how he would boast to the entire town that his sweet tea could win awards. “I never really liked tea, but my dad’s sweet tea was amazing.”

The honey had been his secret ingredient.

Steve is quiet after you’ve finished your story. He takes his time responding, he allows the story you’ve told to sink in, he rolls it around in his head, memorizes its details. He knows that you don’t like talking about your father, and the fact that you’ve shared a happy memory about him with Steve…

“Thank you,” he says. There’s a weight behind his thanks, he knows he will never be able to put into words how much this means to him. He tries, though, and pours every truth that he can into his words, “I love the nickname.”

The two of you begin unpacking the new shipment of books after that, working silently side by side.

It’s a lovely summer day within Bookstrordinary, even though it’s the middle of winter in Hawkins.

–

This Christmas Eve, you have your entire kitchen on lockdown. No one is allowed to come in, all food and drinks have been thrown onto the dining room table for others to use. Your hair is tied up, your apron is on, and you’ve banished Dustin from even looking at you.

“This is excessive, even for you.” Dustin scoffs from the living room, annoyed that he can’t even sit at the counter and watch.

You’ve just preheated the oven and are now whisking your dry ingredients together for Mike’s favorite brownies. There’s a rack of Will’s oatmeal raisin cookies on the counter cooling off, alongside Mrs. Wheeler’s sugar cookies she loves. “You lost your baking privileges when you mixed up the salt and sugar last year. Those gingerbread cookies were awful.”

“They’re both white! How was I supposed to know?”

“Stop talking and leave,” you point towards the living room with your whisk and some powder flies out of the bowl in the process.

Dustin tries to argue, but then the doorbell rings and he immediately breaks out into a shit eating grin. “Perfect timing.”

“What–” You try to question what your brother is up to, but he’s already run to answer the door. Sighing, you slowly mix in your wet ingredients and mumble to yourself, “I hate him. I really do.”

“Who do we hate?” Steve slides into the kitchen, not a care in the world, and slides right into Jonathan’s peanut butter cups. “Shit!”

“Steve!” You quickly catch the desserts, barely able to hold onto the bowl of brownie batter in your hands. Once the crisis is averted, you turn to Steve and begin hitting him with your batter covered whisk, effectively ruining his sweater. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited him!” Dustin now slides into the kitchen as well, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Steve looks down at the batter he’s covered in and scraps some off with his finger before bringing it to his mouth. He hums, nods appreciatively, and smacks his lips. “Ya know, why haven’t I had this before?”

“The brownies are for Mike.” Dustin says, sneakily popping a peanut butter cup into his mouth.

“Wheeler should share, this batter is delicious.” Steve licks some more off of his sweater and you and Dustin cringe at him. When he sees this, he simply shrugs at you both. “What? My sweater is clean.”

You shake your head at the teen in disappointment. “Never thought I’d have to say this, but please stop licking your sweater, Steve.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, albeit with a slight scoff. “Sue a man for not wasting food.”

You blow a piece of hair out of your face and go back to the batter. “Again I ask: what are you doing here?”

“Like the kid said, he invited me.” Steve points to Dustin, who sends you a thumbs up. “Didn’t know I’d be walking into a war zone, though.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” you say, as if this is all the explanation he needs. When Steve only tilts his head at you in confusion, you huff and put down your bowl so you can quickly explain. “I bake everyone their favorite desserts for Christmas, and normally it’s fine. However, now I have Max, Nancy, Hopper, and El to add to my baking list and I…”

You stumble, now suddenly feeling the effects of baking all day catching up to you. You’re slightly woozy, you can’t remember if you had lunch today. “I’m doing great, honestly.”

“She’s going insane.” Dustin loudly whispers to Steve, his fingers circling around his head in a “crazy” motion.

Steve ignores the boy and stands next to you, placing a hand to the small of your back and leans over your shoulder, allowing you to lean back against him. It’s a simple gesture, and you melt immediately against him. “Give me a bowl and recipe, angel. I’ll help you bake.”

You reluctantly move away from Steve and quickly find a piece of paper and a pen to scribble the recipe for Nancy’s chocolate chip cookies. It’s an easy enough recipe, you trust that Steve can handle the basics.

As you hand the recipe to him, Dustin’s jaw drops. “What, no fair! Why can’t I help bake?”

“Salt and sugar, Dustin. Salt and sugar.”

Steve gathers the ingredients he needs. “Do you have a spare apron?”

“I mean, sure,” you show him where one hangs next to the doorway. “But you’re already covered in brownie batter, so I’m not sure why you need one now.”

“Wanna match with you,” Steve quickly ties the strings around his waist, the apron is far too small on him and it makes you giggle.

Dustin, now very much third wheeling, throws his hands up in the air and marches out of the room. “You two are disgusting, ya know that?”

“Love you too!” You call after the boy, who responds by marching even louder towards his room.

With your brother gone and with Steve’s help, you manage to get through the rest of your baking list in no time. While you hadn’t expected Steve to necessarily fail in the kitchen, you were also pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he seemed to be while helping you bake.

“How’d you get so good at measuring sugar?”

Steve doesn’t look up from his measuring cup, too focused on the task at hand as he carefully counts out how many cups he will need. “My mom.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, not having expected the answer. He never really brought his parents up, something that you’ve noticed but never touched on with him. You figured it was like your father, never wanting to talk about someone who has hurt you.

Hesitantly, you try to learn more. “Does she bake with you a lot?”

“She used to,” Steve counts his third cup and mixes it into the bowl, now working on Max’s coconut bites. “Back when I was little, we used to bake her banana bread together all the time.”

His voice is light, the conversation isn’t a painful one for Steve, so you decide it’s safe to press further. “Well, if you can remember the recipe, I’m sure we can bake it today.”

Steve looks up at you, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, dummy.” The way he’s looking at you with such genuine enthusiasm makes your heart hurt; he’s surprised you’ve offered him kindness. “I was going to bake you those caramel banana cookies, so I have some ripe bananas anyways–”

You’re cut off by Steve’s arms wrapping around you. He holds you tight, and he smells of sugar and cinnamon; it’s an addicting scent. “Thank you,” he breathes out, touched that you would do such a thing for him, and you tighten around him, happy that you’re able to give him this.

Later that night, when you walk Steve to his car after a long day of baking, he opens his passenger side door and grabs something from the seat. You watch him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You think I came all the way here on Christmas Eve without a gift for you?” Steve teases, a smirk on his face as he hides something behind his arms.

You gasp, “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Dustin called, I answered, and I saw it as the perfect opportunity to surprise you,” he shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Plus, I got homemade banana bread out of it, so shush and close your eyes.”

“Fine, but only because I have your gift waiting in my room. The second we’re done here, I’m running inside and bragging about my impeccable gift giving abilities.”

Steve chuckles fondly, knowing that whatever you will give him will ultimately be his favorite gift he’s ever received. “Okay, moron. Close your eyes.”

With a giggle, you close your eyes and eagerly await whatever you’re about to be given. Steve’s gift from last year, a signed poster of the original Spider-Man comic, now hangs on your bedroom wall. You love it dearly, every time you look at it, you smile.

Something soft is placed within your hands. Its texture is woolen, the material is heavy yet lightweight, and while you can’t figure out exactly what it is, you can’t help but notice how expensive it feels. “Okay, open your eyes.”

You do, and when you see what Steve has given you, you gasp. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

Within your hands is a cardigan. The wool it has been knitted with is a lovely cream color, and you bring the clothing closer to admire all the wonderful details within the knit pattern. With small pieces of wool, hints of baby blues and pinks weave in and out of the cream. Along the front are buttons made from a beautiful dark wood, polished to perfection.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well. Figured I owed you a new cardigan after basically tearing apart your old one.”

“I was bleeding out, Steve.” Your finger traces over a button, its wood is cool to the touch and so smooth that you can hardly believe it’s real. “If you hadn’t torn my favorite cardigan to stop the bleeding, I wouldn’t be alive today to call you an idiot for even considering I would be mad about that–”

As you admire one of the sleeves, your finger catches on something. Turning the clothing around, you see, within the inside of the sleeve, a messily sewn on patch. The stitches are crooked and horribly uneven, clearly done by someone unskinned with a needle. “What’s this?”

Steve clears his throat, uncharacteristically flustered. “Just… Something I added.”

The patch is small, no bigger than an inch or so, with messy handwriting on it that has become familiar to you through long hours at Bookstrordinary helping you write down all the orders needed for shipments.

S.H.

Steve must mistake your stunned silence for disgust, because he quickly tries to take the cardigan away from you in embarrassment. “Fuck, you–you think it’s weird and you hate it and I went too far–”

He had wanted to give you a piece of himself somehow.

His panicked rambling is cut off by your entire body being thrown against his. Suddenly he has an armful of you, flushed against him in the December chill, and Steve’s heartbeat threatens to beat out of his chest. He has you right where he wants you, in his arms with your perfume swirling around his brain as he buries his face into your hair.

Everything calms within him, all the panic and insecurity he had just been feeling is now gone.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, not even bothering to hide the fact that you’re now crying. No one has ever made something for you, and the hand sewn patch that now resides on your beautiful cardigan makes everything within you burn.

Steve’s fingers slowly make their way to your hair and he risks pressing a kiss atop of your head. He relishes in the way his lips feel against your hair, how it feels like he’s done this all his life. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You pull your head from his chest and catch his eye. They shine when they look at you, and you can’t help but think about how similar they look compared to last summer. Last July Steve had looked at you like he’d fall to his knees for you and kiss every crevice of your skin if you’d asked him to, and you had run away, terrified of the feelings you weren’t ready to face.

Now, as Steve stares down at you still as if you’re holding the sun within your hands, all you can think is home.

Home.

What a fascinating concept, being able to find a home within someone’s arms.

And it’s a fall like no other.

“I’m glad you love it,” Steve is breathless, both relieved and in awe that he’s done something to render you this speechless, that he has this effect on you.

Neither of you know how long you stand there wrapped in each other, but eventually you force yourself to detangle from the boy. When Steve groans at the loss of your touch, you gently shove him away with a smile. “I still owe you a gift, dummy.”

He thinks about this for a moment, hums to himself and taps his finger against his chin. You giggle, which is all he wanted to make you do, and finally he seems to come to a decision. “Fine, I will allow this because I wanna know what you got me.”

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick Steve’s nose and begin walking towards your house. “I’ll be back in a second!”

Steve watches as you run back inside, the cardigan he has gifted you is clutched tightly to your chest, and he knows he’s falling as well. He can feel it, the slight tug within his chest that expands into a warmth that steadily beats alongside his heart.

As you promised, you’re back with a small box wrapped in a simple blue paper within no time. Only this time, you’re now wearing the cardigan and Steve’s heart skips a beat when he sees you.

You’re practically skipping as you return to his side, stupidly excited for Steve to see what you’ve gotten for him; you all but shove the gift into his hands. “Open it!”

He can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm, though his heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled yet. “So bossy.”

You ignore Steve’s teasing and instead watch the look on his face as he unwraps the box and opens its lid. Within the box, tucked delicately between sheets of tissue paper, is a framed photo of Steve and Dustin.

A mix of emotions cross Steve’s face, from shock to curiosity to pure adoration. His lips part slightly, a slight gasp escapes him. “Y/N…”

You’re beaming, though you shrug as if it’s just another Monday for you. The photo is your favorite, taken the other day while they worked on a robot set that Steve had brought over. “Jonathan left his camera at my place a few weeks ago, and you and Dustin looked incredibly sweet working together, so… I snuck a picture while you two were busy bickering over drill bit sizes.”

In the picture, Dustin’s hands are gesturing wildly at Steve, his eyes manic, yet there’s a genuine smile on both of their faces despite the clear indications that they’re arguing. Tools are scattered around them and a poor, misshapen robot lays discarded on the table in front of them, long forgotten in the midst of their argument.

It’s the perfect photo, honestly.

Steve lets out a wet chuckle, his eyes are shining with fondness. “That kid is such a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but you can’t help but love him anyway.” You nudge him, drawing his attention back to you. “It’s not often I see Dustin befriend someone so quickly, ya know.”

Steve ducks his head down, flushed from what you’re implying. “Yeah, well. He’s a good kid.”

“He is.” You stand on your tiptoes and press your lips against his cheek, before whispering into his ear, “and so are you.”

You feel Steve shiver, and he grips at your waist so that you can’t back away again. He pauses for a moment, allows your words to sink in and your kiss to seep throughout his body. There’s more he wants to say, his lips practically beg to be drawn to yours, but he takes a deep breath and says what he knows he can give you. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.” Your lips graze Steve’s ear and he shivers again. This, he knows, is where he was always meant to be.

–

Spring comes, and Steve doesn’t get into any of the colleges he applied for.

It’s a hard blow, and the months you’ve spent trying to rebuild his confidence comes crashing down within seconds.

Steve draws into himself, you don’t see him at school for a few days and he doesn’t stop by your work. He’s embarrassed, hiding from his shame of not being good enough to even get into Tech. He’s everything his father told him he’d be. A failure, an embarrassment to the Harrington name.

You give Steve a few days to himself, trusting that he’ll come back when he’s ready; you know how deeply he carries the weight of his father’s expectations. However, when almost a week goes by without any word from the teen, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Which leads you to now: knocking on Steve’s door with platters of fresh baked goods, Mike and the others holding their own assortment of snacks and movies for tonight.

It took a lot of bargaining and multiple batches of brownies, but in the end you convinced Dustin and the others to surprise Steve with a movie night at his house. You knew his parents would be out of town this week, they’re hardly ever home anyways.

After a few swift knocks, you don’t have to wait long before Steve opens the door. He looks tired, his hair is a mess and he’s wearing the ratty sweatpants that you absolutely hate on him. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and when he sees who is behind his door, he frowns. “Why are you all holding snacks?”

“Well, hello to you too, buddy.” Dustin is the first to enter, shoving past Steve without a care in the world. He looks around and whistles, impressed with the house. “Y/N said you were rich, but damn.”

“Is that a pool?” Lucas makes his way in as well, Max loosely holding his hand as she follows.

El looks up at you. “What is a pool?”

“Mike,” you call for the boy to get his attention. When he turns to you, brownie shoved in his mouth, you point towards El. “Can you explain to her what a pool is while I talk to Steve?”

Mike salutes you and grabs El’s hand, yanking her inside so that you’re left alone with the teen. As soon as they’re gone, Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “What is this, Y/N?”

“Mandatory movie night!” You exclaim, hoping that your fake enthusiasm will be enough to rub off on him as well. You really, really hope that this plan works.

Steve sighs again, his heart isn’t in it to play along. “Y/N…”

“You’ve missed an entire week of school and Bookstrordinary misses its most loyal customer.” You’re basically pleading now, scared that Steve will turn you and everyone else away. “I just… I miss you and I know you enjoy the kids, even if you try to deny it, and I want you to just spend this one night with us. No worrying about the future, no family drama, just me, you, and the kids as we watch horrible scary movies and eat an unhealthy amount of sugar, okay?”

“But–”

“No, you’re not allowed to argue with me.” Steve stares at you, baffled, but you simply barge past him and enter the home as well. “We’re going to have fun tonight, damn it.”

He watches as you walk inside and start ordering the kids around. Within no time, you’ve arranged a neat row of cookies and brownies and chips and dinosaur nuggets on his dining room table while the kids start making a fort in the living room.

Steve sighs, knowing he’s long lost this battle with you, and joins you to help with grabbing more blankets and pillows for the fort.

One part of the deal for a movie night at Steve’s was allowing all the kids to pick their own movie to watch. You’d been very hesitant to say yes to this, but ultimately Mike’s nagging won in the end. His movie choice goes first, and within the first fifteen minutes of it, a fort has been made and the kids quickly settle within it, a mess of sheets and pillows and blankets.

You’re on the couch, lazily stretched out, knowing that there’s no room for you in the fort with the others. You don’t mind, you honestly prefer having the couch to yourself, and you only further come to enjoy this when Steve makes his way into the living room and looks around.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” He asks, slightly offended that he doesn’t get to share the fort.

“Here,” you pat the couch, though you don’t bother to make any room for him. Your entire body rests on the couch, there isn’t enough space for him to sit comfortably on the edge.

Steve bites his lip. He wants, more than anything, to lay on top of you and melt into your body, but he just isn’t sure what boundaries have been placed between the two of you. When you notice his misplaced hesitation, you simply sigh and tug at his legs, causing him to fall on top of you. “Shit–”

He collapses onto you and your body braces for his impact, the weight of him foreign yet welcome. He’s wearing the cologne you love and you reach for his shirt to tug him closer so that he’s now properly laying on you. You sigh happily, wrapping your arms around Steve. “See, was that so hard?”

“If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.” Steve grumbles, but he situates himself so that he’s laying more comfortably on you and scoops you into his own arms as well. He rests his head against your chest and your fingers find their way into his hair, as they always seem to do.

Steve closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy your touch, for once not caring that the kids are just below the two of you in their fort. Normally he’s more reserved around you when they’re near, especially Dustin.

That kid never lets Steve catch a break when it comes to you.

But he’s exhausted and has spent the last week either crying or pretending that he’s someone he isn’t, so Steve indulges in your warmth and relishes in the way your fingers seem to unconsciously draw small circles on his back; he’s so fucking grateful that you exist.

You’re always there to catch him, to remind him of who he can be despite his continuous flaws.

The surprise movie night ends up being everything Steve needs. He laughs at Mike’s horrible jokes, shows El how to use the VHR, he argues with Max about whether peanut butter belongs with chocolate, Dustin throws popcorn at you when you kiss Steve’s cheek, and Lucas even asks him about basketball and if he has any advice for him once he gets to high school.

It’s the most fun Steve has had in a while, and he realizes why you spend so much time with these kids. They’re everything, really. Smart and fucking hilarious and easy to be around. They’re honest with him, they tell him he’s an idiot for not getting into college while in the same breath debating with him about if college is even worth it.

Plus, you litter Steve’s face with more kisses than usual tonight, which only brightens his mood further. You’ve been more affectionate with him lately, holding his hand more often and pressing your lips wherever you can. It’s as if he’s found some key, unlocking all the love you’ve stored within you.

Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows there’s more to it, so do you. However, rather than acknowledge it, you both choose to simply bask in it. It’s not time yet, bringing this into the light. It’s delicate, still forming into something that Steve is sure will be incredible.

For now, he allows his lips to skim across your face while the kids aren’t looking. They’ve been dying to do this ever since he’s known you, and the giggle you let out is more than enough for him.

–

Spring turns to summer and before Steve knows it, he’s graduating.

He rolls over in bed and stares at the ceiling. The Harrington household is quiet. His parents have gone on yet another business trip, his father had scoffed when Steve had asked if they’d be back in time for his ceremony.

“Why should we attend if you’re not going to do anything with that diploma?”

“Right,” Steve had scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed that he had even thought to ask his father to come. “I’m sorry.”

His mother, who had been quiet as they spoke, only stepped forward once her husband had left the room. She brought a hand to his face and tentatively stroked his cheek with her finger. “I’m proud of you, my beautiful boy.”

Steve had smiled at her, knowing that she meant well and yet heartbroken that she couldn’t voice this in front of his father. She smiled sadly at him, as if she sensed what he had been thinking, before following after her husband. As she always does.

The doorbell rings, effectively breaking Steve out of his momentary self pity. He looks at his alarm clock and frowns. It’s early in the morning, he doesn’t know who could be at the door at such an hour.

Sighing, he gets out of bed and makes his way downstairs angry at the world. He’s tired of growing up, his parents suck, he’s almost definitely skipping his graduation ceremony, and now he has to get out of bed to go answer the door.

He opens the door and when he sees that it’s you, his mood drastically improves. You’re dressed in a pretty lavender sundress, a departure from your usual t-shirts and shorts that Steve has come to associate as your summer uniform. By the time he manages to take his eyes off of you, he realizes too late that you’re holding flowers and shoving your way into his home.

“Ready to graduate?” You ask, carefully setting the flowers down on his kitchen table. “You can’t skip it if I’m here, ya know.”

Steve groans. “How did you even know I was going to skip?”

“Because you’re predictable and I enjoy making you do what’s best for you.” You’ve grabbed his hand and are dragging him towards his room. “Now, go find something nice to wear while I put your flowers in a vase.”

“But–”

You don’t give Steve any time to argue as you’ve already left the room to go and take care of the flowers. He lets out another groan, he knows he can’t argue his way out of this one. You’ve dressed up for a graduation, bought Steve flowers, and now he has to put on some stupid outfit to make a smile cross your pretty little face.

He settles on a simple white button down shirt and a pair of nice dress pants, and you return to his room as he’s struggling with the buttons. When you see him, you laugh with affection and walk over to him. “Here, let me see.”

Steve lets you button his shirt, your breath is warm against his chest as your fingers quickly secure the buttons into the place. He admires the cute frown on your face as you concentrate, and he allows his hands to come up to yours and slots your fingers together. You’re taken aback by the sudden affection.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a familiar blush on your face from his touch. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this.

“Nonthin’.” Steve says, though he lets go of one of your hands and places it on the small of your back as he always does. He uses the hand to push you closer and the other hand remains intertwined with yours. He stares down at you, he’s close enough to count every eyelash that dots along your pretty eyes. “Just admiring you.”

“Is this some ploy to distract me from your graduation?” Though you try to tease him, you’re weak and let out a soft sigh when Steve pulls you even closer, feeling his body against yours. He’s allowed himself to become bolder with you, and as if to prove this, he tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses your brow. You exhale with a shaky breath, your resolve dwindles. “Honey…”

Steve chuckles at your reaction, revels in it. He hopes to one day memorize all the ways he can make you sigh his name and shiver against him. For now, however, he pulls away and finishes getting dressed. “I know, I know. Graduation time.”

The perfectly aimed sandal that you throw at him is enough to solidify to Steve that he is, truly, happy.

–

Dustin is the first one Steve sees in the bleachers, then Mike, and then El, before he realizes that the entire party has managed to make it to his graduation ceremony.

“You invited them?” He turns to you, somehow surprised that you would do such a simple and lovely thing.

“Of course I did.” You kiss his cheek and quickly fix his hair as you adjust his graduation cap. You’ve been fretting over his appearance ever since you left his house, and he hates how giddy he feels whenever you dote on him. “Now, go find your seat and don’t trip on the stage!”

You’re gone in a flash, leaving Steve alone as you go and join the kids in the bleachers with all the other friends and family in attendance. The school’s gym is packed, everyone has someone there for them to see them walk across the stage, and though Steve’s actual family isn’t here, he has you and the kids in the stands cheering for him.

Steve decides, then, that you and the kids are his true family.

The ceremony is long and boring, and Steve spends the entire time sneaking glances at you.

You’re attentive, nodding along to all the boring speeches made by teachers and clapping for every student’s name that is called. He sees you breakup a fight between Mike and Max over something, he guesses it’s probably something dumb, and he laughs when you switch seats with Max in the end.

As he watches you, Steve feels what he felt the first day he ever spoke to you when you almost hit his car with your bike. When he’d gotten out of his car and found you laying in the ditch, he felt what he feels now: a slow, all encompassing wave of sunlight.

He felt it when he drove you home the following week and you’d told him he wasn’t a bad person, and he felt it again when you’d spared him kindness at Jonathan’s while fighting the Demogorgon. Then, in front of the hospital’s vending machine, the sunlight turned into a fireplace within his chest when you’d giggled and told him you were friends.

Since then, the fire has only burned deeper within Steve. It burned when he’d gifted you that poster, when he had spent every day at your job just to be near you. It had burned Steve when you’d left him that summer, the sting of it unbearable as it seared his skin. Then it had dimmed, abandoned, until you came back again and reignited it once more.

When you whispered confessions to Steve in the dark, he felt it then. When you sacrificed your life to save his, leaving a scar on your rib cage that Steve can feel whenever he hugs you, he felt it then as well. The fire was there when you leaned against him, accepted the help he has always tried to provide for you, when he gave you a piggyback ride back inside Jonathan’s and tucked you into bed.

It all comes back to Steve in flashes.

Your promise to him to wait, to stay even though he couldn’t give you what you deserved, what you needed. The gentleness of your promise and the framed photo of him and Dustin that now sits proudly on his bedside table. The surprise movie nights, how you call him “honey” and he calls you “angel”.

It’s always been there.

The warmth had started back before Steve even knew what warmth was, when he first saw you. He had been thirteen and you had been twelve.

Now, at almost seventeen and eighteen, you’re cheering for Steve’s name as it’s called upon the stage and he finally knows what this feeling is. Steve accepts his diploma and shakes hands with his principal and he swears he can hear your voice, screaming his name with pure joy, above everyone else’s; it’s as if his body is attuned to yours.

This, Steve knows, is love.

–

The school year ends and summer break begins.

There’s a new mall in Hawkins, one that’s big and flashy and opens just in time for summer vacation. Dustin spends entire days there with the party before he reluctantly leaves for Camp Know Where. You miss your brother dearly, but you know the camp is good for him.

When you find out that Jonathan and Nancy have become interns at the Hawkins Post, you scream and throw yourself into their arms, incredibly proud of them, yet you’re sad as well. You didn’t realize that you’d be spending your last summer before senior year apart from your best friend, though you know he’s always dreamed of showcasing his photography.

It’s bittersweet, but when Steve gets a job at the new mall, the free ice cream that you get makes up for it.

Plus, his uniform for Scoops Ahoy doesn’t hurt.

“You’re not allowed to laugh.” Steve threatens you, horribly self conscious with how short his shorts are. You made him promise to show you the uniform, but now he’s seriously regretting it as you bite your lip; he sees the laugh before it comes. “I mean it! No laughing, it’s already bad enough that I have to work–”

He’s cut off by your loud, smug laugh. It overtakes your entire body as you hunch over, gasping for breath as you wheeze out, “You look great!”

Steve hides behind the ice cream counter, absolutely mortified. Here he is, being laughed at by the girl he’s so fucking in love with, as he wears a stupid sailor hat and a god damn ascot.

In between your laughs, you see the despair on Steve’s face and you try to calm down. “Okay, I’m sorry,” you wipe tears from your eyes, still slightly giggling. “It’s just… You look so adorable in that uniform!”

Immediately Steve straightens his back and crosses his arms, trying to look more dignified. “One, never call a man adorable. That’s just offensive. Two, I will not get out from behind this counter until you stop giggling at me.”

“Who are we giggling at?” An unfamiliar girl now appears, wearing the exact same uniform that Steve is, and when she sees you standing in front of the teen, she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “Henderson with Harrington?”

She knows your name, and you quickly wrack your head to try and figure out why she looks so familiar. At the very least, you know she has to be a grade below you, though you can’t quite place her, which you feel bad about. She looks kind.

“Yes, Henderson with Harrington.” You extend your hand out for the girl to shake. “I’m Y/N, though I guess you already knew that.”

“Robin Buckley,” she accepts your handshake, giving you an interested smile. She already seems to like you, which you’re relieved by.

Steve watches this interaction with pure dread. He had met Robin a few days ago during his interview for the job, and she’s made his life a living hell of torment and teasing ever since. Now, with you two meeting, he knows that you’ll only add onto Robin’s incredibly quick wit. “Oh, please don’t become friends.”

“Too late.” You wink at Robin. “Wanna check out this insanely large mall together?”

Robin gasps. “It’d be my pleasure.” She hops over the counter, completely bypassing the door that lets you out, and loops her arm through yours. “Later, dingus!”

“Bye, Steve!”

He stands there, defeated, as you and Robin giggle together while you leave. It only took thirty seconds before you abandoned him like some traitor. Sighing, he picks up a rag and starts wiping down the tables in the ice cream shop.

From the corner of his eye he can see you and Robin running around the mall. You’re giggling as you chase after the girl, your hair is tied in a loose ponytail and one of the straps on your overalls has slid down your arm. You look happy, bright and alive, far from the girl Steve remembers from last winter.

It takes Steve’s breath away.

Then, as if you can sense his eyes on you, you turn. Your eyes connect, your cheeks are flushed from running and you’re breathless as you smile at him. Steve returns your smile, winks, and he can almost hear your giggle.

You finally look away, going back to chasing after Robin as the two of you retreat further into the mall, and as your figure fades in the distance, there’s only one thing on Steve’s mind.

I can’t wait to make her mine.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

⌑ taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @thytorturedpoet @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring @rice-elephant @bex22109 @bitchkeery @bex22109 @officerrrfriendly @kazunish @idkitsem @emilieluckwood @ryoujoking @criesinlies @tagakalat @dcnerd98 @sucker-4-angst @kitdjarin1 @onecojg @innazra @areiofhope @spaghetittied @cultish-corner @g8sstuff @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @hsllfirescoops @l0ve-0f-my-life @newyorkangelbaby @aliceespector @chervbs @poppet055 @bookkeeperlove @bellenotthebeast @swiftieblyth @ladyobscurus @moon-flowerss @estaticheart @dreamingofts18 @lanxsee @thecapricunt1616 @aheadfullofsteverogers @marvel-and-music @angie2274 @thescoopstroopers

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #i think is my first solely fluffy chapter in come home #my god

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 days

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The Man 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

A few days pass as the humiliation of your big lesson clings in the air. You think about it too much. Enough that you find yourself cringing to yourself on your bike ride home or even when lying in bed. You’ve never been the most socially adept so the encounter leaves you reeling.

As you help Bre with opening, you feel your heartbeat pick up once more. You need to chase the elephant from the room. You puff out and wet your lips as you glance over at her. She measures out grinds into the silver machine as her eyes pinpoint on the task.

“Um, so, Bre,” you approach her warily with a fresh sleeve of cups, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mm,” she grumbles groggily. She’s on her second coffee already and she only just got there twenty minutes ago.

“So, um, that guy, from the other day,” you rub your boiling neck, “with the mustache. You said he’s the boss. So he owns this place?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she shuts the lid of the machine and turns the silver dial on the front. She shakes her head as the machine starts to brew and she plants her hand on the counter in front of it. She faces you, her other hand going to her hip.

“Mr. Hansen? Lloyd. Hansen.” She enunciates as if you should know the name.

Your lips downturn and you shrug, “is that his name?”

“Are you new in town?” She asks hotly.

You nod, “yeah, actually. I used to live about forty minutes out of town but there was nothing there--”

“It shows,” she retorts, “he owns this shop, he owns the street outside, he owns me, he owns you. He owns this city. Got it?”

You hum and nod as you look thoughtfully to the ceiling, “not really. But he’s important, got it.”

“Just if he comes back in, come get me and say as little as you can. And please, for the love of god, do not ask him for money,” she snips.

“Oh, alright,” you deflate, “I didn’t know--”

“Now you do. Just trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to fuck around with him. If he tells you to pour boiling water on yourself, you’re better off just doing it,” she sneers.

You wince, “okay, sorry, Bre, I was just asking.”

“You ask too many questions,” she turns and goes into the backroom. She returns, dangling a keyring from her finger, “open up. It’s time.”

You take the key and go to unlock the door and flip on the sign. You retreat back behind the counter, swallowed up by the tension between you. You regret asking. You thought it might help clear the air but now you can barely breathe.

When the first customer enters, you volunteer to help them. Bre just mutters and slurps from her coffee. She might have less of a headache if she takes it easy on the caffeine. You don’t say as much to her, nothing really at all as you work through order after order.

She hops onto prep as you man the till while the queue grows. The morning rush is in full effect as you slide baked goods into little paper sleeves and hand them over before sending customers down to the window to wait for their drinks. The hectic flow helps you forget about the awkward start.

When at last the crowd trickles down and the cafe hums with voices sitting at the tables, you have a moment to catch your breath and center yourself. You like this job, it’s just like your last one, but the company isn’t as pleasant. Bre taps her thumb on her phone screen and ignores you.

The ebbs come with hide tides and soon lunch has you scrambling once more. The smell of toasted bread and cinnamon has your stomach grumbling. You’re too busy to let the emptiness bother you for long. When high noon influx subsides, Bre yawns.

“Lunch,” she announces, “I’m going to head down to Tabitha’s. They’re having a clearance sale.”

“Oh, alright,” you agree, not mentioning that she said earlier you could go first, “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t respond as she disappears into the back to get her things. You hear her leave through the side door that leads through to the alley. You sigh out and watch the sit-in customers on their laptops or chatting with friends.

You resist the temptation of the tarts staring at you from the display. You can hold out until it’s your turn. The door jingles and a new customer enters. You’re too fixated on the painting of a latte to glance over. Not until you sense the sudden shift in the air. Several people quiet and pack up to go.

Footfalls scuff across the floor and customers leave their unfinished drinks on the table as they hurry for the door. You peer around then at the approaching shadow. It’s him. Oh no. Bre isn’t here.

“Um, hello, Mr. Hensen,” you smile shakily, “how are you?”

He stares at you as he comes to stand across the till from you. His blue eyes darken as he lets a long exhale out through his nose. You gulp and your cheeks tremble. He tilts his head and arches a brow.

“Hansen,” he corrects.

“Right, Floyd Hansen, I remember--”

“Lloyd,” he hits his fist on the counter and you gasp. “Lloyd fucking Hansen.” He leans forward and bares his teeth, “get that through that thick fucking skull.” He reaches for you, grabbing the front of your shirt, “you won’t forget who I am.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m bad with names--”

“Shut up,” he twists the fabric until it strains against the back of your neck, “if you weren’t so goddamn pathetic, I’d drag you across this counter.”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. He’s only an inch away from you. You shiver as he opens his hand and presses the vee of his index and thumb to your throat. You’re frozen, terrified. Who is this man?

“Get me my fucking coffee,” he squeezes then shoves you so you choke.

You stumble back and bring your hand to your neck. You nod, eyes glittering with unspent tears, and look around. You can’t remember what he ordered. You’ll just have to make something up. Or maybe you could just sneak out like Bre...

#the man #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #drabble #series #au #mob au

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kenshimybeloved · 6 months

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Hi!! Here’s a probably-too-long analysis of Kenshi and Johnny’s first scene together that’s probably just part 1 of a series where I over analyze every scene of these two!

In previous scenes, it’s made clear that Johnny is disappointed with the current trajectory of his life- his career is going downhill, he’s losing money, his wife is leaving him, and we see him drinking despite it being implied multiple times throughout the game that Johnny has had some kind of issue with alcohol/possibly substances of some kind. The nail in the coffin for his marriage is an argument not over just Johnnys spending in general, but the fact that he spent $3M on a sword that he refuses to get rid of. It’s not super clear initially why it is he feels so strongly about this particular sword- sure he doesn’t wanna get rid of anything Chris lists, but the sword seems to strike a nerve when she suggests reselling it. Why is it he’s so fascinated with its deep history? Are we to assume Johnny is a history nerd in this timeline? That’s what it seems to imply when you’re first playing this part of the game, but as it goes on we learn this is all Liu Kangs doing. Liu Kang admits to using Sento as a means to introduce Johnny and Kenshi to each other (this is confirmed through a fight intro with him and Kenshi), but since he also does his best not to interfere too much with free will, he leaves the meeting up to them.

[side note: I find it interesting that it’s confirmed Liu Kang had Johnny buy Sento so that Kenshi would eventually come looking for it, considering that Liu Kang also likely new this would be the demise of Johnnys marriage. Him meeting Kenshi this way was more important than his literal wife. Not that the marriage wouldn’t likely end eventually anyways- just interesting that he felt the need to speed up the process]

Immediately we see he’s extremely disappointed in them for fighting, but what honestly did he expect? And I don’t mean that sarcastically- legitimately, why would he expect anything different? To Kenshi, Sento is the key to freeing and leading his family out of the Yakuzas grasp- nothing else matters to him at this point. To Johnny, Sento is a prized possession- one so important he let it get in the way of his marriage. He very clearly isn’t ready to let go of his old life (as evident through him attempting to pitch movie ideas to uninterested producers and flirt with a wife who’s been emotionally detached for quite some time), and he’s not letting go of Sento either. Sento means far too much to the both of them for either of them to let it go without a fight. However, while normally this would cause a significant rift in the relationship between the two people fighting over an object, this time the object seems to be the very thing forcing them together. But more on that later when I eventually analyze the scenes of them at the Wu Shi Academy! Lastly, I’d like to point out that even this early on in their relationship, Johnny is very clearly infatuated with Kenshi as a person. I mean imagine spending $3M on a sword because you find the history of one of the first families in Japan incredibly fascinating, just so that one day a supposed member of that presumably dead family breaks into your home demanding the sword. But Kenshi is cold, closed off, and (seemingly) completely uninterested in Johnny. And to me, this is what really reels Johnny in. Kenshi being Taira clan was already enough to get Johnny hooked- but add onto that that Kenshi doesn’t give a flying fuck about him? That just leaves room for gay pining baby!

#mk1 #mortal kombat #johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #johnshi #i’m so normal about them #johnny x kenshi #I think about this a normal amount #god I love their slow burn #navi rambles about johnshi

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itsybitsylemonsqueezy · 2 months

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You know what, fuck it: Baldur's Gate 3 Thoughts.

(The world is so so bad right now, can't even name all the bad things, so fuck it, no more bad feels, just some nice garbage right now)

I really love that the big 3 pairings all kinda arrive together:

Lae'zel and Shadowheart are already trapped on the ship together, like they are both trapped by their beliefs. They both know more about what's happening than anyone else and are also perhaps the most frightened.

Astarion and Gale show up stuck and as potential bait. They're both concealing some pretty big problems. The only way to succeed with them is to trust them despite this. And they both badly need to bond with others so they can survive their ordeals.

Karlach and Wyll actually already have a relationship, just one founded on misunderstanding. They can each empathize with each other in ways the others can't and adjust quickly to thinking of a previous adversary as a friend. They both have so much going on that when they arrive on the Sword Coast, they just resettle into business as usual. They've both been misused by those with control over them and seek to break that control, even if that doesn't fix everything, even if it means more loss.

They're all good ships, I love them. And all the other combos are good too, there are no bad options here, but I'm a bit of a sucker for these. Honestly, really appreciate having an entire party of bisexuals. I love that so much <3

Gale and I are the same person ha ha ha FUCK

I do have fic ideas, potentially for Gale & Astarion and Lae'zel & Shadowheart (spoilers below)

Like, I actually have a lot of feelings about Shadowheart being a complete dick to Lae'zel while she goes through a crisis of faith, only to eat pigeon pie later when she gets a crisis of her own.

And I'm obsessed with the idea of Lae'zel learning how to be comforting as she watches Shadowheart crumble apart, as she loses all sense of identity. Because at least Lae'zel has that. Lae'zel lost a lot in parting from Vlaakith, but she didn't lose who she was. Indeed, she left in defense of who she was, in defense of what she knew to be right. Shadowheart doesn't even have that. And it's a wild thing that comes over you, to feel like you've fucked up and lost and to find someone you can actually help. I think it would be a really cool and beautiful thing to see, Lae'zel helping Shadowheart find the pieces of herself. That would just be really, really good.

And then there's Problematic Old Man Yaoi over here

Maybe what I love best about Gale and Astarion is how much fucking WOULD NOT solve it

Like, some people just need to fuck it out and then it's all good, you fixed the issue

And 100% fucking would not solve their shit. Like, it would help, or it certainly wouldn't not help. But it'd only help like... max 20% The rest has to be solved by Talking, Using Your Words, Talking To Other People No Not The Imaginary Conversations, and Admitting When You're Wrong.

I also love that this is true no matter where you think they get together.

Like, let's take Act I: I cannot IMAGINE how Astarion could talk Gale into bed that early. Gale "Never Nude" Dekarios who's never had a crush on anyone who wasn't Mystra. He'd be shaking and fumbling just trying to ask Astarion on a date. And Mr. Emotionally Available over here, who is not ready to be vulnerable in any sense, who uses sex as a crutch because it's so familiar and so easy to dissociate from... yikes, what a combo. Poor Gale would be sent reeling by the hot-cold of it, he'd act insane those first few days after sex as he tries to make sense of how Astarion said yes to everything, but didn't mean it, but also he did? So should he pursue that or leave it be? Is the best choice to let Astarion thaw in his own good time or obsessively work on cracking this because Astarion clearly needs help and just doesn't want to ask for it? Stupid question, OBVIOUSLY the second! I... instant explosion. God, it would go so bad. Honestly, the good version is Gale resists the invitations and instead Astarion sulks for a few days over his blue balls or just fucks someone else, thus giving Gale a new case of mixed signals to obsess over. Jesus, we're just never going to escape that are we? Wizards gotta fixate.

Act II: In which Astarion chooses to ignore his own problems by instead arguing with Gale about his. Not because he's invested, merely because Gale is clearly being an idiot. Gale at first demurs, refusing to be argued out of his guilt, but then when Astarion becomes more insistent, counters with why Astarion cares so much? This would inevitably erupt in some kind of sexual encounter, but the fighting wouldn't stop because despite getting laid, Gale is still sure he's right and Astarion is still sure he's right. Dick actually can't solve this today. The camp mournful of ever finding a solution, they would like to sleep peacefully again someday.

Act III: Make or break time. Both Gale and Astarion escalate as the threat of death or destruction looms ever nearer. Gale now just as dead set on stopping Astarion from destroying himself as Astarion is on stopping Gale from destroying himself. Same threat, very different outcomes. Gale keeps looking at him with those damn puppy eyes and whining about "he'll regret it instantly" and "hate who he becomes" and "I can't stand to see that happen to you" or whatever. Obnoxious. And Astarion keeps trying to convince him that Mystra was wrong, that she "manipulated and groomed" him and "didn't even give an explanation" which he's owed, or some such nonsense. As if an inhuman, all-powerful goddess was out of line for being afraid of mortal actions... wait, was that a logical inconsistency? Damn. I think Gale would convince Astarion first. I think deep down Astarion would hate to be a full vampire too much, I think they both know it, and when Gale promises to stand by him, to take care of him, to always protect him... As much as Astarion doesn't want to trust, knows he's a fool for trusting, he agrees. He won't do it. He won't take the power. Because, damn him, he believes Gale. And what would suck is Gale would go "Cool! I'mma become a god, I can protect you way better then!" like entirely missing the point. And Astarion would be galled, deservedly so, by the hypocrisy. But Gale's so caught up in how sure he's right and how sure he's wrong, he's not even listening. I think it'd piss Astarion off so much, he'd convince the whole camp to kidnap Gale so he can't go sacrifice himself, full "He won't get the chance to kill himself because I'll do it first!" Until we finally get to the Nether Brain and... Astarion lets him go. Because that's the point. Trust isn't real if there isn't a choice. And as much as he hates the fact that Gale might choose what he doesn't want, he has to let him do it on his own. And I think that'd finally break through. That simple act of trust and sacrifice and playing willing to lose would finally make Gale go "Oh... oh god, what was I thinking? This isn't right." The fact that Astarion loves him more for the flawed and fallible person he is than for the heartless god he could become... That would finally make Gale see, Mystra was wrong all along and she never loved you because she can't really love. Not like that. Yeah. That's a personal favorite of mine.

But there's also a lot to be said for post-end, Astarion with nowhere to go and Gale going "You know... I've heard of spells that allow creatures form the Underdark to safely experience sunlight. We could try some of those, I don't see why they shouldn't work on you." and Astarion being floored and not even having the words for everything he feels at that offer. And then the raw sexual tension of living in his tower together as "friends" as Astarion mercilessly pines and Gale blissfully carries on, unaware until Tara finally goes "That's it! I can't take it any more! I'm going to live with your mother until you two sort this out!" and flies off. Leaving Gale to go "Huh... wonder what she meant by that?" Meanwhile, Astarion can hardly stand to be in the same room with Gale because he ends up basically drooling and yet, he can hardly stay away, staring obsessively from the shadows, creeping around wherever he is, looking exactly like the jealous lover he longs to be. Also, Astarion and Gale's mother! Oh, I can't wait! Too funny!

Oh, tower days with Astarion would be so good as he tries to adjust to having a life again. A slow, painful process, but very deserved. He'd need an occupation, he can't have nothing to do. Maybe he can look into magistrating again?

Anyway, there's some thoughts. I haven't finished Act III yet, but I'm close so I guess careful with those Act III spoilers.

Also, for anyone still reading, if you want to do me a solid: There exists somewhere a Bloodweave fic where Astarion walks in on Gale with a construct of himself only there's a twist... and the author is Very Correct about this twist. if you know, you know. But I can't find this fic anywhere! Please help a girl out if you've read the one I'm thinking of.

#bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #Bloodweave #some thoughts for y'all

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libby-for-life · 27 days

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So, I got an idea for a request, an Au with Adam as Demeter, the Greek G̶o̶d̶d̶e̶s̶s̶ God of agriculture.

So this takes place right after the whole Lucifer and Lilith Incident. Adam is left reeling from the betrayal of his first friend (yeah "friend") and his other half. The angels tell him that they will make him a new companion, but he doesn't want a replacement, he wonders what he did to deserve them both leaving him (developing those abandonment issues already, I see).

But with a sudden great and mighty crack of thunder and lightning, Adam disappears from Eden and appears in Mount Orthys. He is found by Rhea, who is tired of all her kids haven been eaten by her husband Kronos and decided to take him in, before being found out and promptly being eaten whole, joining the others (except Demeter because she doesn't exist and is replaced by Adam) in Kronos stomach even though he's not thier sibling.

Back in Eden, the entirety of Heaven is freaking out because the first man is just gone. He's nowhere in Eden. He just disappeared under their noses. Once they

calm down, decide since they already made Eve as a replacement for Lilith, they can just make a replacement for Adam. Using Eve's rib, they create Steve and erase Adam and Lilith from history, their titles of first man and woman now belonging to Eve and Steve.

When Lucifer breaks into Eden, he succeeds convincing Eve to bite the apple, but when he tells her to give it to Adam as well (definitely not because he's a yandere for him and is his top priority), Eve asks who Adam is.

Eve: Adam? Who is that?

Lucifer: ...Adam? You know the first man??

Eve: You mean my husband Steve! He's the first man, not whoever this 'Adam' is

Lucifer:....what.

*I've already thought of more scenarios with this Au, but this is already pretty long, so i'll stop it here

Now, you kinda need to give me more, but this is beautiful. I love the idea of Adam becoming a God. Rhea slowly feeds him a special salve that turns him immortal. And while technically he is Adam, the god of agriculture and farming. He also had another name that he went by. The Reaper. It's where the scythe originated from. He reaps the fields and it's up to him on whether you have plentiful food or a drought that year.

He came across Persephone and immediately adopted her as his own once he saw how innocent she was to the world. She reminded him so much of Lucifer of someone he once knew but he couldn't put his finger on it.

She was creative with Spring. Such beautiful flowers came from her. The angels may have may have made the earth, but the gods were what kept it going. Kept it from dying. The angels in Heaven thought that they did a good job making the world and the universe but it was Adam's family that kept it from perishing. He had a family in the gods. They treated Adam as one of their own.

Until one day, Persephone gets kidnapped and taken to Hell. Adam is on a war path. He will find his daughter and the gods are backing him up.

The entirety of Hell shakes and splits open as twelve-foot-tall people radiating power and light storm in, all wielding weapons that, despite not being angelic weapons, are powerful enough to kill sinners.

They will find Persephone.

Meanwhile, Lucifer soon catches wind of these godly beings and goes to confront them. He sees Adam for the first time since the dawn of Eden and nearly has a heart attack. Adam. The first man. He was back.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #greek mythology

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pocketramblr · 4 months

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Absolutely love your writing for all the AU/5 headcanons asks. Can I ask: AU where Rei cheats on Endeavor with All Might? It happens after AM's injury, so she doesn't recognize him, and he ofc doesn't know that she's married in the first place, much less to whom

you make this very difficult for me by giving me a window of 6 and half years for them to have an affair and for every single moment of that window, Rei is institutionalized. how am i supposed to get them to meet, much less take their clothes off. ok. think. there are other fic writers who specialize in this kind of thing, surely. what would they do....

1- ok so. The fire alarm at the hospital goes off. Rei doesn't know if it's a drill or not, but she's been there for seven years and generally does not need a lot of support during something like this like other patients do, so the nurses wave her out and she stands around outside a bit waiting for the fire alarm to stop and them to go back in. (It isn't a drill, they wouldn't have evacuated everyone if it was, but Rei is on the other side of the building and facing away from seeing any smoke) (This smoke is from a villain attack that All Might is taking care of, though he's only got seconds left of his power to use that day. he quickly rushes off, deflating and stumbling out on the other side of the hospital. Where Rei is.)

2- Rei is like "huh that guy doesnt seem to be in good shape" and kinda waves attention at him, and a nurse who's passing out water to patients and keeping an eye on the road gives Toshinori some too, getting more concerned when he dazedly answers that he's All Might and coughs up blood, but the nurse figures he's concussed since he smells of smoke and must have been closer to the fight, and is just reeling from being able to see the number one hero in person. Then they get distracted and wave Toshi to wait nearby, where Rei offers to chill his water and asks if he's alright, if he breathed in any smoke.

3- They chat and then go back into the hospital as it's un-evacuated together, Rei hanging out in the lobby where he sits as the hospital staff focus on getting everyone else back to their rooms. It pays to be low priority sometimes. Eventually she tells him her name is Rei and that she's in room K18, if he ever wants to visit or call. She doesn't get to talk to anyone except doctors, family visitors, or other paitients, and most of them don't stay nearly as long as she does. It's been seven years, and she's very lonely. Toshinori is lonely too, and when he's out of time for a day and feeling useless with nothing to do, he likes to talk to a friend.

4- Rei has been in the hospital for eight years when it gets physical. At that point, Toshinori knows a bit about her family. She has kids, mentions visits from a son and daughter, and then quietly mentioned when her son turned seventeen- her daughter's already twenty. She's been there for so much of their lives. He asks if she's married, and she admits she isn't sure how to file for divorce in a hospital like she is, if she even can, if she wants to because she'd lose custody, if it matters when she's not raising them anyway. He doesn't ask much more, knows there is a dead child and a baby she says isn't safe with her there. Toshinori never called Nana 'mom' to her face while she was alive, and had a reason for it, and has a similar reason for not asking more, not asking for the other names when he gets Fuyumi and Natsuo's. Yes, the doctors and nurses all know Rei has a boyfriend who visits. they don't say anything. who would they even tell, anyway. I debated the humor of reusing the bit from candlelight shoto that Toshi and Rei could have a kid with a fire quirk, but yeah here? Rei ain't getting pregnant, absolutely not.

5- When Natsuo turns eighteen, Rei does actually file for divorce, or at least tries to get the ball rolling on that. Toshinori's trusted her that her marriage is over in all but name, but he's more at ease with it ended fully. Fuyumi is crushed but burying it all deep inside. Natsuo is like 'what are you talking about. divorce is the most normal possible outcome here.' But anyway, Rei also begins to bring up being discharged- something she never bothered with earlier, when it seemed like she'd never be able to go home while Shoto was there, and never would want to go back anyway. (Her parents are absolutely not an option either so where would she go once discharged? the hospital was her only security.) Toshinori then tells her at this point about his diagnosis, that he's supposed to be terminal, in a way. He doesn't have a lot of time he can give her. Rei says that's ok, she'll take what she can get. She moves in. Fuyumi still goes out to eat with her once a week, though Rei doesn't say she's moved in with a boyfriend, just says she's in a safe place and it's not Fuyumi's job to worry about it, please, let her do that, relax, be her daughter instead of a mother. Natsuo adds her to his cellphone plan and gets her one. Rei doesn't tell Toshinori her ex's identity. Toshinori doesn't tell her about OfA, though she does know he's mentoring a student for heroics and is very proud of him. (Toshinori is a secretary at Might Tower, he's a great mentor. Oh huh, he got a job position at UA at the same time as All Might, she wonders if they carpool.)

+1- OK THE REVEAL so the reveal is. Toshinori gets home from the SF. And Rei almost knocks him out by the door, eyes wide and panicked, asking if he's ok, if Shoto's ok. Toshinori is like "... young todoroki? yeah he's alright? i know his fight with young bakugo looked bad but- Rei???" And that's when it all clicks for him, he's having dozens of horrible realizations at once, all while Rei weeps over her youngest. Toshinori's been a hero for a very, very long time. He's felt hopeless, before. But even then, he's known what needs to be done, he just isn't able to do it. But now? he's at a complete loss with no idea what he should do.

#quick poll here. um. do we think shoto knows his parents are divorced #because i mean theres a lot of things he doesnt know about his family that he should #its not like they're really talking at that point #on the other hand. would enji have told him out of frustration for him clinging to his ice when rei left them?#basically. which one is funnier #Shoto going 'mom divorced you??? OH HELL YEAH GOOD FOR HER IM ONLY USING ICE TO CELEBRATE THAT i mean i know she hates me sure she should.#as long as she isn't tied to YOU anymore either we are going down hand in unlovable hand old man!!!'#or #shoto having no idea of the divorce and so when the truth comes out #either from toshinori or rei #hes like 'HELL YEAH YOUVE BEEN CHEATING ON DAD WITH ALL MIGHT???? HIGH FIVE MOM THATS THE BEST POSSIBLE REVENGE DABI WISHES HE'D #ORCHESTRATED THIS BUT HE NEVER HAD THE CREATIVITY TO!!! wait what do you mean its not cheating anymore because youre divorced'#these tags are funny because wow theres a lot of yikes and heavy stuff in the main post. ah ha ha. ah.#pocket talks to people #ask game #anon

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beardedjoel · 10 months

Text

closer | part three

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au.

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: you try and avoid joel after your awkward kiss the other day, but it doesn’t take long for him to reel you right back in. 5.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), inexperienced reader, joel being a menace, more flirting, it’s gonna go DOWN next chapter, reader wears a cropped shirt and jean shorts, reader is described only as having hair

a/n: i hope you are all enjoying this so far! i’m so sorry this chapter definitely ends on a bit of an evil cliffhanger <3

You’re officially hiding from Joel. You realize you’re a grown woman and should be acting more mature about this, but you can’t seem to help the embarrassment that you feel when you even think about seeing him again. You wonder what he must think of you - just some silly girl, afraid of a fucking kiss, that’s what he’s got to think.

You’ve done everything you can think of to stay out of his sight for the last day, although you haven’t noticed any activity over at his house this morning, so it’s safe to assume he’s working today.

The only interaction you’ve had with him was when you thought you’d caught his eye after you came out of your shower yesterday, wrapped in only a towel. You thought better of it, but you couldn’t help the little power trip that having him see you naked through your window gave you the last time. So, pretending you don’t see him, you drop the towel, parading around your apartment looking for something to wear for the day. You know it was probably too far away for him to see if you made eye contact, but you were careful to not look in his direction too much and give yourself away. You’d left the house with a smug smile, wanting to gain back a little of the power you felt you lost when you’d embarrassed yourself.

You try to keep yourself busy - starting your day with some shopping that’s supposed to be for your new apartment in Austin when you find one, but it ends up turning into clothes shopping, or more specifically, underwear shopping. You bite the inside of your lip, holding up different pairs of sexy underwear, tilting your head as you look at them. Sure, you own plenty of pairs already, but you’re feeling the urge to add to your collection, trying to convince yourself it has nothing to do with Joel despite the passing thoughts wondering which color he’d like to see on you. You decide to call Sofia, your best friend from back in Chicago while you’re ambling through the air conditioned stores, trying to stay out of the house as long as possible.

“So, if I’m hearing you right, you’re telling me that you're embarrassed because you two kissed? Didn’t you want to kiss him?” Sofia says into your ear, sounding incredulous.

“Ugh, it’s not that. It’s that I fucking jumped when he tried to put his hand on my ass, like some teenage virgin or something,” you groan.

“I think you’re overthinking it,” she tells you, “Like, it sounds like he was understanding, right?”

“I don’t know, I think so. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, I just get crazy when I’m around him. I wish you could just see him and understand what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, first of all, I can’t believe you haven’t taken any sneaky pics of him for me yet - it’s truly offensive as your best friend that you haven’t shown me apparently the hottest man alive yet,” Sofia starts, and you laugh. “Secondly, I think you need to just… move on from being embarrassed about it. I know that sounds harsh, but seriously, it sounds like he’s into you.”

“I don’t know… how could he be?” you muse, feeling insecure. You’ve just been unable to see what Joel could find alluring in you when he could have someone more put together, more attractive, less shy around him, the list goes on.

“You’re kidding me… you’re young, you’re hot, and did you already forget the part where he kissed you back and tried to grab your ass?”

You laugh. “Okay, you do have a point, Soph.”

“Of course I do. You’d better get back over there and kiss him again, and don’t even think about texting me or calling me again until you do,” she says, and you scoff in fake hurt. “Okay, not that last part, just kiss him, but please update me every 10 seconds because I miss you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I miss you too,” you say to her with a chuckle, before you wrap up your conversation, knowing she’s right, that it’s really not that big of a deal. You just hate how you feel like you’re constantly embarrassing yourself in front of Joel. By now, it’s the early evening, and you’ve managed to stay away for most of the day, avoiding both Joel and your own thoughts with some good old retail therapy and talking to Sofia.

You take your dinner outside, a grilled cheese and chips, your favorite summer meal since you were a kid, and sit down on a lounge chair. You sit cross legged with your plate and book in front of you, taking in the way the heat of the day has finally turned into that perfect, comfortable evening temperature. You see no sign of Joel, no lights on at his house, and decide to enjoy a few moments of solitude knowing he can’t spot you right now. You get completely lost in your reading, one of the few reprieves you have these days, so you fail to notice lights flickering on next door until a loud, rumbling laugh catches your attention.

You feel like a deer in headlights as you peer over at the source of the noise and see Joel emerging out of his back door, someone trailing closely behind him. He’s wearing what looks like work clothes, although you haven't seen him dress in a whole lot other than t-shirts and jeans, and he has a six pack of beer in one hand. The other man next to him bears some resemblance, the same dark hair and tan skin, although he has a more boy-ish appearance than Joel does, and you assume it’s his brother that he’d mentioned, Tommy.

You don’t know if you should move, run, or hide - a real classic flight or… flight situation. Luckily, it seems like Joel is occupied enough with his brother’s visit that his eyes haven’t made it over in your direction at all. You wonder if there’s an occasion, or they’re just having an after work beer, which you somehow find endearing, like everything else he does. They sit down on Joel’s patio table, supposed-Tommy sitting across from Joel, facing your direction. Good, this is good, you think, he doesn’t know who you are, so why would you catch his attention? You’re still trying to decide your next move, but find seeing Joel is a distraction from even that. You decide to try and sneak away without being noticed

“Hey,” Joel says, calling your name with a wave as you’re halfway up the stairs to your apartment. You groan internally, and grimace slightly before turning around. You’ve been spotted, and feel you have no choice but to engage now. You make it to the fence line between your yards, realizing you’re still awkwardly holding your empty dinner plate and book, and that combined with seeing Joel, turned around in his chair, looking at you, makes you already want to sprint away.

“Hi…” you say, trying to speak up but finding it hard right now.

“This is my brother, Tommy, the one I was tellin’ you about,” Joel says, and there’s something different about his voice, but you can’t quite place it yet. You furrow your brow, but then relax your face, not wanting to be rude. Tommy gives a little glance at you, and then Joel, as if trying to piece together why we’d been talking about him.

“Howdy,” Tommy says with a wave and a friendly smile. At the least, he seems disarming enough that your nerves are settled a bit.

“You joinin’ us for a beer, or what?” Joel says, and that’s when you place it. Joel’s is drunk, or at least tipsy. You think they must have had some beers prior to the six pack they’ve just started drinking. You’re not sure what to do with this information, how to feel about it, but you’re intrigued to see this side of Joel. Tommy, completely unaware of your pain, gives you a hopeful smile, urging you to come over.

“Um, yeah, sure,” you say, and the nervous pit that’s been living in your stomach for days lurches. You want to forget the other day happened, just be normal around Joel, and think that maybe having a drink could be a good start. “Hang on,” you add, holding a finger up before you run up to your apartment, discarding your plate and book, and run back out, not before double checking how you look in the mirror. You scowl a little, feeling like you look spent from your recent sleep deprivation.

You join them a few moments later, awkwardly settling yourself down into one of the chairs. Tommy pulls a bundle of keys out of his pocket, using his bottle opener keychain to crack open one of the beers and starts handing it in your direction before suddenly stopping.

“Wait. You old enough to drink this?” he asks, eyeing you suspiciously. You laugh, not entirely sure if you should feel flattered by the comment. If anything, it makes you feel even more self conscious about the kiss you and Joel shared, your cheeks warm and buzzing just at the memory.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’m 25,” you respond, and you can see Joel’s gaze shoot over to you as the number comes out of your mouth. You knew he had to have been wondering your age, and while you assumed he had a likely guess, he’s never asked you directly. Tommy gives over the beer to you with a smile now, asking your name. You tell him and he tries to make casual conversation.

“So, I see you and my brother have gotten acquainted then. New neighbors?”

“Kind of,” you say, and you explain the situation with your parents to him.

Tommy laughs, looking over at Joel. “Imagine one of us, doin that with Mom and Dad… whew, we’d have gone crazy. They’re lucky they’ve got a good daughter like you,” he says kindly, and you decide you rather like Tommy now that you’ve met him. He has a welcoming, warm energy that you’re extra appreciative of right now.

Joel chuckles at his brother’s comment, looking between the both of you. “She’s an angel, this one,” Joel says, his gaze landing on you again, and giving a small wink. You smirk and humbly bow your head at their comments. Mostly, you need to get out of seeing Joel’s piercing brown eyes looking at you.

Tommy continues to ask you questions about your life - your time in college, growing up in San Antonio, what kind of hobbies you have. He’s a fun conversationalist, and he makes you feel listened to, looking at you with interest at every answer you throw at him. You manage to squeeze in a few questions of your own, but it seems like Tommy is more interested in hearing about you. Joel is mostly sitting back, listening, laughing here and there and throwing in some of his own comments. But every time you look over at him, it’s as if he’s just… absorbing you with his eyes, hanging on every word you’re saying about yourself. His stare is intimidating in its own way, and you find yourself equally averting it but unable to keep peeking over at him.

You’re now about two beers deep and can feel the light, warm feeling of it coursing through you. This isn’t so bad, after all, you think - you can totally be normal around Joel after your awkward, embarrassing encounter the other day. You’re lulled into a sense of security, enjoying this evening with the Miller brothers, watching them bicker here and there and just letting the conversation flow naturally. They both have a little color on their cheeks as they laugh hard at some inside joke and memory, your smile growing just at seeing how hard they’re laughing - it’s adorable, you think to yourself with a huge grin.

Your parents must have let Benny out in the yard, because he catches Tommy’s attention as he runs over to the fence line and barks at you, probably wondering what the hell you’re doing over there, and not at home with him.

“Now who’s that cute fella?” Tommy asks you, smiling at Benny wagging his tail and panting by the fence.

“That’s Benny, my parents’ dog,” you tell him.

“Ah…” Tommy says, looking over at Joel knowingly, then right at you. “So you’re the reason my brother was late the other day,” he says with a smirk. You are in the middle of sipping your beer, and you immediately choke at Tommy’s words, the bottle falling out of your hands as you cough. It lands on the table with a loud thud, beer going everywhere - on your clothes, on the table, even some spitting out of your mouth as you choke.

“Oh shit,” you yell out in between coughs, quickly jumping up and standing back, seeing the beer dripping off of you, a large puddle on the table. You’re suddenly very aware of just how tipsy you are from the almost two drinks you’ve had - you forget how much of a lightweight you are sometimes. “S-sorry,” you say, trying to brush some of the liquid off of your arms and shirt, but you just end up making a bigger mess.

Tommy and Joel jump up with little chuckles, quickly ready to begin cleaning up the mess. “S’alright darlin’,” Joel says quickly, “Bathroom’s inside and down to the left, why don’t you go clean yourself up a bit,” he suggests to you, while he and Tommy get to work cleaning the mess with the beach towel he still had outside from the other day when you two got caught in the rain.

You rush off into the house, beer dripping off of you, barely bothering to inspect Joel’s house despite desperately wanting to. The sun has gotten much lower in the sky since you arrived over at Joel’s, so his house is relatively dark, and you search down the hallway clumsily, finding your way to the bathroom. Once the light is on, you blink a few times to adjust, and quickly grab the nearest towel, dabbing your arms dry. It’s not much use, considering your clothes are pretty well soaked, but you wet the towel and try wiping your shirt down a bit anyway. You take a few extra moments to calm yourself, feeling slightly dizzy from the alcohol and the way Joel has been stealing glances at you all evening. One more deep breath and you decide you’ll leave the bathroom, excuse yourself, and head back home to shower and change. Does Tommy know? Your brain is running off with the idea quickly before even having all of the information. Maybe he just meant the part about Joel’s injury, but you can’t help but picture that little smirk he had on his face. Fuck, you can’t stay, you can’t take it anymore, being around Joel like this after knowing what it felt like to kiss him, having Tommy seeming to know about it.

You open the door, steady your feet slightly, and turn down the hallway, and Joel is standing in the shadows, waiting for you. It causes you to jump a little, seeing his broad form just standing, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

“Oh, uh, I can grab some more towels, to help clean up,” you offer, unsure of what he’s trying to do right now, but Joel doesn’t seem to hear you or care, and he approaches you quickly, crowding his body close to you and you end up with your back against the nearest wall. Joel is standing practically up against you, but his hands are still at his sides. He’s trying so hard not to touch you, to grab your hips and pull them against his. to cup your face and crash his mouth into yours. Fuck, he’d said to himself that he was going to let you come to him, but he can’t help it as his hand twitches towards you.

“You’ve been avoidin’ me, pretty girl,'' Joel says, and he’s slurring a little. He didn’t seem that drunk to you, maybe just buzzed, enough that he’s coming off slightly different than normal. Hearing him call you ‘pretty girl’ sends you speechless, as his pet names always seem to do.

“I - I -“ you stutter, unsure of how to answer. You have been avoiding him, but don’t know how to tell him that, since it seems childish now that you’re faced with it. His large body is pressed so close to yours and you desperately want to lean into it, your mind scrambling completely at the proximity of him.

“S’okay, sweet girl,” he slurs, sending another pulse of desire through you with another new pet name. His hands slowly come up and rest on your waist, the feeling of his strong hands wrapped around either side of you sends what feels like a jolt of electricity through you.

”I just can’t stay away… said I would, but look at you,” he says, letting his tipsy brain spill all his thoughts as he looks down at you, glancing up and down your body and resting his eyes on your face. “Just tell me what you want, ‘cause I know what I want,” he says teasingly, his voice going lower.

“And… What do you want?” you finally muster the courage to ask him, lifting your eyes to search his face. You find his dark eyes staring back, lustful and heavy lidded. You gulp down the excited, panicky feeling you seem to continuously get around him and feel your stomach churning with desire.

Joel hums low, the sound deep and suggestive, followed by a small chuckle, pressing his forehead to yours delicately. One hand reaches up from your waist and gently touches your arm, and you can tell he’s holding back, practically restraining himself as his breathing quickens along with your own.

“You need me to say it?” Joel asks, “Need to hear me say what I wanna do to you?” He groans a little, his hands tightening on your hip and your arm where he’s holding them, pulling you a bit closer to him.

Your breath catches in your throat a little and you don’t know when, but you’ve started shaking slightly with anticipation. You feel the familiar aching between your legs once Joel’s body is pressed even closer to yours. You can smell the beer and the musk of him as you lean your head slightly, causing your nose to nudge his as you nod slightly, awaiting his answer. You’re curious to know exactly what he wants to do to you, and in fine detail.

Joel takes a breath in to answer, but a sound from down the hallway towards the kitchen takes you both out of the moment - someone clearing their throat. You gasp and try to leap back from Joel, but the wall is right there, still leaving you at Joel’s mercy. Joel pulls back, but only slightly, as if he doesn’t care that Tommy is standing right there, watching all of this.

“Just came for some paper towels, but I see I’m… interrupting something,” Tommy says cooly, and his tone isn’t like you’d heard before, it’s much less warm and genial. He’s upset, you realize, and you think maybe he has every right to be, knowing how young you are compared to his brother.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you mumble, and to whom you’re apologizing, you’re not even sure. You start to slide out from under Joel’s form, still so dangerously close to you, and his hand falls from your arm, letting you go. “I should, I should go…” you mumble as you brush past him and start rushing towards Tommy to cut through the kitchen to the back door. You stop abruptly, awkwardly near Tommy and without looking him in the eyes, say, “It was nice meeting you,” before making a beeline for the back door. What the fuck had just happened? you think to yourself over and over as you burst through the door to your apartment, standing with your back against it for several moments to try and collect yourself.

“Jesus Christ, Joel, I was joking about her being the reason you were late,” Tommy chides, leaning back against the counter in Joel’s kitchen. “I didn’t realize… whatever the hell that was… was going on.”

Joel sighs, running a hand down his face, his buzz quickly wearing off at his younger brother’s scolding. “Tommy, it’s not anything. I’m gonna need you to mind your damn business for once in your life,” Joel retorts, feeling frustration rising up quickly in his chest.

“Right, just forget I saw that? She’s 25, Joel.” Tommy sets down the beer he was holding on the counter next to him and crosses his arms.

“It’s not that big of a deal, she’s just sweet on me, I think. I was a little drunk and she was… just there,” Joel replies, knowing his argument is weak, falling apart by the minute.

“And so you’re just, what? Egging her on for the fun of it? It ain’t a game, Joel.” Tommy’s tone is getting more serious, gearing up for an argument with his brother.

“God damn it, I realize that, Tommy,” Joel says, his voice rising dramatically. Tommy cocks his head, his eyebrows drawn, studying his brother as the realization begins to dawn on him.

“You don’t… Joel tell me you don’t have feelings for her.” Tommy sighs, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“You don’t think I know it’s wrong? That I wanna be with someone nearly twenty years younger? Fucking hell, brother, I know it.”

“Shit…” Tommy says simply, at a loss for words right now. They stand in an awkward silence, Joel shifting from one leg to another, unsure of where to even go next with this conversation.

“Look, I’ve been trying. To avoid it, that is. Really hard, I’m trying…” Joel trails off, and Tommy looks over at him again, a softer look in his eyes now that he’s coming down from his anger.

“But…” Tommy urges him on.

“Seems you already know. Don’t know if I can stop seein’ her,'' Joel shrugs.

“Listen, you know I’ve done my fair share of stupid shit in my life so I’m not one to talk. She’s a sweet gal, though, and you shouldn’t be fuckin’ around with her like that.”

Joel sighs even more deeply. “I know you aren’t gonna believe me when I say this, but… I want to treat her right, Tommy. It’s not a game to me, swear.”

Tommy looks over at his brother skeptically. Sure, he believes his brother, but can Joel really follow through on that? He isn’t so sure. “My advice? Stay away from her,” Tommy says with finality, taking another swig from his beer.

“Good thing I didn’t ask for your advice,” Joel says quickly, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Why do you care so much, Joel? You don’t need to be messing with a young girl’s life, drag her into your shit.”

“First off, it seems she’s interested in me, and she knows she’s not my age, she ain’t stupid. She can make her own decisions.” Joel crosses his arms and stares his brother down.

“And secondly…?”

“She’s a sweet girl, kind, funny, and…beautiful, of course, but that’s besides the point, I think. Somethin’ about her… I can’t explain, Tommy.”

“So it’s more than just wanting to fuck her?” Tommy says, still suspicious of Joel’s intentions.

“I don’t know yet, if I’m honest,” Joel starts, scratching the back of his neck. “I think so. But we haven’t…” Joel admits before he can stop himself, feeling a little color creep onto his cheeks. Tommy sighs again, his frustration still palpable, but he breaks a little bit.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re not going to listen to me, just be careful, please?”

“I will,” Joel says firmly, and he means it. He doesn’t have any intention of hurting you, or messing with your life. He does want to fuck you, very badly, in fact, but he’s pretty sure it’s more than that at this point - he wants to spend time with someone sweet like you, someone who is kind and generous and loving. He’s found during the conversations this evening that he’s more attracted to you than even he realized, and he knows that Tommy is right, he’s completely fucked up for wanting to be with you like that. He knows deep down that his brother’s advice is sound, but after seeing you giggling all evening at their jokes, hearing the passion with which you talk about your hobbies and life, getting close enough to breathe in your delicious scent again, he knows he’s absolutely doomed. There’s no staying away from you.

Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it. You want nothing more than to hide away forever, and yes, you realize you’re being dramatic, but having Tommy walk in on you and Joel all over each other wasn’t how you’d wanted to end your evening. You practically felt like you’d gone home with your tail between your legs, and you’ve been moping around for the last hour after you’d showered the beer off and changed into your pajamas. A quiet knock on your door before it opens alerts you, and you look up from your bed to see your mother coming in.

“Sorry to bother you, honey,” she starts, stepping tentatively into the room. You sit up on the bed and try to give her your best smile.

“No, that’s alright, mom, what’s up?” you say, your own voice coming out a bit strained sounding to you. She eyes you a little suspiciously, but decides to continue on.

“Just wanted to say hi,” she says, smiling at you, and you realize you’ve been so preoccupied with your own shit that you’ve barely bothered to check in on them when they are home from work. “And I’d just meant to say thank you the other day for fixing that cabinet. You know it was driving me nuts,” she says, straightening up some pillows and blankets on the couch before sitting down. You pause for a moment, debating on what Joel had said about you taking credit, but it felt… awkward to lie about.

“Actually, it was uh, Joel… Miller from next door,” you admit sheepishly, worried about any follow up questions she might have. You’re not a great liar, and you worry she would see right through you if you tried to hide the way just talking about him makes you giddy, despite the conflict regarding him raging through you right now.

“Oh?” she says, urging you to continue with her head tilting. Your mom’s eyebrows are raised, and she looks absolutely enraptured by what you’re going to say next. She’s a sucker for random acts of kindness, you know.

“He saw me trying to fix the gate, and then asked if there was anything else we needed help with, so… yeah. He works as a contractor, I guess, so he knew what he was doing. Unlike me.” Your face lights up a little just talking about him but the room is dimly lit enough you think it might hide it from her.

“We’ll have to thank him. That’s awfully nice, isn’t it?” your mom says with a smile, suddenly getting up. “Let me make him something, some cookies, oh, or a pie, and you can bring it over,” she rambles mostly to herself, already halfway to the door to put her plan to action. You groan - she is absolutely insane, thinking about making a whole pie at seven thirty in the evening, you think, rolling your eyes. The thought quickly strikes you that it would be a good excuse to see Joel again if you had a reason to go over to his place, and your heart rate picks up a bit. Maybe it would help, you think, if you were able to just try and talk things out with him. You haven’t stopped thinking about the question he’d asked you earlier - to tell him what you want.

You think you finally have your answer. You know exactly what you want, and you’re pretty sure that you’re feeling brave enough to tell him tonight. You’re tired of hiding, of feeling too embarrassed to even look at him. You need things to progress one way or another, you decide.

You follow your mom back to the main house, helping her in the kitchen, and about thirty minutes later she has fresh chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and is plating them up with you. Your mother never ceases to amaze you when she gets into a mood like this - she’s one of the most efficient people you’ve ever met. She hands you the cookies with a smile, urging you to go deliver them now.

“It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” you ask, wanting to make sure you don’t seem too eager.

She frowns a little as she glances at the clock. “I don’t know…” she says, and you can see the familiar overthinking anxiety taking over her instantly.

“That’s alright, mom, I got this. I’ll just run them over right now, I think he stays up kind of late, I’ve seen him out in the yard past eight o'clock before,” you reassure her, half for your own reasons, you think with a hint of guilt.

“Oh, good, thank you, honey,” your mom replies, a relieved grin coming over her face. “I just want to make sure we get off to a good start with our neighbors.” You almost laugh, thinking she doesn’t have to worry about that too much with the things you’re hoping to do with him.

“I’ll probably head back to the apartment and get some sleep after, so we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” you tell her. You want to have an excuse if in case, and the thought alone makes you want to squeal, anything happens that keeps you at Joel’s longer than they’d expect you to be there.

You leave out the back door, quickly rushing up to your apartment to change your clothing and get ready. You put on your favorite cropped tank top, tight around your chest, and it’s in a blue color that you think looks great on you. You choose your shortest pair of jean shorts for the bottom of your ensemble, feeling a little ridiculous putting on as little clothing as possible for him. You rush to your mirror, tousling your hair a bit to make sure it looks in place. You can’t believe you’re doing this for what’s supposed to be a quick visit, but you dab on a bit of makeup - some mascara and a hint of blush, just to give you a fresh look. You take a deep breath and smooth your hair one more time before leaving down the stairs, making your way to the front of Joel’s house. You have to do this before you lose your nerve, you think to yourself, mentally urging your shaking hand forward. You inhale one more time before knocking on the door, feeling your stomach flipping with anticipation as it starts to open.

#fic: closer #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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greyskyflowers · 3 months

Text

Ichigo has horrible nightmares, because I refuse to believe that he doesn't, and insomnia.

Most of the time he just gets up for the rest of the night, goes to train or on runs to try to burn off the anxious energy.

If they're bad enough, or he's at the point where if he doesn't sleep then he going to pass out, he develops a habit of goes finding certain people.

The nightmares leave him a little frazzled, mind messy from lack of sleep and fear. They leave him a little more vulnerable, a little less self conscious of getting comfort because he may shake out of his skin if he doesn't settle down. Sometimes he does things without realizing it, fight or flight kicking in along side unsettled hollow instincts, and he's off to find somewhere he feels safe and can sleep.

In the human world, he'll sneak in to find Kisuke. Right, sneak, like anyone in that building doesn't know he's there.

Sometimes Kisuke's in his labs so Ichigo just sits down outside the door, just enough out of the way to not trip anyone, back to the wall and arms crossed over them to rest his head on.

It soothes the vulnerable feeling, the sharp edge of terror in his chest. He trusts Kisuke to sense a threat and respond to it. He also likes the feeling of his reiatsu, cool like river stones and soothing like summer rain.

If Kisuke is busy or out, then he'll find a spot where he feels close enough to Tessai or Yoruichi to grasp at them for comfort.

They're all great about it.

Yoruichi will come and curl up next to him, her reiatsu brushing against his skin like fur, soft and warm. She purrs until the panic doesn't itch under his skin so badly. He's woken up to blankets pulled over him and sometimes a pillow between him and the wall.

The true problems arise whenever he stays in soul society.

No one says anything but he knows they can all tell when he has a nightmare, his reiatsu reacting to his fear and discomfort. Between the nightmares and the fear of waking everyone up, he's too anxious to sleep.

It's the 4th night with no sleep and he's restless, eyes burning and head reeling. It's familiarity that has him walking mindlessly until he finds Shinji's office. He slips in and ignores the sharp gaze immediately on him. This isn't new, he did this a few times while training with them.

He sits down in the far corner, back to the wall and facing the door. He draws his legs and rests his head on them. He already feels better, sleep creeping up on him fast.

All the visored have a eerie quality to their reiatsu but Ichigo likes it, especially like this. The sun warmed and soft sandy feeling of Shinji's reiatsu covering him is enough for him to sleep.

Shinji might be the only one beside Kisuke that Ichigo breaks his distance rule for. It's easier for everyone if they keep acknowledgement to a minimum when Ichigo seeks them out in the night. They've had years, centuries some of them, to make their peace with what they've seen and done. Ichigo has not. It's a topic they all avoid, pretending that not talking about it makes it go away.

He's a little touch starved, he'll admit it. He doesn't get much contact that isn't fighting, or that isn't meant to hurt or teach.

The clawing urge to be safe eats at him, especially at night. It won't let him rest, keeps him awake with anxious thoughts or wakes him up with fear.

Very, very few things would willing take on Kisuke Urahara or Shinji Hirako, even if the prize was Ichigo.

So getting a little more personal is common with them. He sits a little closer, holds on a little tighter, visits them a little more. The pressure of their reiatsu feels like a weighted blanket.

He also find others he trusts for those nights.

He's goes to Kensei and ignores Shuhei's questioning and semi concerned look.

Kensei complains about having too many people in his office, Mashiro sticks her tongue out at him and Shuhei looks genuinely ruffled at the comment, but he doesn't turn Ichigo away.

He won't, wouldn't.

Kensei's reiatsu reminds him of swaying bamboo leaves and splotches of sunlight through tree branches, Mashiro's is tall grass and wildflowers, and Shuhei's is heavy but comforting.

Ichigo wakes up to Mashiro snoring on one shoulder, the side between him and the door, Shuhei is asleep on the other.

He also goes to Rose, who doesn't seem surprised to see him either.

Kira usually sits in the office too, a familiar restlessness and unease to him that Ichigo recognized in himself. They sit next to each other and it's nice to have the warmth of someone next to him.

He relaxes and can almost hear Rose's reiatsu humming, Kira's a gentle rain storm at his side.

There's a simmering fury that burns hot in the Visored everytime Ichigo comes to them, exhausted and anxious, and joins lieutenants already there for the same reasons.

Aizen left a mark on the younger ones, dark circles under their eyes and nightmares a constant battle.

Ichigo does well with them though. He sits quietly with Kira, sometimes they talk in low voice until they end up slumped against each other. He usually ends up between Mashiro and Shuhei, all of them falling asleep in a mess of limbs. He's unsure with Momo, a lot of people are, but she's growing to like him and it won't be long before they start talking. It doesn't hurt that Tōshirō thinks highly of Ichigo.

Tōshirō just waves him to the corner, in the middle of arguing with Rangiku and eventually kicking her out for the night. He's quiet as he goes back to work and the room is almost chilly, but it feels good against Ichigo's flushed skin. Tōshirō pauses a few times like he wants to say something, the words almost spilling out of his mouth, but he doesn't. He resumes working and Ichigo falls asleep to a snowstorm. Rangiku wakes him up in the morning with a smile and the smell of smoke and embers.

The 11th is... unexpected. It's the worst nightmare he's had in a while and stumbling out in a panic had brought him here. Maybe because nothing was stupid enough to come looking for a fight with Kenpachi and his men. That longing for safe eventually made the decision for him and he sat on the far edges of the division, hidden by the shadows. He knows that anyone awake would know he was there and sure enough, Yumichika comes around the corner and raises an eyebrow at him while Ikkaku looks over his shoulder. Ichigo just curls in a little tighter and watches them, waiting for them to kick him out or laugh. They don't do either. Yumichika just sighs and says something to Ikkaku and they sit down further down the walkway. They don't look at him, looking away or even closing their eyes. The tension slowly leaves, and it's hard to stay awake as he relaxes. The reiatsu that rolls over him smells like iron and he can vaguely tell where Kenpachi is, his reiatsu twisting and cracking like lightning.

He wakes up with just enough time to sneak out, hovering in front of Yumichika and Ikkaku hesitantly, only taking off when Kenpachi start howling about a fight.

They're laughing as he runs off.

Byakuya almost doesn't allow it, but Ichigo must look as bad as he feels because he only gets observed for a minute before he's ignored again. It's the only sign he gets that he won't get kicked out and it makes him hesitant at the door before slinking into the far corner and getting comfortable. He falls asleep to flowers and the cool warmth of spring cautiously grazing his skin. He wakes up to the smell of cold steel and the feel of scale and furs. Renji and Rukia sit beside him, waiting for him to wake up.

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

Do I go back and forth between Ichigo being everyone's secret crush or their collectively adopted, traumatized human? Yes, and everything/anything in between.

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f0point5 · 1 month

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With all the posts about Max’s first win I can’t stop thinking about how Y/N was feeling because it was still their feud era 🥺

do you have any headcanons about it?

I always had a rough idea of what happened after he won, I think it’s mentioned in the smau but I actually had some more detailed thoughts when I saw the reel on Max’s insta so…

Enjoy 🧡

Ps. Please ignore slight inaccuracies, I didn’t check the layout of the track’s parc fermé before writing this lol

**************************

It’s your dad who drags you to yet another race under the guise of actually seeing you for more than thirty minutes at an airport. You hardly bother being upset. The kid he wishes was his is entering his first race for Red Bull Racing, you weren’t expect him to spend the whole weekend with you while that was happening.

Of course Max goes and wins it.

The moment he takes the chequered flag and the garage erupts into noise that can’t even be softened by your headphones, you want to roll your eyes, but you can’t. You’re not sure why your heart is thundering in your chest and you’re lightheaded, but you can’t think straight to figure it out. You don’t even like the guy.

Later, you’ll realise it’s because for all the dislike, awkwardness, and misunderstanding, there’s one thing you know about Max Verstappen, and it’s that he deserves this. He’s deserved it since he was racing around on his stupid little quad bike right over your foot. He deserved it after every win and every rare loss. Every time you watched him load his kart into that battered van when his dad wouldn’t let anyone help him, every time he turned away from anyone who might notice he was crying after Jos spoke to him, every time he stood on that top step looking not happy, just relieved.

You don’t even realise you’re crying until Geri Horner hands you a tissue with a soft smile before she runs off to join her husband. You follow her out to parc fermé where Max is already out of the car, mobbed by people. Barriers aren’t keeping anyone away from F1’s story of the decade.

You’re making your way through the throngs of people without any clear idea of why. You’re not even sure you’re breathing. Your brain certainly feels short of oxygen. Max has his back to you as he talks to one of his pit crew, gesticulating wildly as the guy shakes him by the shoulder.

It takes pretty much all the courage you’ve ever had to tap him on the shoulder. Something in you is surprised he turns to look at you.

“Congratulations,” you say, past a lump in your throat.

He doesn’t say anything. His smile doesn’t fall, but his eyebrows raise, like in this sea of people congratulating him he’s surprised that you did.

“Uh, thanks,” he says squeezing the back of his flushed neck. Even with a grin he can’t dull, he manages to look so damn awkward, and he can’t meet your eyes. “It was a good race, huh?” He snorts out a chuckle like he’s just one a 100 metre dash at a school sports day.

“Oh, fucking hell, Max,” you scoff as you take hold of his wrist and pull him into a hug, one he returns so quickly it makes you laugh, shaking against him.

You squeeze him tighter and he responds in kind. You laugh again, and this time you feel him laughing, too. Maybe something in his sweat transmits his adrenaline, or the heady atmosphere of success just takes over and you lose your mind, because you find yourself wondering what would happen if you just never let him go.

It’s Jos who pulls you apart, giving his son one more hug before pushing him off to where the team is waiting to celebrate with him again. He even turns to you and gives a squeeze around the shoulder and a kiss to the crown of your head, which feels a little like being kissed by the pope.

You shrink back into the crowd of people as photographers move past you to get closer for more pictures. Max doesn’t even seem to notice them, talking to Helmut Marko and his dad, looking like he’s walking on air. You imagine he must feel weightless. You know that for some reason, you do.

“He’s phenomenal,” your dad says beside you. It’s a dig at you, but you don’t even care.

“Yeah,” you agree, watching Max hugging his race engineer, “he is.”

He may be an arrogant dick, but his talent is something you see once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and today you feel lucky. Your dad may never forgive you for not having talent like that but right then you promise to stop hating Max just because he does.

You’ll never be friends. You’ll never have more in common than a childhood that shattered you and made him invincible. You’ll probably never stop wondering what it’s like to be him.

But when you see him stand on that top step for what you know won’t be the last time, you cheer.

#max Verstappen x reader

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megalony · 5 months

Text

Not Without Eric

This is a Prince Eric (The Little Mermaid) imagine, I rewatched the movie and am desperate for more ideas for Eric. Any feedback would always be amazing, enjoy.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

@jonahhauer-kingg @melaninjoys @luna2034 @mystiqueprincess @fangirl-tothemax @musicistheway @wandamaximoffbae @notagreekgal28 @ellietalenfwlers

Masterlist

Summary: Eric chooses the wrong time to go off on a short voyage when (Y/n) goes into labour while he's away. He promised his wife he would be there with her.

(Mention of previous stillbirth)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Not that one."

A gentle smile that flashed his teeth crept onto Eric's face when his head tilted to the side to look over at his wife. His eyes creased at the corners and he let go of the shirt he was just about to fold and pack into the trunk that was set out on the end of the bed.

He watched with a smile that changed into a grin as (Y/n) reached across the bed and took the shirt, reeling it into her chest like it was a fish on a hook she was desperate to catch.

"I need that one… I can't sleep when you're not here."

Eric's heart did a small flip in his chest when he watched (Y/n)'s eyes cast down to her hands and that small, blushing smile that he loved so much was almost hidden from her face. He closed the trunk and moved round to sit on the edge of their bed, reaching his hand out to rest on (Y/n)'s knee.

"Okay, that shirt stays with you." His voice was soft and quiet and it made (Y/n)'s heart flutter when she looked up through her lashes. "I won't be gone long, sweetheart."

"I know,"

He knew it was hard for (Y/n) when he had to leave for voyages like this and Eric had cut down his voyages a lot in the past few years. When (Y/n) used to come along with him, they went out almost every month and it was perfect because they were together.

Now she was pregnant, again, going on a voyage was out of the question and even though Eric didn't join every voyage his ship coursed out on, he had to go on a few. He had to be there to make sure the trades went off smoothly and the ship and the cargo came back in tact and all in one piece. This was the last trip he was going on, then he would be home for when the baby was born and everything that followed afterwards.

"In two weeks, I'll be home with you… both of you."

(Y/n)'s hand moved to tangle in his curls when he leaned over and pressed his palms to her stomach. She could feel his fingertips ever so gently gliding across her exposed skin and when he kissed her stomach, she almost burst into tears.

"Don't be delayed,"

If Eric got delayed or shipwrecked, (Y/n) wouldn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't be alone in the days leading up to the birth, not with how much she was already worrying and how horrid she was going to feel. She needed him here, by her side.

"Don't worry, I'll be home right on time. I always come back to you, don't I?"

***

"(Y/n), darling please! Let us help you-"

"Not. Without. Eric!" Each word rose higher and higher in (Y/n)'s throat until Eric's name was the only thing she could comprehend and she bellowed the word so horridly that everyone in the castle would be able to hear her screams.

She was making the Queen cry.

The ageing Queen who always held her composure and contained her well mannered temper was now stood, crying against the bedpost that was holding her up and preventing her from collapsing to the floor. She wanted so terribly to reach out and take hold of her daughter in law and comfort her in some way, but she couldn't.

No one could get within arms reach of (Y/n) who kept shuffling, crawling and scraping across the floor so that no one could touch her. The one person she wanted was the one who wasn't here. The person who was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away on the sea. No one could get word to Eric that (Y/n) was in labour and no one had the power to bring him right back here where he was needed. All they could do was wish that somehow, their prayers would reach him and give him some sort of sign of their need for him.

(Y/n) had done this before.

She had gone through the night sitting in Eric's arms, waiting for labour to speed up. Then she had spend the day with Eric sat by her side, both of them laughing and crying and in pain together, riding out labour until their baby had been born. And the lifeless, eternally sleeping babe was placed into their arms.

It had all been for nothing.

(Y/n) had lost her baby boy and she didn't know why. Two years of heartache and dull, throbbing days had passed and led up to this moment. This was a time where (Y/n) couldn't have history repeating itself and she didn't want to do this alone. She didn't want to be in pain, crying in agony that she was going to give birth to another lifeless child that would never scream, cry and wriggle in her arms and never grow to be loved.

His name tore from (Y/n)'s chapped lips again as she went down on her hands and knees. Her head tilted in the direction of the balcony that was only a few feet away and she stared out at the unchanging, rioting sea that was mocking her. Telling her it had her husband hidden away somewhere and would never let him come back to her.

"I can't d-do this!"

"Help her, now!" Without waiting for (Y/n)'s response that would surely ensue a fight, the Queen moved into action.

She pushed herself off the bedpost and scrambled down onto her knees in front of the girl she thought of as her own child. When (Y/n) tried to weakly fight her off, she held (Y/n) against her chest and pulled her into a comforting, if broken, embrace. While a midwife and one of the maids knelt down by their legs as the Queen helped (Y/n) turn so her back was pressed up against the Queen's front.

The blood stained into the carpet and it caught (Y/n)'s attention, despite her cries and sobs. It was all she could look at while her body writhed, her legs numbly kicked out and her arms fought and smashed into her own chest to try and release some of the pain she was feeling inside.

"Eric!"

His name broke free from her chapped, bloodied lips the moment the midwife eased the newborn into her arms.

The sharp cry the newborn let out sent (Y/n)'s mind reeling and cut her right to her core. Those petrified screams made it seem like the child had been the one to go through nine hours of pure terror and become ripped apart from the inside out. It was as if the baby had born the harships in these few seconds of life when it was (Y/n) who was the one in pain. She was the one who felt numb and broken and praying everything would just end.

"A boy, Highness."

She didn't care. (Y/n) didn't want to know what was wriggling between her legs. She wanted to disappear. She wanted the ocean to carry her softly away until she found who her heart was aching for.

The newborn's chubby cheeks were burnt red and splattered with dots of blood and fluid, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were clamped shut. The way he wriggled made (Y/n)’s heart flutter, the sight of seeing her baby actually move instead of lay limp in someone else’s arms made her elated. But the screams that tore from his bright red lips made her shrink back in what she could only guess was repulsion.

(Y/n) thought that when this baby was born, she would be sobbing out of either joy or heartache, depending on which way it went. She thought that if their baby was okay she would be fighting the midwife to take them into her arms and hold them with her heart jumping out of her chest. (Y/n) thought it would feel so much better than this, she had heard so many women telling her how having a baby made them feel and (Y/n) was so desperate to have that feeling that she missed out on two years ago.

No one said she would feel closer to the emotions she felt last time than something different she was expecting. No one said she would feel this way.

Even though (Y/n) could feel happiness at knowing their baby was here kicking and screaming, it was dulled down almost completely by the overwhelming terror and the sinking feeling in her heart. Why was he screaming like the world was burning around him? Why did he sound like he was in so much pain when it was (Y/n) who was physically breaking both inside and out?

“Would you like to hold him, your highness?” The midwife’s words sent chills running through (Y/n)’s bloodstream and she dared not open her eyes to look at her baby.

“No.” (Y/n) repeated the word again and again to herself like she was a record stuck on repeat. Each time she whispered the word, it was spoken with more fury and pain and vengeance than before until she was almost screaming.

Her hands moved from her chest to smother her face with her palms, but it didn't stop the horrendous scream from leaving her lips and it didn't hide the tears that were streaming from her face. Every part of her body started to tremble as another scream rippled against her throat and her knees pulled up to her stomach, despite the agonising pain it caused.

(Y/n) wanted to go back.

She wanted to reverse time and rebound to part of her past where it was easier, where she first got married to Eric and everything was alright. Where no one was pestering her about having a child or smothering her when she didn’t do her job and lost her baby. Where no one then wrapped her in cotton wool when she got pregnant again. (Y/n) wanted to feel like herself, she didn’t want to feel like she was both a mother and a deliverer of precious cargo that was to be stolen from her.

She didn't know why, but when she stopped screaming, her body felt like it was fading. She felt like she was drifting away.

“She’s causing herself to haemorrhage, she's going to make herself ill, Majesty."

If she continued to struggle she would suffer a haemorrhage that was almost as bad as her previous one and losing more blood wasn’t going to help.

"I want Eric," It was the only thing that the Queen could comprehend before she felt her daughter in law go limp in her arms. And it was the Queen's turn to be sat on the floor, screaming for someone to help the lifeless girl in her arms.

They needed the Prince.

***

Anticipation, excitement and desire all burned inside Eric like a whildfire spreading through his bones when those all too familiar doors came into focus.

He felt the carriage wheels continue to roll even as Eric pushed himself up and jumped down onto the cobbles before it came to a stop.

He wanted to be inside. Those doors had never had so much appeal as they did these last few years. Never did Eric feel such a strong pull back towards the castle he was always trying to get away from. Until (Y/n). Knowing she was hidden behind those doors created an invisible rope binding her to Eric so when he went out to sea, the rope tugged at his heart strings. He envisioned those doors when he went to sleep, seeing himself pushing them open to find his family that called out to him when he was on a voyage.

Eric always used to think that the sea was where he belonged and nothing could tether him here to the Island when all he wanted was to be out on the rocky seas that claimed him for themselves.

Suddenly, family changed its meaning and home well and truly became the place that held (Y/n). Wherever she was, that was where Eric wanted to be.

With one bag held tight in his fist, Eric burst through the castle doors and heard the wet heel of his boot clack and stomp against the stone floor.

Where was she?

A twinge of disappointment tugged at his heart when he looked around and didn't see a single soul in sight.

Eric had never had to go and find her before. In the back of his mind he tried to chide himself, telling himself he was becoming entitled, but he couldn't help it. Every time he came back from a voyage, his girl was here waiting to pin him to the ground as soon as he stepped back through the doors. He'd never had to go scouting round for her when he came home, not once.

Hadn't she been informed he would be home today?

"Eric!"

That wasn't the voice he was searching for. Unease overtook his body and disappointment grappled in his eyes when his sights set on his mother. He loved her to the ends of the ocean, he truly did and it never mattered that they didn't see eye to eye, their bond was strong. But right at this moment, with his heart pounding in his chest and his bag clenched in his hand, he wanted his wife in his arms, not his mother.

Two weeks had dragged on by into an eternity and Eric was starting to feel withdrawl symptoms from his girls. He had to sleep at night on a swaying, rocking boat and refrain from reaching his arms out in the dark to try and find (Y/n). He had to wake in the dead of night and come to the realisation that the voice he heard was only a dream. He had to calm himself down and swallow down a gasp when he

remembered he was thousands of miles away from his wife. He had to pin himself to the bed and remind himself that he couldn't go searching for his wife when he realised she wasn't in his arms.

If Eric ever went on a voyage without (Y/n), he could guarantee that the moment he stepped through the castle gates, there she was. Stood at the doors waiting to jump into his open arms and whisper how much she had missed him.

"Eric, oh Lord you're finally back."

Eric didn't like the look on his mother's face or the way she seemed to relieved to see him. She didn't look angry, he knew that expression well. And she didn't look disgruntled or irritated, but he couldn't place how she was staring at him. Her arms hooked around his neck and reeled him down into an unsettling hug that made his breath get caught in his lungs for a few moments.

Why was she so thrilled to see him? Had there been storms nearby that made them worry he would be shipwrecked? Did they hear some wrong news that he had been injured or might be delayed?

"I am, is everything alright? Where's (Y/n)?" Leaning down, Eric pressed a kiss to her temple but he couldn't stop himself from looking around the hallway in case (Y/n) was about to come out from the shadows at any given moment and surprise him. He moved his hands to hold her elbows, steadying her but also keeping her close while he waited, somewhat impatiently, for a response.

"Thank goodness you're home," It was only then that Eric heard the fear in his mother's voice and realised that she was shaking from how badly she was gripping his arms. "You need to come with me. Now."

"Why?"

Something sparked to life in his vibrant blue eyes but his shoulders raised and tensed when he watched his mother press her lips together tightly in a way she did when she was nervous. She moved to grab his wrist and tried to drag him along with her but he was far too strong for her to move; he was a boulder in the ocean, unmoveable and set in his ways. He wanted to know what had happened and he wanted to know now.

"Tell me what's happened."

"Eric, sweetheart… she's had the baby."

He didn't realise he was falling until he felt his mother's nails digging into his wrist and Grimsby's arms bound beneath his arms to hold him upright. His knees bent out, his chest started to shake and no air seeped into his lungs as he let Grimsby push him back up onto unsteady feet that were about to collapse again.

She couldn't have.

(Y/n) couldn't have had the baby yet. It was too early. He was supposed to be here when it happened.

Eric was supposed to be home in plenty of time to prepare for the baby and he here to hold (Y/n)'s hand and curl her into his side and pray for her safety. This wasn't supposed to happen while he was away at sea and he stupidly thought he would be safe to have a two week journey and come home to find his wife perfectly fine with no signs of early labour.

She had been a week overdue the last time and things hadn't gone smoothly; far from it. Something within Eric told him, or rather lead him to believe that this baby would be right on time or another late arrival.

How stupid he had been.

"Is she alright?" Eric croaked through the words but he was already off in a sprint, halfway up the stairs with his mother in tow behind him along with Grimsby. Both of them running, the Queen lifting her skirts as they tried to keep up with the Prince who was stumbling over his feet.

He used the bannister as leverage to propell himself up the second flight of stairs and spared a glance behind him before he was running down the hall to find his wife.

Why had he gone away?

"Eric-"

"Mother is she alright?! Oh God, please, mother please…" Eric stumbled back a step when he felt her hands coiling around his arm, pulling him into her chest until he almost toppled her over.

His hands clamped down on her shoulders and his vision blurred with tears as he stared down at his mother, desperate to have an answer and be put out of his misery now. He couldn't have missed the birth of his second child. He had been there for the first and he was supposed to be here this time as well because he knew (Y/n) was fretting history repeating itself. How cruel could the world be that it would let this happen while Eric was out at sea?

"She needs you."

That meant she was alive and that was all Eric needed to hear.

With a hand pressed against her lower chest, the Queen leaned against the wall and grabbed Grimsby's arm to prevent him from following the Prince down the hall. They had to give the couple space and as much as she was desperate to check on (Y/n) and how she knew Grimsby would want to see the Princess as well, they had to stay back. For now.

The door opened much too easily as if Eric thought it would be locked or barracaded when he reached it. The door swung open and had Eric on his knees over the threshold, one hand on the door and one hand on the floor.

"Sweetheart,"

For a moment, (Y/n) thought his voice was a mirrage. She thought her mind was tricking her again like it had last night when she woke up, blazed with a fever, scrambling onto the floor when she thought she heard Eric coming home.

When her eyes set on him, a torrential downpour of tears flooded her face and a horrid, gurgling cry left her lips as her arms stretched out for him.

"Oh, sweetheart," What was she doing on the floor? Eric pushed himself up and stumbled across to where he could see his wife but he hadn't expected her to be curled up on the floor. He had been looking towards the vacant bed which had covers and pillows strewn all over.

There was his girl. The one who had been on his mind every second of every minute that passed by for the last two weeks.

She was sat awkwardly on the floor with her legs curled beneath her like they were broken and useless. Her body was slumped back against the bedframe with one arm slumped over the cot that was at the foot of the bed which her head was also resting on. Just the sight of the cot made Eric choke on a scream. He knew it was the same cot that they had gotten two years ago. The chip was still in the edge and there was a long crack down the side of the wooden cot.

The last time Eric saw that wretched thing, he had kicked it, threw it across the room and launched everything at it until it chipped and cracked and Grimsby had to pin him to the floor to stop him.

He thought it had been thrown out. He didn't realise his mother had kept it and defied his orders to have it burned. Eric had been expecting to just buy a new one and he wasn't sure if he was pleased or not that the old one was back in their room again.

"Eric," His name passed (Y/n)'s lips on a repeated loop and as soon as he was knelt in front of her, Eric swept her up into his arms.

His fingers dug into her toussled hair and his other arm bound to her waist until her chest was merged with his and he could feel each ragged, clawing breath fanning against his neck. Her lips pressed against his skin and he was sure she bit his neck too, but he didn't care. He scratched his nails against her scalp just to make sure this wasn't some sort of wretched dream and he leaned back until (Y/n) was slumped on his chest.

He could feel her nails digging into his upper back, scratching and clawing through his shirt and when she cried, each sound shivered through Eric's neck until he was sobbing into her hair.

It didn't occur to him until that moment to tilt his head and peek into the cot they were sat next to. His mother never said anything about the baby and he didn't think to ask; his first and only priority was (Y/n). But when he leaned over the side, he pulled (Y/n) tighter into his chest and pushed up higher onto his knees.

There was a baby in the cot.

A wriggling, stirring, yawning little baby that seemed too good to be true in Eric's unfathomable mind.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," Eric nudged his eyes against (Y/n)'s shoulder to brush away his tears and when he pulled back a little, he moved his hand from the back of her head to cup her neck. "Are you alright?"

"You're home," (Y/n) couldn't answer because she didn't know if she was actually alright or not. All she knew was that she felt broken, bruised, numb and now held together now that Eric was back.

"Why are you down here, you should be resting."

Eric went to move her but he stopped when one of her arms reached out and shakily reached over the crib. Her fingers skimmed across the newborn's chest like she was too afraid to actually touch him and it made Eric's heart speed up with hope and fear all at the same time.

"A-another boy,"

"I can see that, and I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you. But first, I need to make sure you're alright."

He didn't give her time to question or say a thing. His arms moved to slip beneath her bent knees and the other stayed curved around her back so he could carefully ease her into his arms as he stood up. His eyes took a sneaking glance back into the crib, just to reassure himself that their second son really was there and not just a figment of his imagination. Then he moved over towards the bed and gently laid (Y/n) back down where she should have stayed.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to hear that from you, it's me who should be sorry. I promised I'd be here and I wasn't. I'm never leaving you, ever."

He tried to get (Y/n) to lay down but she wouldn't, her arms bound around his neck and reeled him closer until he was thrown off balance and fell forward onto her with a grunt. His left arm stayed pinned between her back and the soft mattress while his right hand pressed down into the mattress to stop his full weight from falling onto her and risk hurting her.

"You're home," Her lips kissed him eagerly, hungrily and desperately and when her fingers skimmed across his cheek, Eric reached up to grab her hand and hold it closer.

"I'm home." He smothered her lips with his, nipping at her lower lip and pulling it between his teeth as his tears merged with hers. Eric kept her hand pressed against his cheek, nuzzled into her touch and desperately kissed her like she was the oxygen he needed to survive.

He wasn't going anywhere ever again. He couldn't go on a voyage unless (Y/n)- and now their son- were by his side.

It was a risk he couldn't take anymore.

#prince eric x reader #prince eric imagine #eric imagine #eric x reader #prince eric #imagne #the little mermaid #the little mermaid imagine #jonah hauer king imagine #jonah hauer king

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star-going-supernova · 3 months

Note

SBI idea: Feral Freddy who’s completely losing it over his son boy and all the confused animatronics watch as he goes on a war path <33

I just want more feral Freddy going bonkers over Gregory getting hurt :)

As you can see, I decided to throw a handful of prompts together for this ficlet. I haven’t put much thought into this AU other than to say, for the sake of having the satisfaction of letting Freddy go feral on him, Afton has not been springlocked. So, if that’s not telling enough, then I’m sure the title is, lol. Warning for blood and a bit of gore!

The Bite

The knife sank in to its hilt, and there it stayed as Gregory fell to the floor with a suddenness like his knees had been kicked out from under him. A soft noise of confused pain left him, and already, a glassiness had come over his eyes.

Afton laughed.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so—and perhaps he would have been more careful to stab his young victim in a more secluded location—if he’d known about Freddy.

With the echo of Gregory’s summons in his head—the button had been spammed, either in impatience or panic, and Freddy always assumed the latter for caution’s sake (and had been wrong only once)—Freddy turned the corner into the atrium in time to watch Gregory finish falling onto his back, where he blinked sluggishly up at the ceiling.

Freddy saw this, and the knife, and the growing stain of blood on Gregory’s shirt, and the man standing over him, laughing laughing laughing away. And then Freddy saw red.

Afton didn’t have longer than a second or two to register the loud, crashing footsteps heading his way before he was tackled to the floor by a three hundred and fifty pound robot. This, as one might imagine, wasn’t very good for his health.

Most of Afton’s ribs snapped on impact, and his skull bounced against the tiles with a resounding crack. Just as quickly as he was thrown to the floor, he was reeled upward, Freddy crouching over him and clutching handfuls of Afton’s shirt. His claws pierced the fabric and sliced through his chest.

Blank black eyes with mere pinpricks of white pupils glared down at Afton. Freddy roared in the man’s face, his jaw hinging open wide. And then he pulled the dazed man forward, leaned down himself, and engulfed Afton’s entire head all the way to his chin in his maw before biting down with the force of a hydraulic press.

The prior history of animatronic bites, while gruesome, nonetheless looked like mere nibbles in comparison to this bite. For the fact remained that Freddy did not have a particularly cavernous mouth.

Afton’s head more or less exploded. Blood and mush burst out through the narrow gaps between Freddy’s teeth, and absolute gore plopped wetly to the floor.

Freddy opened his mouth. His razor-sharp teeth had nearly decapitated Afton, and it was only by a few fleshy threads and a determined spinal column that the ruin of his head—the parts that weren’t liquified, that was—didn’t splatter at Freddy’s knees. The mess hung around the stump of the man’s neck like a deflated jellyfish.

Freddy turned his head slowly, mechanically. For a bot that had otherwise seemed so alive before, it was chilling to see.

A short distance away, Vanny eeped in fear when his dark gaze landed on her. She raised her hands in the universal sign of surrender.

“You will call for an ambulance,” Freddy told her lowly, “and you will unlock the pizzaplex, and you will not attempt to escape.” He stood up to his full height, and only then dropped the limp body. The remains of Afton squished to the floor.

Hands shaking, Vanny nodded rapidly. She couldn’t quite look away from her boss’s splattered gray matter.

Ignoring her, and with the threat dealt with, Freddy turned his attention to Gregory. Feeling quite distant from himself, he knelt beside the boy, who was trembling faintly and thoroughly in shock, and examined him. The knife, he knew, could not be removed.

With bloodstained, gentle hands, Freddy lifted Gregory into his arms. Gregory seemed only barely aware of him; one of his hands fumbled against Freddy’s chest, leaving a small, smeared, bloody handprint over the lightning bolt.

Freddy’s warning systems blared in fearful rage. He strode from the room as evenly as he could, trying to keep from jostling Gregory.

• • •

An hour later found Freddy in Parts and Service, making use of the animatronic-sized showers and rough cleaning brushes. Though more than one human’s blood stained his hands and chest, he focused only on Gregory’s, fiercely, angrily, harshly. He scrubbed with enough force to scratch his paint, and he scrubbed where the handprint had been long after it had been washed down the drain.

Chica joined him at some point, his awareness of his surroundings dulled, and she carefully cleaned away the blood on his teeth and jaw and all the other places Gregory’s was not.

She did not comment on the spot of exposed silver on his chest, where the orange and blue had been completely scoured off.

• • •

It was a month before Gregory was well enough to return to the pizzaplex. After hours, naturally. He ducked through the halls, skillfully evading the STAFF bots, and he couldn’t contain his grin when he knocked on the door to Freddy’s green room.

Freddy was plainly confused when he opened the door, and it took a second for him to look down. Gregory’s smile widened.

With an inarticulate noise of profound shock and relief, Freddy swooped down to scoop Gregory up, inhumanly fast. He laughed as he settled against Freddy’s chest, and the tight wrap of metal arms around his body didn’t scare him. He knew exactly how dangerous Freddy could be; his memory of That Night, after being stabbed, wasn’t the clearest, but he remembered enough.

“You are here,” Freddy whispered, voice verging on glitchy. He hugged Gregory impossibly tighter, yet never too tight. “You are alive.”

“Thanks to you,” Gregory said. “You really saved me, y’know.”

“I thought I would lose you, superstar. I thought—”

“You didn’t. And you’re not gonna. I mean, you definitely made sure that psycho could never hurt me again.”

Freddy growled. “He deserved nothing less.” He let Gregory sit up—encouraged it, even—and Gregory kindly didn’t tease him when Freddy’s eyes flickered the way they did when he was scanning someone.

Perched mostly on only one of Freddy’s arms, Gregory allowed his protector to examine him, even going so far as to pat him down as thought looking for hidden injuries. And when Freddy was satisfied with the rest of his inspection, his eyes zeroed in on the exact spot the knife had been.

Gregory lifted the hem of his shirt and felt Freddy spasm. The scar wasn’t that bad, all things considered. As it was, the actual knife wound was fairly neat, just a line of slightly raised red scar tissue. The scars from the resulting surgery and stitches just made it look worse. More… extensive.

Freddy’s thumb brushed lightly against the skin near the injury, but not surprising at all, he didn’t actually touch it.

“See?” Gregory said, letting him look for a minute before dropping his shirt back down. “They patched me up, and now I’m just fine. Doesn’t even hurt unless I try twisting around.”

Freddy nodded slowly, not so much unbelieving as he was gradually coming to accept that as true. “I am… relieved. To hear that.”

Relieved felt like way too small of a word for the desperate light in Freddy’s eyes and the way he carefully guided Gregory closer again with a hand on his back. Gregory went easily, happy to tuck his face against Freddy’s jaw.

He knew he was safe there.

#i answered a thing #anonymous #fnaf fic #fnaf security breach #star's stories #life and times of star

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kinkyrafe · 6 months

Text

Distraction

This work is 18+. MDNI!!

Summary:

Rafe, Topper and you are in an established poly relationship and you live together. One evening, Rafe and you need to distract Topper. The best way to do that is with s e x. And action.

Warnings: light dom/sub dynamics, pure smut basically with very, very little plot

@maybanksbabe Libra, this is for you. you wanted to be tagged. proceed with caution. this is nearly 6000 words of sex, completely un-betaed, hardly proofread... you have been warned.

Read on AO3.

All three of you have problems with your family: Ward Cameron is a fucking psycho, Cynthia Thornton is an authoritarian dictator and your parents are... well... you know best what your parents are.

Fact is that parents and family are a sensitive issue for all three of you which is why you don’t talk about it very often. It is also why all three of you revel in this sweet little safe space that is your relationship and why none of your parents are ever allowed to set one foot into the apartment that you share.

You are chilling on the couch, your legs draped over Topper, both of you scrolling through social media, showing each other posts and reels, while Rafe is working on his laptop at the kitchen table, smiling over to the two of you every now and then.

"You should have finished work this morning when we both were at work, too," Topper teases him with a sly grin.

You raise your eyebrow at Topper, "Careful," you say amused, "You know he'll make you pay for comments like this once he's done."

Topper wiggles his eyebrows at you and you realize that this is what he’s hoping for - you should have known.

He opens his mouth to say something else, when the phone in his hand starts ringing. He looks at it and his expression darkens immediately at the sight of his mother's name on the screen. "Oh great," he mumbles and gets up.

"Don't answer it," you advise half-heartedly although you already know that it's in vain because Topper accepts every single call, especially if it's from either of his parents.

"Is it Cynthia?" Rafe asks from the kitchen table a couple of feet away. You nod silently. "Tell her I say hi!" He calls after Topper.

Topper just flips him off as he leaves to his room.

Cynthia does not approve of your relationship in the slightest and although it's been several years since Topper legally became an adult, his mother still tries to control every aspect of his life and uses every opportunity to let him know how little she thinks of his life choices. She doesn't like you but maybe she would accept you at some point if it wasn't for the fact that there is still is Rafe - and Rafe and Topper had a connection way before you and Topper did.

Rafe and you share a long, meaningful look before Rafe shrugs and goes back to his work. You look right through him, though; you see his worry how his shoulders are all tense now and how his eyebrows are drawn together. The atmosphere has shifted in the room. It was all cozy and relaxed before and one call of one of your parents just changed everything. Now it is heavy and tense. You hate it.

You pick on your nails and try not to listen to the muffled sounds coming out of Topper's room that sound a lot like Topper defending himself non-stop. After a while, everything is silent. You wait for Topper to come back out but he doesn't. A couple of minutes later Rafe notices it as well. He closes his laptop. "Do you think they are still talking?" He asks.

You shake your head. "He's been quiet for a while."

Rafe pushes the laptop away from himself and gets up. "I'll check on him."

That is when Topper's door opens and Topper comes back into the living room. He is clearly upset, his hair all tousled from constantly running his hands through it, his jawline tense and he is avoiding eye contact which is always the biggest sign for him.

Already standing in the middle of the room on his way to Topper's, Rafe reaches out for him and pulls him close with a soft "Hey there." Topper almost melts against him. Rafe kisses his head with so much love and you wish it would be enough to take away all of Topper's worries.

You lock eyes with Rafe again, silently asking him what to do. When it comes to Topper's emotions, it is usually best to follow Rafe's instincts. They have known each other since they were kids and their emotional connection was way stronger than yours and Topper's was when Topper first came into your relationship. This is something that is really hard to catch up on.

Rafe jerks his head very subtly and you immediately get up from the couch and approach them. "We're here for you," you mumble against Topper's shoulder, kissing it softly as you start stroking his back in comfort.

Topper takes a step back from the two of you and grabs Rafe’s belt. "What are you doing?" Rafe asks bewildered. He takes a step back himself when Topper opens his belt with trembling fingers. "Don't," he says when he grasps what Topper is up to.

"Let me -" Topper starts explaining but cuts off and tries to open Rafe's pants instead.

"Top, stop," Rafe insists, pushing Topper's hands away. "Stop it!" Topper doesn't stop though, taking a step closer to Rafe, trying to kiss him demandingly.

"Topper, he said no," you try to step in.

"Come on, you love it when I suck you off, so just let me-" He tries to palm Rafe's dick but Rafe takes another step back, shoving Topper's hands away, forcefully this time, and when this still isn't enough for Topper to try to get his hands on him, Rafe explodes.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" He growls.

Topper finally looks at him, his eyes just as angry. "What is your problem? We fuck all the time, why not now?"

"Because you're upset," you say, stepping in between the two of them.

"Yeah, I know, thank you for reminding me," Topper snaps.

"Talk to us," you tell him.

Topper just looks at you angrily. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it." He turns around, too agitated to stand still. "You guys never understand!"

"Oh, we don’t understand what's it's like to have fucked up parents?" Rafe shouts, "We?" He motions between you and him. "Fuck off, Topper! Have you fucking met Ward?" Rafe turns to leave the room while Topper opens his mouth for whatever he wants to say next.

"Stop, both of you," you insist loudly. When both of them look at you, you continue, "Rafe, this is not what Topper meant, I'm pretty sure, he meant that we don't understand what he needs - and Topper, how the hell do you want us to understand if you don't talk to us?" Topper and Rafe stare at each other, clearly still frustrated over what has just happened. "Stop being idiots, both of you. We were all fine before Cynthia called so this is just because of her and I refuse to give her so much power over us that we are fighting because of her." You turn to Topper and see him swallow thickly. "Rafe wanted to comfort you, and even if you needed something else, you can't just use him as a distraction whenever you like - no matter if you blow him or not. You really should know that! You need to tell him or us what you want - if you don't want to talk, fine, if you want to have sex, perfect, but you need to fucking tell us."

Topper rakes his fingers through his hair again. "I know," he whispers, very vulnerable now, "Fuck, I'm sorry." He presses his hands against his eyes, trying to force down tears. He swallows again and takes his hands from his face, looking directly at Rafe now. "I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to make you feel good because she... yeah..." Because Cynthia probably did nothing else but bash Rafe the entire time. Topper doesn't say that though, he doesn't want to talk about it and that is fine as well. It is nothing new anyway. He swallows again. "I'm sorry for overstepping."

Rafe steps forward into Topper's space and wraps his arms around him. "It's okay," he mumbles into his hair and kisses him comfortingly. "Apology accepted."

You smile at the two of them. Those are your boys. You step closer again, gently rubbing both their backs for comfort. "I love you two so much," you whisper and before you know it you're in the middle of a triad hug and everything is fine again.

"So, what do you want to do now?" You ask when you all let go. "Are you done with work, Rafe?" Rafe nods. "Are you hungry?"

"Um..." Topper tries, looking a little embarrassed, and Rafe's and your attention is immediately on him. "I would love to have sex if the two of you are in?"

You look at Rafe who is definitely in by the way his pupils dilate instantly. You exchange a single glance and that's all you need to know. "We're so in," you say and let your hand run down Topper's chest suggestively. "You gotta tell us what you want though." Topper is not good at communicating and maybe this is one way to help him improve his communication skills.

"I..." he stutters, physically responding to your touch.

"Do you want to watch me and Rafe?" You ask teasingly because you are positive that whatever he has in mind, this is not it. Having to watch you is almost like a punishment for him.

Realizing what you are up to, Rafe grins at you, amused.

Topper grimaces. "No," he shakes his head, looking at you, almost offended.

You take your hands off of him and get your hands under Rafe's shirt, letting your nails trail across his stomach in a way that instantly sends goosebumps all over his arms. You smirk at him, clearly enjoying yourself, before you look back at Topper. "I don't know what you want if you don't tell us, Christopher," you tease him.

You realize your mistake almost before the name leaves your mouth.

Rafe tenses beneath your fingers and Topper's expression hardens again. "Don't call me that."

It really is stupid of you to call him by the name only his mother calls him right when he is upset about her. "Sorry, I didn't think," you apologize immediately and for a second you think that you ruined everything and Topper will retrieve back into his head, but then Topper takes a deep breath and looks straight at you.

"I want you two to use me to get yourselves off," he says matter-of-factly and you think that this is the first time you actually hear him say these words in the two years you've been together now. He swallows before he continues to clarify, "And I want one of you to fuck me, I don't care who. You can decide. Just... distract me. I don’t know, I'm gonna go shower." With that, he turns on his heels and leaves the living room. You both look after him, both visibly impressed.

"Fuck that was hot," Rafe hisses next to you, "You have to make him say it out loud more often." You nod.

"How do you think we should do this?" You ask him as the two of you walk over to your bedroom, "Anything in mind? Anything you want to do?"

Rafe shrugs.

"I have an idea but that would be more your kinks than his," you say, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

He looks at you, all ears. "Tell me?"

You look straight into his eyes, curious about his reaction. "I thought about bending him over the kitchen table, spanking him until he barely can hold himself up anymore, and then fucking him." His reaction doesn’t disappoint.

Rafe just stares at you for a second, mouth open, unable to swallow. You were so right, this is rather for him than it is for Topper. He palms his cock and adjusts his pants. "I'm so hard right now." Anything that involves impact play is usually more up Rafe's ally than anyone else's. He loves pain - Topper and you not so much.

"Aw," you tease him, giddy about how easy it is to rile up both of your boys. "Told you it was more for you than for him."

"You're making me sub way more than I want to," Rafe complains.

You start laughing, holding your hands up in defense. "I'm not making you do anything, Rafe. This is a free country."

"Mh," He pouts, grabs you around the waist and pulls you closer. Quietly, as if it pains him to say it out loud, he says, "Do that to me next time it's only the two of us?" He tips his forehead against yours and breathes in your scent.

You smile up at him, invading his space, kissing him affectionately on the lips. "Sure - although I think we could find a way to include Top."

Rafe pouts again, for real this time. "Please don't let him do the spanking, he's too soft."

You can't help but laugh. "Alright, I won’t. But right now we need an idea for him. What do you think is best to distract him from that evil witch?"

"Let's keep it simple," Rafe says with a shrug, "Top on his back, you sit on his face and I'll fuck him - and then we switch, you ride him or you use a strap-on, I don’t know, and I’ll have him blow me." Simple. Huh.

Now it is your turn to stare at him, your mouth dry, making it difficult to swallow. That sounds fantastic.

"Alright, then," you say as cool as humanly possible while you watch Rafe take his shirt off. "Do you want to lead today?" And he looks at you with wide eyes because your offer is a big deal to him.

With a shake of the head, he declines. "Nah, let's take him like we're used to." What you are used to is you as a domme, Rafe as a switch and Topper as a sub.

"You sure?" You ask.

He comes closer, cups your face with one hand and kisses you softly. "One hundred percent."

"What is one hundred percent?" Topper's voice comes from the bedroom door. His hair is wet now, styled half-heartedly to the side and he only put his trunks back on.

Rafe reaches out to him and coaxes him forward, "That we're gonna distract you ," he says softly as Topper steps closer. Rafe wraps one arm around him, pulling him close, and presses a soft kiss to Topper's forehead.

"Are you sure you want sex?" You ask carefully, just to make sure. "We could also do something else? Whatever you want."

Topper just shakes his head and looks up, eyes bright now with anticipation. "No, please, I really want to." So that's settled then.

"Alright then," Rafe says, a smirk forming on his lips. He looks at you expectantly and that is your cue.

"How about, you undress Rafe now that he really is in the mood for it?" You ask Topper, kissing his shoulder. Topper goes red immediately, clearly embarrassed by how he behaved earlier. You take off all of your clothes except for your panties while Topper undoes Rafe's belt and pulls down his pants and his underwear at the same time.

You order Rafe to sit on the bed, propped up against the headboard while you let your hands travel all over Topper's body. You kiss the nape of his neck, letting your teeth nibble over the skin there. It makes him gasp immediately. "Go and make Rafe feel good, get him hard," you whisper into Topper's ear demandingly and Topper obeys promptly. You follow him onto the bed and begin to kiss down his back as he begins to kiss Rafe's torso. He smells good, a mixture of freshly showered skin, his body wash and his personal smell that you fell in love with a long time ago.

You kiss down his back until you reach his tailbone. You give the skin there a lot of extra love, his tailbone being a not so secret sweet spot of his. At the same time, you pull down his trunks and guide him out of them. He is hard already.

You hear Rafe hiss as Topper takes him into his mouth for the first time tonight. "That's nice," you tell him, your eyes fixed on the expression of pleasure in Rafe's face, as you put lube on your fingers, "Get Rafe hard so that he can fuck you later." Topper moans at your words which in turn makes Rafe moan because of the vibrations around his cock. You love all of this so much. Everything is more fun when it is the three of you.

You watch mesmerized as your first finger enters Topper without a warning. It is so hot, you will never get used to this sight. Topper moans and immediately clenches around your finger, pulling his mouth off of Rafe with a gasp. "Feels good," he murmurs.

You smack him hard on his left buttock. He groans and rocks his hips backwards. "I didn't say you could stop sucking Rafe, did I?" You ask.

"No," he answers, "Sorry." And with that he swallows Rafe down again, almost making Rafe come on the spot.

"Jeez," Rafe swears, "You really mean it tonight." He brushes the still damp hair out of Topper's face and watches him fondly as Topper puts everything he has into this blow job.

"Keep his head right there," you tell Rafe as you start moving your finger. You twist and twirl it until you can feel Topper's knees shaking a little bit and the moans and gasps that come out despite the presence of Rafe's cock in his mouth are nothing but beautiful. You work in a second finger and continue stretching him.

Topper always stretches easily, his hole being used to it. It doesn't take long until three of your fingers fit easily and he is worked up enough.

You move forward on the bed and replace Rafe's hands on Topper's head with yours. "Look at you," you say softly to Topper, "Making Rafe hot all over. Making him sweat. Making him feel good. Like the good sub that you are." Topper moans at your praise and continues to work his mouth and hand over Rafe. You look up at Rafe shortly to see how worked up he is already. He could probably come right then and there if he didn't hold it together. Topper sure knows what your boyfriend likes.

You decide to make it a little harder for the two of them. "Fuck him, Rafe," you command and hold Topper's head steady so that Rafe could thrust his hips upwards. "Keep that mouth wide open, Top. If it gets too much, tab my hand." Rafe watches his dick slide in and out of Topper's mouth with each slow thrust of his hips, eyes wide with arousal.

"That is so hot," Rafe pants out.

"Someone wanted to get used, didn't he?" You ask seductively, "So, let's use him." And you continue to hold Topper steady, watching Rafe buck up his hips, listening to Topper gag every now and then. So hot.

Rafe stops thrusting upwards when he is close. Not wanting to come just yet, he stills his hips, panting heavily and gets up onto his knees. "Lay back," he tells Topper and gives him a little push.

With one swift motion, he has Topper flash on his back and Topper's legs up in the air, propped up against his shoulder. Topper can't do much but gasp, completely out of breath.

"No break for that filthy mouth of yours," you tell him as you lean over his face and kiss him seductively, holding his chin tight to assert control.

He moans obscenely when Rafe pushes three fingers into him. You watch mesmerized as they sink deeper into Topper. The muscles of Rafe's arm twitch which means that he must be working those fingers inside Topper's ass. "My fingers are different from Y/N's, hm?" He teases Topper and you almost get jealous as you suddenly crave having these fingers and their skills inside you.

Rafe then pulls a condom over with dick, lubes it up and pushes the tip of his dick inside Topper.

Topper groans and wiggles a little in discomfort but between the two of you, you manage to keep him still. You continue to kiss him and swallow most of the noises that would otherwise leave his mouth.

"You feel so good," Rafe praises him and continues to push in further.

"Do you hear that?" You whisper against Topper's lips, "You're making Rafe feel good."

"Yeah," Topper replies needily and tilts his hips so that Rafe can enter him more easily. He gasps against your lips when Rafe hits a certain spot deep inside of him.

"Such a good boy," you whisper softly before you continue to kiss him relentlessly, giving him as little time to breathe as possible.

Once Rafe is inside Topper entirely, he waits, giving Topper some time to adjust, breathing deeply as he has trouble keeping his hips still. You stop kissing Topper and straddle his chest, facing Rafe. "Tell Rafe how he is making you feel, Topper," you order, remembering how hot Rafe thought it was when Topper outright told you what he wanted from you tonight.

"So good," Topper pants, "I'm so full."

You reach out and touch Rafe's chest, letting your fingers brush over his torso, down his stomach, all the way to his crotch and back up again. You watch his muscles flex underneath your fingers. "Do you enjoy being full?" You ask and brush your fingers across Topper's cock while watching Rafe's face where his arousal is so openly on display.

"Yeah," Topper whispers as Rafe's fingers replace yours on his dick and Rafe starts to stroke him up and down the lengths of it.

"Do you like being touched like this?" You continue to ask and signal Rafe to start moving.

"Yes," Topper whimpers, "I do, it's the best thing in the world."

You grin at Rafe. "The best thing in the world?" You ask, your tone mocking now.

"Yes," Topper gasps as Rafe's hips pick up speed. "By far."

"Ah, Top," Rafe groans. He is slamming his hips into Topper but you know that it is Topper's words that arouse him so much.

"You enjoy hearing that?" You ask Rafe as you move backwards a little so that Topper can eat you out. He knows exactly what you want from him, bringing his hands to your thighs, his mouth immediately getting to work as soon as your vulva is close enough.

"Yeah," Rafe grunts, "So much."

You smile at him, a loving expression on your face as you bend over to kiss him.

It is a mixture of moans and gasps in your bedroom for a little while and you just love it. It is so incredibly intimate. Taking the whole scene in, almost makes you come just like that. Topper's tongue is doing the rest. You are so riled up already.

Rafe is incredibly close ever since he first started fucking Topper's mouth, he is panting against your lips, barely able to respond to your kisses. You make it more difficult for him by using one hand to hold his face close and the other to let your nails trail all over his body, leaving scratch marks behind.

And Topper is getting fucked just like he likes it best, Rafe steadily fucking into him with hard, deep thrusts, his fist stroking Topper's dick, the rhythm of his fist mirroring that of his hips. He is eating you out well, but he is lucky that the frequent breaks, he has to take in between licking you, only add to your arousal.

“May I come?” Topper asks completely out of breath.

“You can come whenever you want,” you say and scratch his hard nipples with your nails. “But Rafe will keep fucking you until he comes himself, keep that in mind!”

Topper groans and you know that he wants to fight it, keep it in a little longer, but Rafe is playing dirty, pushing all his buttons, so Topper comes not even a minute after asking for permission. His whole body spasms with the force of his orgasm.

You give him a little break from eating you out until he regains control over himself to some extent, but then you decide to take matters into your own hands. You lift your hips higher up so that you can actually see Topper’s face. "Tongue out," you order and reach around to grab his hair, holding him steady as you first slide your pussy over his tongue, back and forth, and then push down onto his tongue, making it enter you as deep as it goes. "So good," you praise him as he gasps for breath. "So, so good." You do the same thing again, sliding your pussy back and forth in a rhythm that feels good, from your clit all the way to the entrance of your vagina. Your hand is tangled into his hair, keeping him there so that you can literally use him just as you wish until your orgasm washes over you.

“Oh thank god,” you hear Rafe whisper and you open your eyes to see him thrust into Topper a couple more times before he comes himself.

When he comes down from his orgasm, you all collapse onto the bed, breathing heavily. You take a cloth from your nightstand and hand it to Rafe who cleans Topper and himself a little bit. When he is done, Topper snuggles up against Rafe’s chest almost immediately and Rafe lets him, closing his arms around him.

You scooch a little closer, your fingers tracing patterns on Toppers back and Rafe’s arms.

“Did you wait until I came?” You ask Rafe. He looks at you over Topper’ head.

“Yeah, I wanted you to come first,” he replies, his voice soft and low, fully sated.

“That’s hot,” you say, voice impressed. "How are you?" You ask Topper, patting his shoulder so that he knows you’re addressing him.

"Good," he whispers against Rafe’s chest, "Better, definitely."

You smile up at Rafe.

The three of you lie there for a little while, enjoying each other’s company, cuddling silently, until Rafe asks, "Ready for round two?"

Topper looks at him in surprise. "We wanted to hit the gym tomorrow morning."

“Yeah, but we’re not done with you quite yet,” you tell him and push his shoulder down so that he is lying on his back once more.

"I'll reward you for every extra rep," Rafe wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

That sentence goes immediately to Topper's dick. "Alright, I'm in," he says.

A minute later, Topper finds himself on his back again, with you on top of him this time, riding his dick, while Rafe holds him down.

"I want to come twice before you are allowed to come again," you tell Topper as you fuck yourself on his dick.

Topper groans, unsure of whether that is realistic, as he could probably come again already.

"Oh, is it too much?" You ask viciously and let your hands trail down his torso, "I could always ignore your dick," you let him slip out and sit down on one of his thighs, "and use one of your thighs instead." You begin to rub your pussy over his thigh, stimulating your clit.

"No," Topper whines, "Please, I'll be good."

You slide over his thigh faster. "You sure you can take it?" Your words are addressed at Topper but your gaze is fixed on Rafe who watches you in awe.

"Yes, I'm sure, I promise," Topper nearly shouts in his desperation.

"You better hold that promise," you say and let yourself sink down on his cock again.

You reach behind, steadying yourself on his thighs as you begin to thoroughly ride him. He feels so good in you and the position hits just the right spots. You shamelessly rub your finger over your clit, stimulating as many nerves as possible, until you explode with an orgasm so intense, it takes you a while to come back to your senses.

When you open your eyes again, you look into two heavily aroused faces.

You take in one last breath before you bend forwards. "That was the first one," you tell Topper. "It's not gonna get any easier from here. You love some good cockwarming, don’t you?" You tease and Topper's eyes get glassy with tears.

That doesn’t stop you or makes you go any easier on him. Topper knows his safe words, he will use them if it ever gets too much.

"You wanted to get used," you say, "Now this is us using you."

You remain sitting on his rock hard cock and tell Rafe to fuck his mouth again.

You are bent forward slightly to be able to hold Topper's face steady and watch for any clues of discomfort. You do it so often that each of you is used to it on the receiving end and practiced and careful at the giving end but you still like to make sure everyone is safe, especially in Topper's position right now, lying on his back with you on top of him.

Plus, you love watching a throat bulge from a dick.

Rafe comes down Topper's throat raw and dirty and Topper swallows it so eagerly you almost feel bad for letting him wait until you come another time. Unfortunately for him, you never back down on what you say though.

You watch Rafe kissing Topper, probably tasting himself on Topper's tongue. You know how much he loves this.

"You did so well," you hear Rafe whisper praise against Topper's lips and Topper can't do anything but weakly smile at him, completely out of breath.

You brush over Topper's nipples to get his attention. He nearly flinches at the touch.

"Almost done," you say with a smirk. You decide against riding him again as he would probably not be able to make it until you reach another orgasm.

Instead you lift yourself up a little and turn around so that you are sitting on Topper's lap with your back towards his face. When he slides in you again, he gasps for air so much that you know you made the right decision. Hopefully he will make it until you come again because he's so exhausted already that you really don’t want to punish him on top of that. Would it be fun anyway? Sure.

You remain sitting on his lap and you spread your legs wide, his cock deep inside of you, as hard as ever.

"Come here," you say to Rafe. You're in desperate need to watch these fingers again. "Make me come," you tell Rafe and he doesn't have to be told twice, massaging your clit in a way that could make you squirt if you wanted.

You watch his fingers the entire time, and you know by Rafe's smirk that he sees right through you. "My eyes are up here, gorgeous," he whispers and tilts your face up towards his to kiss you.

"I know," you reply and kiss him back, "Not what I want to look at though."

Rafe leans closer, probably to force you to look at him so he can watch your face while you come but you take the opportunity to work your mouth over his body. You mouth along his chest, lick his nipples which still overstimulates him a little since his last orgasm was a few minutes ago - but he loves it, so he lets you. Feeling encouraged, you use your teeth and nibble and bite at everything that comes in your way.

It is when Rafe takes his own mouth to your neck, doing the same, that it is over for you. You come hard, breathing against Rafe’s neck, moaning shamelessly into his ear.

You give Rafe a soft thank you kiss before you finally turn your attention back to Topper for the last time today.

You order him to draw his legs up and hook your arms over them to manage to keep them as still as possible.

"Finger him," you tell Rafe next and Topper's immediate loud whine is the prettiest noise you get to hear all night. Once again you watch in awe as Rafe's fingers disappear inside Topper, making Topper pant and shout and tremble.

You kiss Rafe passionately as you grind your hips against Topper's dick and Rafe fingers him like there is no tomorrow.

It doesn't take long before a hoarse voice behind you croaks, "May I come?"

He may.

You stop grinding your hips, but simply clench around him while Rafe keeps fingering him and he comes with a cry.

His cock twitches inside of you and you keep working him, massaging his balls, until he's all soft and sensitive and spent.

You remove Topper's condom for him, the poor guy absolutely boneless.

The three of you lie intertwined in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets, your breaths gradually returning to a tranquil rhythm.

You rest your head on Topper's chest, while Rafe nestled against you from behind.

Fingers gently trace patterns on bare skin, expressing affection that words alone can not convey. There is an unspoken understanding between you, a bond that goes far beyond physical intimacy.

Topper is the one to softly break the silence, his voice filled with appreciation, "That was incredible, thank you."

You smile, your heart swelling with love. "I'm glad we've made you feel good."

"That is an understatement," Topper sighs happily.

Rafe kisses the top of your head and says, "I guess he would feel even better after round three."

You start laughing when Topper's head shoots up, looking at him incredulously. Rafe grants him a sly smile.

"Chill, Top," you laugh and pat his sides, "Rafe couldn’t go for another round right now."

Rafe protests immediately although he knows best you are right. He just loves to tease Topper.

"Be nice," you say and pinch his nipple for his trouble, "Or I'll make you go another round."

Rafe fake pouts. "Always so strict."

"Someone has to keep you in line and god knows that someone surely isn’t me," Topper mumbles and pulls you close. You chuckle at his words and drape one leg over his body.

"What are you doing?" Rafe asks, sitting up now two feet away from the two of you, "Cuddling without me?"

"You were being mean," Topper says playfully, "So, no more cuddles for you."

Rafe just scoffs and lays down on Topper's other side, nestling up against him, an arm thrown over the two of you. "I love you two so much," he mumbles against Topper's neck but you hear him just as well.

"I love you two so much," Topper answers before you can say anything, pulling both of you closer now. "I would lose my mind without you."

"We're so good together," you say against his chest.

#so one reason why I'm so much behind the kinktober stuff is that a certain blog has gotten me into poly!rafe #this is what happens #I'll write 6000 words of pure sm*t #rafe cameron #topper thornton #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x topper thornton x reader #polyamory #poly!rafe

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howlsofter · 11 months

Text

Nextdoor iii.

John Wick moved in last year but you’re just home for the summer. He hires you to dog sit for him while he’s on business trips but it doesn’t take long til you’re pushing the limits of your “professional” relationship. Part 3, first here. John shows up unexpectedly for dinner.

Words: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: nsfw, small age gap, John is 28 reader is 22, unprotected sex, p and v penetration, straight smut basically, no proofreading lol :pp nothing too kinky or insane

I don’t intend on having to face John for awhile. Not until he texts me again, or we catch each other outside. But it was only a day after the incident when I find him downstairs, standing in my living room.

“Get Mr. Wick some water, will you, honey?” My mom calls from the kitchen, I stand at the top of the stairs, he stands in the foyer peering up to me.

He raises one eyebrow, wondering if I’m going to get him his water. I try to play in cool, not throwing him another glance as I make my way down and slipped into the kitchen.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask under my voice, getting a cup out beside my mother who stood before the stove.

“Why’d you say it like that?” She scolds, “I’ve been asking him to dinner for months, he finally accepted this morning.” She stirs the soup on the stove, chicken tortilla, I can smell it.

That bitch. This was completely on purpose. I walk back to the living room, holding the cup out for John.

He looks clean, his usual black slacks and white button up. He’d showered recently, hair still slightly damp. I eye him up as he reaches out and takes it.

“Your mom really is sweet,” he tells me, taking the cup. He acts like nothing ever happened but that glint in his eye gives him away.

“Maybe you should ask her to house sit for you,” I reply, flat. John almost loses his giddy composure.

“Depends. Will she give me a little show too?” He sips the water like he didn’t just violate me. My jaw hangs open.

“John,” I start.

“Mr. Wick,” he corrects.

I was putting off my own heat, smoothing down the hem of my shirt to try to calm down. “Mr Wick,” I begin, he nods for me to continue, “you are a massive fucking asshole.”

I begin to walk past him and he catches my arm, reeling me back around. His eyes flicker to the kitchen, the coast still clear.

“I’m just teasing,” he coaxes me back, “I could never replace you. Best dog sitter in town.”

I huff, trying to knock him off and he lets me. Following behind me a few steps back as I start my way back up the stairs. He stops there at the bottom, not sure he’s allowed up. I step to where I can look down at him, “I have to get ready for dinner.”

He leaves me be. Until dinner rolls around and I’m the one who can’t rip my eyes away from him. He looks so natural, chatting with my mother about her garden in the front. She asks how he got Daisy and John goes cold. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and his eyes sink to his lap. The obvious change in John’s winds puts my empathetic mother on edge.

“Of course, you don’t have to, if it’s personal.” She starts but John is already waving her off.

He smiles still, so pained and drawn on, “my wife, actually, got me her a few years back.”

Ah, I look down at my own plate. He doesn’t add any mot details, quickly moving on, “no pets?”

“No not at the moment. This one has been wanting a cat for graduation,” my mom nudges my elbow and I look back up to John, nodding. He’s done with his soup, resting his hands in his lap thoughtfully.

“Fitting. I think,” he encourages.

My mom hurries up to collect our plates when I’m done. Just before John can start to take his own. He stills in his chair and thanks her, looking back to me.

“What are the plans tonight?” He asks when she leaves. I find it hard to make eye contact with him. He’s been too hot and cold with me, I’m not sure which field to play.

“The usual. Get really high and go to sleep.”

“You really do have a routine,” he presses his lips together tight before opening his mouth again. “I was thinking of watching part two of that movie?”

“Kill Bill? You’re willingly going to watch another movie?” I ask, peering up at him. He shrugs, taking the last sip of his water.

“If you’ll watch it with me?”

It’s blatant. I press my nails into my palm under the table where he can’t see. Is he still teasing me?

“Maybe later tonight. If you can stay up that late.”

“Open invitation, only if you want to.” He collects his napkin and stands up, I watch him from my seat. My mom steps from the kitchen, wiping her hands off onto her casual dress. “I should be heading home now, have to catch up on some work. Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Dixie.”

She approaches him for a motherly hug and John almost seems apprehensive. He gives in, of course. He wouldn’t be rude, but he does make it quick. His thanks is sincere enough.

“Why don’t you walk our guest to the door?” My mom proposes, grabbing the rest of the dishes. I look between them, cautiously pushing myself up and walking to John who falls in my stride.

We move silently, I open the door for him and he steps out with enough space where I have to step out to say our goodbyes, less I break social etiquette. I step out the front door, closing it behind me. Again, I’m struck with his height, having to peer up to him.

“Did you have fun?” I ask politely, but he’s staring at my lips. It’s inevitable, I shift on my feet and John leans down just slightly. Just enough for me to understand. We both freeze, only for a split second, to mutually agree, and then we’re both filling the gap. His hand reaches up to my jaw, brushing the exposed skin where I’m arching my neck up to him. He kisses me neater than that night, but not less ravenous. His sobriety probably comes into play.

It only lasts a few seconds and he’s standing up straight. “Are you coming over tonight or am I going to have to come upstairs?”

“John!” I exclaim in a hushed tone, pushing him away, “gross, my moms home.”

“Oh, that’s where you cross the line.” I tsk and he steps back. “Thanks for dinner, I’ll see you tonight.” He put a hand up in a curt wave and walks off. I cut into the door, realizing I’ve been holding my breathe.

I joined my mom in the kitchen to help her finish cleaning, trying to hide my hurried pace. I dry the dishes and put them away, she thanks me as I’m rushing up the stairs. I complete my door with its frame softly and pressed flush against it. Fuck. I didn’t think it would actually happen. I strip my jeans off to change underwear, making my way to my dresser. My nicer panties are buried in the corner of the drawer. I pull out a few of the lace ones, holding them up and picturing myself stretched out in the pink lace. I like to collect them, but I’ve never actually worn any for somebody.

I am so far past being embarrassed, I hardly think as I pull my black thong up. It barely hides anything, and delicate lace frills out at the hips sweetly. I pull on a tank and sleep shorts, there’s no point in getting so dressed up if he’s going to strip me down.

I take my tshirt off and put on a hoodie with nothing beneath, looking in my mirror I looked like every other night. Good. I didn’t want to try too hard, I’ve already been desperate enough.

I waited until my mom dismissed herself into her room, the sound of her tv playing into the hall. I grab my phone and a joint, holding them securely in one hand as I sneak out the way I have every other night.

I come up to John’s front door rather awkwardly, shuffling after I knock. The thought of ringing the doorbell make me cringe.

John opens the door in his slacks, no belt, the nice button up he was just wearing undone partially to reveal his under shirt. He looked disheveled, like he was just getting undressed. He smiled when he saw me, letting me and closing the door. The way his eyes swept over me was concealed anymore, he stepped back closing me in to the door. I hold the joint up between us quickly, slowing down his steps. My heart was racing, “I uh, rolled, this.” John steps closer to me, I can smell his cologne. It’s masculine and salty, it makes my brain short circuit, blinking as his heavy eyes lift to meet mine again.

He bore an amused smirk, “do you want to smoke it first?” He asked, figuring what I’m hinting at. I hadn’t even thought of it, I just rolled it. Now that I’m standing here, panicking, it sounds like a great idea. He plucks it from my trembling finger, sliding out of the way and moving to guide me towards to the stairs.

I look to the patio, puzzled. “You don’t want to go outside?” I ask, following where he directs.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures me. The way up the stairs is nerve wracking, feeling John’s looming presence behind me. I pause before his room and let him allow me in, he points to the bed and I kick off my shoes by the bed.

“Fuck, I forgot my lighter,” I realize as sit on the edge of the neatly made bed. John comes back over, reaching into his side drawer. He procures a white lighter and I chuckle this time, bringing my knees up.

He lowers himself beside me, pushing himself further up the bed. I turn my body to face him as he puts the joint between his lips, lighting it up. He takes a short puff and hands it to me. I take it, not any less shakily, and pull it up to my mouth. He reaches his hand out, running it along the outside of my thigh, he pulls me closer and I oblige. I take a longer puff and blow and smoke up away from us, smiling shyly and handing it back to him.

“You smoke cigarettes in here too?” I ask him, his hands don’t stop. He has his legs half off the bed, fingers padding and prodding at me until my legs over his and I’m right beside him. His slides the same hand up my side, under my hoodie.

“Jesus, no,” he answers, handing it back to me, “why’d you wear this, it’s so hot outside.”

“It’s nighttime,” I argue in my defense, leaning into his touch.

His hand brushes the navy material up, “take it off.”

“Noo, not now,” I go to push his hand away, “not yet.” He doesn’t push too much, settling his hand back on my thighs. I pass it back to him and reach out to his shirt button, “why don’t you take this off?” I ask but I’m already doing it. I can feel his chest beneath the shirt, rising and falling, he’s watching from the bottom of his eyes. He returns it and slides his shirt off his shoulder.

When it’s almost out I hand it to him, “no ashtray,” I point out. He shrugs, extending his long arm and dropping it into a water bottle on his bedside. There’s a beat where I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but John has a plan. He wraps his arms up around me, drawing me in close and pressing his lips up against my jaw. His beard his scruffy and almost tickles as he moves down, leaving more down a line of my neck. I shiver and grip his bicep, willingly pressing my side up against him. He groans deep in his throat, and I press closer. His fingers delve back under my hoodie, groping my sides and tickling my ribs. My high makes my whole body sensitive, on edge about John’s next move. He’s taking me in slow, nipping at my neck and sliding his nose back up my jaw to kiss me. We both taste like weed, I run my hands up around his neck, sliding into his dark black hair.

He kisses me for a nice amount of time, breaking it by pushing me back. He stands up over the bed, looking down at me until I’m getting nervous all over again. I press my legs together, shifting my knees to the other side and John reaches for me again.

“Sorry, I’ve just pictured you here before,” he almost mumbles it, leaning to press more kisses on upper thighs. No one’s ever kissed me all over, I try not to wiggle beneath him as I watch.

“Yeah?” I hum under him, brushing his hair over in a side part. He hooks his fingers over the waistline of my silky sleep shorts. I lift my hips lazily, pushing myself up onto my elbows to watch him better.

“Don’t play dumb,” he speaks clearer, pulling them down. His breath catches for a second and he looks back up to me in surprise, backing up to near rip them from my legs. He runs a finger over the straps of my thong, taking in sight.

I tilt my head to the side, committing to the part. He grips my hips, pressing his to meet mine. The thin line of fabric does nothing to protect my pussy from his slacks. I can feel his cock through them, splitting right between my folds. I shift to press against him harder, the pressure right up against my clit.

John mutters a curse and dips back to undo his pants and push them down, meeting my body in the familiar position.

He’s being so careful, sliding his hand between us. He coats his fingers with me before sliding two in without warning. I yelp at the intrusion, jutting my hips forward against his hand.

It feels as good as I imagined. A million time better than my fingers ever have. His fingers are long and thick, he reached up in me and pets where I’m most sensitive. “Can’t wait to fucking destroy you.” It catches me so off guard, the most I can do is moan, continuing to grind down against him. “I know you want it... sleeping in my bed.” I don’t know how I managed to blush when I’m literally riding his fingers, turning my head to the side.

“So obviously too… didn’t even fix the pillows.” More involuntary noises are slipping from my mouth, in rythme with the repetitive movements up inside me. I’m shaking my head like he’s lying. “Don’t even get me started on the camera…” he breathes out, he’s pulling himself out of his briefs. “Waited til I was watching?”

“Hated you ignoring me.” I say it with my eyes closed.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he instructs, standing up straight, pulling his fingers out and wrapping them around himself. He strokes himself quick and messy, only for a little and he’s lining himself up.

He’s dipping his head down, kissing my back, “wasn’t ignoring you,” he assures. He presses the head in and I tense, gripping the sheets under me. John waits for me to relax.

“Didn’t know you were so needy,” he continues to tease, pushing in deeper. I struggle to keep my hips up, lowering my upper body and keeping my ass up. John slides his hand down my back as I do, “so inpatient, had to get yourself off on my fucking couch,” his voice is breathless as he digs his hilt it me. I spasm when hits me deepest, pressing my cheek into the bed.

“Wanted you so bad, Mr. Wick,” I tell him in a whine and he snaps into me. It feels so good, he continues the motion his hand sliding over my ass before landing a sharp slap there. I hiss, my moans becoming loud and consistent each time our hips met.

He was quiet now that he was busy. His eyes fixed on our bodies meeting, I was slowly failing at keeping my hips up. John paused to yank them back into position, holding me in place as he sped up.

I’m not that experienced. Certainly not as much as John, who seemed to have been in a long term relationship. I like having sex, I like the feeling, the closeness, I like men. My problem have been the men. Most of my experiences have been rushed, awkward, or one sided.

John is sexy, lean, tall, his cock is beautiful but I didn’t get much time to examine. He’s precise, in tune with me. Fucking me in patterns. He goes hard and rough until I can’t take it anymore, then he slows, holding most of my weight up and letting me breathe. It’s when he’s slowing when I get all shaky and weak, so stimulated. It’s not awkward at all, I can’t focus on anything but the low noises John is making above me, completely tuning myself out.

When I’m giving out completely, John turns it up a notch. He wraps an arm up under my hips, leaning over me to press deeper. His strokes went from rough to solid, pulling completely out of me and slamming back in. The sounds I made ripped straight from my vocal cords, near screaming as John put his other hand over my mouth. I shove myself into the bed, trying to get away before our bodies meet again. My legs have buckled, John holding me up easy. My body was on fire, twitching and writhing, getting closer and closer to coming each time the head of his cock rakes against my gspot and slams into my cervix.

Not without struggle, he manages to readjust my hips and angle himself better. A few more long, complete strokes and I’m starting to fall apart. My arms reach out over the bed spread with nothing to hold onto, I can only manage to say his name in a warning. My voice is so tight and he barely responds.

I’m glad he has such a hold on me, focusing on nothing except for the orgasm tearing through me. It explodes and turns into tingles throughout my body. John’s cock feels so good I realize through the haze I’m begging him for more. He obliges, fucking me harder until I just can’t and I’m shoving him away. John pulls out when I do, but doesn’t just drop me. He lowers me back onto the bed and lets me lay down, wrapping his hand back around his cock and stroking himself casually as I huff.

I feel like the winds been knocked out of me, I take the allotted time to breathe, finally weakly lifting my head to look over John. He reaches out, tucking my hair back and stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, “feel good?” He asks with a chuckle.

Funny how I can do zero work and still feel absolutely spent. I push myself up on my arm, crawling back up to him and pawing his hand away. John sits back and settles, letting me take whatever control I want.

I bring my lips up to his wet cock, running my tongue along the underside before wrapping my lips around it. It look up at John, who takes a hand and places it on the back of my head lightly. I try to watch him, swirling my tongue around the head and giving it a little extra suction before sliding down the base.

John has his mouth open, rutting his hips up into my mouth I gag on him. I push my hand to steady his hips but the moan that leaves his lips watching my choke makes it worth it. So much spit has collected in my mouth just from that, it makes a sound when I slide down again. John wants to hold my head down, I can tell with the way his fingers keep pressing against the back of me head but he doesn’t pressure me.

I go all the way down on him again, peering up to him through my eyelashes. I swallow around him and nearly gag again and John is entranced. He blinks back and desire swirls in my stomach again. I sit back up and a line of spit connects my mouth to him. I giggle, wiping it clean and sliding up. John has leaned back into the pillows against his headboard, legs extended out and pushed apart slightly. I climb up, straddling his hips and positioning myself above him. John gets the memo quickly, hands going up to help guide me. He holds his cock up for me, sinking down easily I moan. I brace myself on his shoulders, getting into position and bringing myself down against him. John lifted his slightly, just pushing in that extra inch deeper and tilting his head back against the wall. I forgot how hard this was. Each time I go down I take a moment to drag my hips, grinding him deeper into me with a low moan. I’m not as vocal in this position, I have to focus on my movements, john on the other hands can’t stop making quiet little sounds. His breathe slips, his breathing rugged, I can feel his cock twitch up in me and I moan. John’s hand comes between us again, finger nudging up against my clit. Each time I come down against him it ghosts right over where it feels best, I speed up for the friction, my legs opening further to get closer.

John’s finger speeds up as he gets closer, I start to loose my rythme, bouncing up on him sloppily. I bent over to touch foreheads with John, but my eyes are dragged close. I’m so close again, his fingers and his dick coaxing my orgasm to come up. I dragged my hips down in circles, yanking John closer. He’s about to cum, I can tell in the way his jaw clenched, eyes dragging all over me.

“God- John- I’m gonna,” I try to warn him this time but John’s already spilling. He lifts his hips up inside of me as deep as he can, his finger doesn’t stop stimulating me, pushing me over the edge as he releases his load inside. My grip is death on his shoulder, the ripples of pleasure spamming through me, pussy squeezing and milking his cock for all he’s worth. I lay up against him when I can relax, still not pulling out. He shifts under me and I squeeze around him again in pleasure, John lets out a surprised groan.

He holds my hips, pumping in and out of me slowly before he got soft. His cum and mine make it completely slick, he pulls out of me and wrap his arms around my back. I press against him as I breathe.

I haven’t cum that hard in awhile, and I haven’t cum twice ever.

“I need a shower,” I complain, not making a move away from John. He has closed his eyes and gone still.

“We’ll shower, soon.” He assures me, staying still. I sit up from where I was laying on his shoulder, peeling out stuck bodies part. John’s eyes flutter open, letting out a sigh, “do you want to sleep here?” He offered.

I brush my messy hair back, actually yes, “I don’t think I can.”

“Snuck out? Aren’t you an adult?”

“Obviously. I like to keep the whore part on the down low.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me,” he pushed himself up, “let’s shower so you’ll stop complaining.”

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