#i still don't know what she meant by blurred hair

[paoluuuu]

god I still think about the girl at group therapy that told me that "My nails are so colorful and noticable while my clothes are very depressive"

#i hate 13year olds #she also told me that my hair looks BLURRED #I'm sorry that i look like shit girl #i still don't know what she meant by blurred hair #she said it was bc my curls and hair color looks like a drawing #but i don't think that's why she said that

[denim-mixtapes]

Showstopper

And I know it's just a phase, you're not in love with me, but if you wanna piss off your parents, baby, that's alright with me.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: Just over 15k Summary: Dreading going home to strict parents over Thanksgiving break, your good friend Eddie Munson offers to tag along and pretend to be your boyfriend to get under their skin and take their focus off of you. Over tense dinners and pointed conversation, you seek comfort in his closeness, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. (Based on the song 18 by Anarbor) Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT, Minors DNI or I'll stub all your toes. Tense family dynamics, strict/overbearing parents, idiot friends to fuck buddies, teasing, fingering, oral (both f & m receiving), squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm if you blink, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THAT, STUPID), an stupid amount of pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, sweet thing) instead of Y/N. I think that's it but lemme know if I missed anything!

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] <- Coming Soon! [AO3]

a/n: I meant to post this on Thanksgiving, but it...got away from me as you can tell from the word count. Sorry for the delay and for the long lead up before the actual smut but I hope yall enjoy!!

The first time you met Eddie Munson, you threatened him with pepper spray. 

Okay so maybe it was actually hair spray, but the threat was there. 

He had walked into your dorm room unannounced, and in a moment of panic you completely forgot you had a roommate that could potentially have visitors. All you knew was that you were alone in your dorm, and then without any preamble or warning, there was a mysterious man with long hair, dark features, and wrapped in leather letting himself in. 

And he believed you at first, he really did, held his hands up in defense and stepped back out into the threshold with wide eyes and an apologetic ramble. Until he noticed that your trembling hand was not clutching a can of mace, but a travel sized bottle of Aqua Net, shaking just as much as you were. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. 

He still stayed back, knowing that you were not his intended target and surely you must be nerrvous, but dropped his hands to lean on the door frame, his whole body shaking with laughter. Despite your initial fear, his humor was contagious. The once intimidating man who stood tall and broad was hunched with laughter, his eyes wrinkling around the edges when his smile widened. You couldn’t help but soften and lower your arm, chuckling a little (albeit nervously) along with him. 

“Yeah, killer,” he laughed, voice low and smooth, “put that thing down before you hurt someone. Or worse, make ‘em crispy.” 

“I– panicked,” you admitted, defeated. Then, standing taller again, trying to keep your defenses strong, “but what are you doing walking into random girls' dorms?” 

“Uh, Buckley,” the stranger pointed to your roommate’s side of the room. “Robin Buckley? She lives here, right?” You nodded. “We’re friends, I’m meeting her for dinner and she told me to come on up when I got here. She said you’d be in class.” 

Huh. You’d have to talk to her about warning you before she let just anyone walk on in unannounced. 

“Canceled,” you mumbled in explanation, then gestured to Robin’s bed. “Uh I guess I won’t make you sit out in the hall. You can wait for her here.” 

A wide, toothy grin spread over his features and he approached you with big, thankful eyes shining under the fluorescent overhead lighting. A hand outstretched, he replied, “appreciated. ‘M Eddie.” 

And so began a blossoming friendship. Over the rest of your freshman year, Robin introduced you to more of her friends. You didn’t have trouble making your own friends, per se, you had a few classmates who you would grab lunch with between classes and a couple study groups, but the people your roommate introduced you to just clicked with you. You heard all about her girlfriend Nancy, though she was off in Boston at Emerson, so you only ever spoke to her when Robin had her on speaker phone. Everyone else just kind of came along naturally. You were attending school far from home, but within reasonable distance from Robin’s hometown of Hawkins, so even though Eddie and her best friend Steve weren’t attending college anywhere, they often found themselves on your campus to bug your roommate (and by proxy, you). 

By the end of your first year at school, you were confident you were part of their crew, and you were happily signing up to room with Robin once again the following year. 

Which is what brought you here. 

You’re laying in bed, feet thrown up against the cinder block walls and your head hanging over the edge, Robin mirroring you on her own bed. Steve has long since gotten dizzy and sat upright next to Robin, and Eddie called you all ridiculous from the get go and chose to lay on your bean bag chair between the three of you. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do,” you moan, scrubbing your hands down your face in defeat. 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, babe,” Robin assures, though you know she is just blindly trying to comfort you. 

“Okay,” Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees and squints at you. The effects of Eddie’s special cookies are hitting all four of you hard, all of you lazy and sluggish and a little less cohesive than your usual state. “Explain to me again what the problem is? It sounds like your mom just wants you home for Thanksgiving.” 

Sitting up slowly and trying to ignore the head rush you get from being upright once again, you gripe, “that is the problem. I went to school across the country from home for a reason. I’m already going back next month for winter break and I want to be there…as little as possible. So I was hoping I could work through Thanksgiving break like last year.” 

“No dice?” Eddie asks from his spot on the floor, even though you swear you’ve gone over this with all of them three times by now. 

“No,” you grumble, “last year I worked in the caf, so it was no problem, they were open all break for students staying on campus This year–” 

“The library closes over break.” Robin cut you off to supply. 

You only nod pitifully, slumping back into your stack of pillows with a hmph. You’re aware that you’re being dramatic, but you’ve grown accustomed to your life away from home. Away from watchful eyes and curfews at 19 years old and sharp comments about your wardrobe that honestly, could be much, much worse. The last thing you want to do is return home and be treated like a child again. 

Eddie’s fingers wrap around your ankle comfortingly, but he hits a ticklish spot and you kick at his hand lightly, laughing all the while. 

“Home is really that miserable, huh?” He asks quietly. Not prying, not judging, just pondering. 

“I have a dad who still treats me like I’m seven and a mom who keeps trying to set me up with members of her church in hopes that they’ll ‘lead me back down the right path’…what do you think?” 

Your three friends mumble a series of one word replies all at once. “Yikes.” “Barf.” “Christ.”

The conversation moves on after that. Robin and Steve arguing about Back to the Future, something they always seem to go back to when they’re high. She told you once that they saw it in theaters the first time they smoked together, but the way that neither of them could keep a straight face told you there was more to the story. You half listen, grumbling to yourself and counting the browning ceiling tiles above you. 

Your mattress dips and you look up to see Eddie grinning at you behind a curtain of hair, sitting cross legged on the spot next to you. 

“What?” You ask through a laugh, eyeing him briefly before going back to the task at hand, the ceiling tiles. 

He nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention. “You know what you should do?” Your response is no more than a hum adorned with a question mark, but it prompts him to continue. There’s a gleam in his eye when he goes on, “somethin’ wild. Show up at home with a tattoo or bright purple hair. Or a tongue ring! Something to push their buttons and shock ‘em a little.” 

Eddie Munson always has a way of turning your mood around. His joy is infectious. If he’s laughing, you’re not too far behind him, and it’s always been that way. Likewise, he’s quick to follow when you dissolve into giggle fits, his demeanor and pose always mimics yours, just like now when he ends up on his back beside you, legs dangling sideways off the edge. 

You end up passing ideas back and forth for a few minutes. 

“Teardrop tattoo,” he says, snorting. 

“A pentagram.” 

“You could shave one side of your head.” 

“Or my eyebrows.” 

“Get tattoos where your eyebrows used to be. Something classy like…hail Satan.” 

“Or Daddy’s girl,” you sputter, unable to hold back the raucous laughter any longer. 

Eddie joins you, practically cackling with how sudden it is. “I think that’s it. That’s the one.” 

And then it hits you. Something still just as shocking as showing up with a tattoo, but much less permanent. It’s right in front of you, it has been the whole time. You sit up suddenly enough to get Steve and Robin’s attention and grin wildly down at Eddie. 

It’s his turn to mumble out a soft, “what?” enraptured by your sudden intensity.

“I think I’ve got something better. Something that won’t cost me hundreds of dollars or my future chances at employment.” 

“Go on,” he urges. 

“You come home with me.” 

From the other half of your room, Robin and Steve shout their confusion in unison, but Eddie just sits up to mirror you, mischief etched in his smile. “How bold of you, sweetheart. You know, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” 

“No- shut up,” you laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. You just told us earlier your uncle has to work on Thanksgiving. Come back to my parents with me. You’ll get a home cooked meal, all the fixings, really, my mom goes crazy. I mean this with all the love in my heart but if I bring home a guy like you?” You giggle, “my dad’ll lose his shit.” 

“You flatter me,” he chuckles. Then, smirking, “you askin’ me to be your fake boyfriend, sweetheart?” 

“I– yeah.” 

“Hell yeah,” he nods, “I’m in. When are we leaving?” 

Robin throws a pillow at you, missing terribly but still getting your attention. “What the fuck just happened?” 

—

As promised, as soon as your last class on Tuesday let out, you loaded up your car and headed to Hawkins to pick up your boyfriend-for-the-week. He’s waiting for you outside his trailer, leaning heavily against the stairway railing, ankles crossed, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t have much by way of luggage, just a tattered olive green backpack hanging off of one shoulder that he throws in the back seat alongside your prim camel colored leather duffel bag. 

When he slides into the passenger seat he leans into your personal space, drawing out his greeting with a smug smile. “Hi, darling.” 

“Hey,” you greet, palming his face and lightly shoving it away. “You ready?” 

Eddie Munson practically pouts at you. “What, no hello kiss?” 

“Can it, Munson,” you chide before shifting your car in gear. “You’re not on the clock yet. We still have a four hour drive before you’re officially the boyfriend.” 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “it’ll be a hell of a lot more believable if we have a little practice beforehand. I mean- we’re going to have to put on a show, right? A good actor doesn’t go in blind. They run lines. Rehearse. Don’t want you freezing up in shock when I plant one on you in front of dear ol’ Dad for the first time, do we?” 

He’s leaning into you again, speaking with a kind of intensity only Eddie can, and it makes you shake your head. 

“Okay, well, I’m kinda busy driving at the moment. I’ll get back to you at the next rest stop.” 

The first stretch on the open road is spent concocting a story. How you met, how long you’ve been together, things that might come up in conversation. Something not far from the truth, so that you could keep your stories straight, but embellished a little where you needed to. He supplies the story for your first date, dinner at a diner and live music somewhere on campus. You raise him dinner at a dive bar and listening to cassettes in the back of his van. He calls you diabolical. 

At your first stop, about an hour in for gas and snacks, he offers to drive until the next stop and you pass him the keys with a soft smile and a hurried kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting, over before it’s even started because it stuns him, and you skip away to the passenger side feeling way more smug than you have any right being. 

“Who were we worried about freezing up, again?” You asked over the roof of the car, ducking at the last second when he throws a balled up napkin at you. 

For this portion of the drive, you take the opportunity to get to know one another. Favorites and firsts, pet peeves and guilty pleasures. Some things you knew already after a year of friendship, the little things like favorite bands and movies, but you knew you needed more than that to be a believable couple. You learn that he loves the smell after it rains and that even though he hates raisins, he loves cinnamon raisin bagels because they remind him of his Uncle Wayne. He learns that your favorite color changes with your mood, about your irrational fear of revolving doors, and the exact number of blankets you absolutely need in order to fall asleep (though he had his suspicions, he’s seen you make your bed before). 

Over your game of twenty questions, his hand wanders from the wheel to the gear shift, the movement subtle because he’s always talking with his hands, and eventually it lands hesitantly on your thigh. You pretend not to notice, but bite back a smile and catch yourself flushing in the reflection of the window nonetheless. 

After another hour or so of driving you make him pull over for a bathroom break and offer to take the wheel again when you’re done. You make to take the keys from him, but he’s quick to hold them over his head, just out of reach. 

“Hey!” You complain, now your turn to invade his personal space to try and steal the keys back. “It’s my car. Let me take over!” 

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close your faces are when a slow smirk spreads over his lips. “Now, baby, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you drive when I’m right here, fully capable?” 

“Damn, Munson.” You snark, “we’ve been together all of two hours and you’re already trying to turn me into a passenger princess?” 

“Maybe I am.” His free hand wraps around your waist, landing at the small of your back to pull you just a little bit closer, closing the gap between you. You let out a small yelp of surprise that Eddie quickly swallows, his lips landing on yours harder and more insistent than the last kiss you shared. Your shock wears off quickly, leaving you leaning into his embrace with a happy hum in the back of your throat. Just as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, you’re made aware of your surroundings when a passerby clears their throat. When you pull away and catch a glimpse of his face, you’re certain you’re going to have to get used to that damn smirk. It seems to be his natural resting face since you asked him to do this, and god if it doesn’t suit him. “I kinda like that term,” he mumbles, emphasizing the new pet name as he ushers you around to the passenger seat, repeating it back into your ear with a hushed breath, “princess.”

You’ll have to get used to all the blushing too. 

With a lead foot and a hand absent-mindedly tapping along to the radio on your thigh, Eddie manages to shave a half an hour off the rest of the drive, and before you know it and without another rest stop, you’re directing him off the highway and through the cozy streets of your small hometown. You managed to give him a run down on all of the relatives he could possibly meet this weekend. Who to watch out for and who to actually play nice with (really, it’s just your parents to look out for), names and how they’re related to you as if there would be a quiz at the end of Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, knowing how overprotective your parents are there very well could be. 

It’s silent when he pulls into your parents driveway and cuts the engine, so quiet you fear he might hear your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Staring down the house, the walkway seems to stretch out longer than you remember. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hey.” Squeezing at your knee where his hand is still resting, Eddie’s voice is sincere. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are soft, encouraging. He lets his head rest back against the seat with a thump and smiles. “I know I’m here to piss off your parents, but I’m still your friend, too. I’ll be right by your side all weekend, if it ever gets too much, just say the word and I’ve got you, okay?” 

You’re not sure where this burst of sentiment came from, but you’re grateful for it. His words wrap around your heart and squeeze, and you blink back the tears they bring. Though you’ve had fun planning to torment your family, there was still a weight on your chest every time you thought about going home and Eddie, ever observant, could tell. 

“Kay,” you say softly, mouthing an even quieter thank you. Then, leaning across the center console, you brighten up. “Run lines one more time before the big scene?” 

It’s a bold request, a little selfish, partly because you want to stall a little longer but frankly, you just want to kiss him again in the safety and comfort of your car. Where it can be just that, a kiss. You want another moment all to yourself without the watchful eye of your family, and without the obligation of having to prove something.

He kisses you lazy this time, hands framing your face, lips dragging slowly against yours like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s stretching out this moment so you don’t have to face the next one. Your eyes flutter shut and you reach for him clumsily over the console, clutching onto the lapel of his leather jacket like he was going to float away if you didn’t. 

You don’t want to admit it, but you could get used to kissing Eddie Munson, charade or not.

When you part ways and reluctantly make your way inside, Eddie insists on carrying both your bag and his own. You try to argue but he has none of it. You let yourself in the front door and call out a greeting. 

Christmas music filters in from the back of the house alongside the smell of your mom’s famous baked spaghetti. “In the den!” Her voice calls out from the same direction as the music. Toeing off your shoes, you gesture for Eddie to follow you through the halls and into the den. It’s the picture of your childhood, exactly as you remember. Your dad is hidden behind the newspaper, houseshoes propped up on the coffee table. In her armchair facing away from the door, your mom is curled up with a book, reading glasses perched on the end of her slender nose. She feels your presence and greets you without looking up. “Hi honey! Give me just a second to finish this paragraph and I’ll get up, give you a big hug.” 

Eddie’s presence is solid against you, warm, and his firm hand at the small of your back is a constant reminder that he’s there within reach. You try to speak up, to introduce him, but your throat goes dry, and soon enough your mother is tossing her book on the coffee table and standing to greet you. 

“Sorry honey, I – oh, hello!” She’s shocked, clearly, but still keeps a polite, tight smile. “Who’s this?” 

Prompted by her comment, your dad folds down one corner of the newspaper to glance up at you. His poker face isn’t as great. You can see the glare flash across his features before he folds the paper and stands. When he says hello to you, it's with a bright smile and a tight hug, but the second he addresses Eddie, his demeanor chills again. 

“Guys this is Eddie,” you introduce, reaching behind you to take his hand. The words feel clumsy on your tongue, but you manage to play off the stutter as nerves. “My boy– my boyfriend.” 

You could hear a pin drop. 

In the silence that follows, you begin to rethink this entire plan. You suddenly feel so small, back in your childhood home and under the intense stare of your parents (though your dad’s eyes are definitely more trained on Eddie’s every move than your own). But you didn’t come all this way and drag your friend all this way to back down now, so you take their stunned silence as an opportunity to turn in Eddie’s hold and grin at him eagerly, mouthing the word showtime. 

He takes his cue, cupping your cheek in a warm palm and dragging you toward him to close the little distance between you. It feels different this time, like he has something to prove. He’s insistent, leaning into you hungrily and nipping at your lips with a wicked chuckle under his breath as he retreats. He stands at full height again to finally address your parents. 

“Thanks for having me, sir,” he quips, and he salutes, actually fucking salutes, much to your father’s outrage. Then he turns a charming smile on your mother, “ma’am.” 

His kill-them-with-kindness attitude and sickeningly sweet fake politeness has you biting back a laugh, but nobody in this room is paying an ounce of attention to you. 

Thank God.

The rage in your father’s voice is unmistakable, the heat of it pours from him in waves when he responds. “I would say it’s my pleasure but I don’t remember inviting you, son.” You’re afraid to look too closely, but you’re almost certain the vein on his forehead is fit to burst already and you’ve only just arrived. 

“Honey,” your mother pipes up, putting a calming hand on her husband’s arm, though you can hear the strain in her voice as well. “When you called and said you were bringing a friend who had nowhere to go for the holiday I…well I thought it was going to be Robin.” 

“Oh, no,” your lips press into a line, and without thinking, you reach out for Eddie’s hand for support, breath hitching at the bite of cold metal from the various rings he’s always sporting. “Her family is big on holidays. Never miss one. But…” Giving Eddie’s hand a tug to pull him closer to you, your other hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle pat for good measure. You ham it up, laying your head on his shoulder with a dreamy smile as you continue. “Eddie’s only family is his Uncle Wayne, and he’s going to be workin’ a double on Thursday. I couldn’t just leave him behind with a frozen TV dinner for Thanksgiving of all days.” 

Though strict, you know your mom isn’t made of stone. She can’t resist a sob story and she’s a sucker for any holiday, so despite the concern in her eyes and a husband fit to start screaming any moment, she smiles and nods. 

“Of course, honey,” Her voice softens, though her guard is still up. She turns her pointed smile on Eddie and gestures to the door, “the guest room is already made up for you, and it would be a shame to spend the holiday alone, so we’re happy to have you, Eddie.” 

The sound you make is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Mom! That’s hardly necessary. I’m an adult, I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed with my boyfriend.” 

Eddie quirks an interested brow at you but you roll your eyes in dismissal. 

It’s not that you want to share a room with Eddie. If you’re being honest, you haven’t really put much thought to the sleeping situation. It only makes sense that he would take the guest room…but you also know that if the goal is to get under your parents’ skin, this is the way to do it, so you give a petulant whine and a huff for good measure. 

It’s your father who speaks up this time, pushing forward and deliberately between you and Eddie to break your embrace as he makes his way toward the stairs. “Absolutely not,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks, only stops near the door to pick up both of your bags and continue up the stairs. “You are nineteen, just barely. That may make you an adult on paper but you are still my child and a guest in this house so you’ll do as I say.” Passing your childhood bedroom, he drops your duffel at the door with a scowl and moves two doors down to the guest room where he throws Eddie’s knapsack even harder onto the bed. “And we don’t know this punk from Adam. You’re lucky we’re letting him stay at all, so be grateful for what you have, which is only two doors separating you.” 

Ever the peacemaker, your mom steps in and clears her throat. “What your father means is that we would just both be more…comfortable if – for this trip – Eddie stayed in here. Right, Dear?” 

Your father sighs, “yes, yes, that’s exactly it.” 

“Anyway,” she tries to move past it, like she always has, sweeping his anger under the rug and trying to move on before there can be any more unpleasantries. It’s one of the things you hated most about being home, the fact that she so clearly agreed with most of his conservative and overprotective views but tried so hard to make it seem like she was on your side. She moves in to give you another tight hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey. Dinner will be ready soon, why don’t you two get settled in and then meet us in the dining room?” 

You thank her softly and a little insincerely, and the pair of them retreat back down the stairs, allowing you to let out the breath you’ve been holding. 

“Jesus Christ, I get what you mean.” Eddie Mumbles, and you only groan in agreement, falling gracelessly onto the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. The bed dips as he joins you, and soon enough you’re both laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation. “Hey,” he nudges your shoulder with his own, “you’re killing it.” 

“Hardly,” you snort, “I feel like I’m a kid again. It just…this all sounded fun in theory but I forgot how small they make me feel.” 

“All the more reason to keep on keepin’ on. C’mon, I want to see how many more times we can make that vein in his forehead pop.” A reassuring arm wraps around your shoulder and shakes you lightly until you let out a soft laugh. “There she is! Nice touch demanding that I stay in your room, by the way. Really! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually wanted me to.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, standing up and stretching out your tired limbs. “Come on, let’s go eat.” 

The rest of the night goes rather uneventfully. It’s tense, for sure, but the initial shock has worn off and by the way your parents are acting, you’re certain they managed to sneak in a drink each while you were upstairs. The conversation over dinner is mostly focused on you, how your semester is going and how much you like your job. You ask them about their careers, about family members you haven’t seen in a while. Eventually your mother’s need to be seen as polite prompts her to include Eddie in her questioning, but she keeps it mild for now, asking how he liked the drive to your hometown and if the food was to his taste. 

After dinner your mom offers coffee and a movie, but the long drive and your early alarm for school this morning are an easy enough excuse to retire early and get a good long night’s sleep before the rest of your family arrives tomorrow. 

When you part ways in the hall at the top of the stairs, he stops you with a hand on your wrist and a mischievous grin. 

“What?” You laugh, looking down the stairs, “You want a goodnight kiss now, too? They’re not watching.” 

“Here,” he replies, reaching for the back collar of his tattered Black Sabbath t-shirt and pulling it over his head effortlessly. He hands the shirt over to you and gives it a little shake, “wear it down to breakfast in the morning, yeah? It’ll drive them crazy.” 

You thank him as you take the shirt from his hand and smile, trying your best not to let your eyes linger on his exposed skin, pale and littered with tattoos, some you’re just now seeing for the first time. With a blush and a shake of your head, you bid him goodnight and retreat to your bedroom. 

—

The morning of Thanksgiving brings another early wake up call, but it’s hardly a surprise. Holidays have always been this way, up at the crack of dawn and helping in the kitchen all day since you were old enough to snap green beans. It’s not all bad, some of your best memories are with your mother and aunt in the kitchen. Cooking together almost made you forget how unbearable it was to be home. 

It goes as it always does, the two of you still in your pajamas, getting the more annoying and time consuming prep out of the way before anyone else wakes up. When your dad joins you in the kitchen, already fully dressed and sporting a tired scowl, you make the coffee while your mom pauses to throw the breakfast casserole she’d prepared the night before into the oven. You’re like a well oiled machine, and you work together so well that she almost doesn’t notice your choice in sleepwear. 

Almost. 

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and change into something a little more appropriate?” She suggests coolly. “I can hold down the fort until Aunt Ellen gets here.” 

“Aw,” you pout softly, pouring your own cup of coffee. You know why she’s urging you to change, and it makes you want to push the issue even further. “But we always stay in our pajamas until Grandma’s on her way! Even Aunt Ellen brings her comfies to cook in and a change of clothes for dinner.” 

“You and I both know that is hardly your typical sleepwear, dear.” Your father grunts from behind the morning paper. 

Although she bristles at his blunt choice of words, your mom looks at you with concern, clearly agreeing with him. 

You only huff, watching the creamer swirl as you pour it into the darkness of the mug. You’re about to respond when a pair of warm hands wrap around your waist from behind, making you jump. 

“I think you look killer,” Eddie chuckles at your surprise, his head nestling into the crook of your neck to press a kiss just behind your ear. “Y’wear that thing better than I do, Sweetheart.” 

Head bowed, you roll your eyes at his theatrics but hug his arms closer around your stomach, turning in place to wrinkle your nose at him, a hint of jest in your tone when you greet him. “Good morning, baby.” 

His eyes flick past your shoulder to your parents to be confident they’re looking (of course they are), then with another dark laugh drops his head to greet you with a feverish kiss. It’s too much for a simple good morning, utterly indecent the way his tongue slips past your lips without permission, and his hands drop to your hips to turn you further into his embrace, until one of your parents – you couldn’t care less which one – clears their throat and startles you apart. 

Your face is hot when Eddie smiles brightly, hitting you with a wink and a cheerful, “mornin’.” He mumbles a soft, “gonna go for a smoke, be right back,” into your ear, and then louder, calling over his shoulder as he walks toward the front door, cigarette dangling from his lips, “smells delicious already, ladies, I can’t wait!” 

You’re feeling quite smug at their stunned silence, until the door slams behind him and takes the breath from your lungs with it. You grip the mug so tightly your knuckles turn white, and the quiet from behind you turns deafening. 

It’s your mom that breaks it first, talking in a hushed tone that she must think you can’t hear, despite only being a few feet away. 

“He smokes?” 

“Are you surprised?” Your dad quips, “look at the kid. I’m surprised you can’t smell it on him.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be cruel. I’m just as unhappy about this as you are but there’s no reason to be rude.” 

That’s when you jump in, the scoff on your lips is almost as natural as your breath. “You guys know I’m right here, right? You are being rude, both of you.” 

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Her voice is more patronizing than remorseful. “But truly, what is it that you see in that boy? He seems nice enough I suppose, but he’s not what I would have hoped for you at all…and he’s so crude.” 

That’s exactly what I see in him, you think, the ability to get under your skin. 

“And what would you have hoped for me? Hm?” You press, arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked against the counter. “Some ivy league robot who only cares about your approval? Who I have nothing in common with? Why does it matter?” 

“Oh, well, I–” 

The phone on the wall wails, cutting her off, and a glance at the clock tells you that it must be your aunt calling to say she’s on her way. 

“Saved by the bell,” you mumble as she goes to answer the phone, then spit, “I’ll go change so I don’t embarrass you.”

Back in your room, you decide there’s no point in changing twice, so you pull out the outfit you’d packed for dinner. It’s rather mundane, just a corduroy skirt and an oversized sweater, something you’d normally wear to a family gathering, but the skirt is quite a bit shorter than you’re used to wearing, and instead of the modest tights you would usually pair with this kind of outfit, you opted for some plush over the knee knit socks. 

You take your time getting ready, feeling slightly guilty for leaving Eddie to his own devices downstairs, but he’s a big boy, he can handle himself. You need a few extra moments to cool down and collect yourself before more family shows up. 

There’s a soft rap at your door as you’re finishing up your makeup with a thin layer of lip gloss and you sigh. 

“I’ll be down to help in a minute!” 

Except it isn’t your mom on the other side as you’d expected. Eddie’s voice is gentle when he calls, “It’s me.” 

You let him in with a soft, apologetic smile. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he smiles, looking appreciatively up and down your form. “I take back what I said earlier. This look is killer, you look great.” 

You brighten, flushing at his praise and taking in his own change of outfit. Nothing fancy by any means, just like you suggested when he asked about dinner attire. The same torn black jeans he wears often, a threadbare and bleach stained Metallica baseball tee, and his signature battle vest overtop. Hair clearly adp purposefully untamed, he’s decked out in his usual accessories. Thick, heavy rings on his fingers and a black bandana stuffed in his pocket, he’s even gone the extra mile and smudged a little eyeliner on his water line. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t pull it off. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, playing with the cuffs of your sweater absent-mindedly. “You look…disheveled.” 

He laughs at your choice of words, but takes it in stride, doing a quick spin and taking a dramatic bow as you laugh along with him. “Thank you, thank you, I’m only following your expert direction.” 

The neck of your sweater scoops low when you sit on your vanity stool to zip up your boots, slipping off of one shoulder delicately, and Eddie’s gaze burns as it follows the movement. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s staring as he perches himself on the edge of your bed, his lopsided smile only growing when you giggle out a soft, “what?” 

“I have an idea,” he beckons you toward him with a jut of his chin, “come here.” Though you furrow your brow in confusion, you cross the room to stand in front of him. Instantly, his hands reach out to take yours and hold your arms out wide so that he can take another good look at you. You pretend not to notice that his gaze lingers at the bare skin of your thighs on display, then pauses again at your exposed shoulder. He tugs on your hands until you’re even closer, standing between his legs with a curious look in your eye. Hands dropping to your hips, he noses at your neck, breath tickling your delicate skin as he continues,  “you know what might make this outfit even better?” 

“Better?” You question, reaching to tangle your hands in his hair, knowing exactly what he had in mind. “Or just more scandalous?” 

Eddie’s lips ghost against your skin as he says, “darling, who said it can’t be both?” 

It's cruel, you think, as latches onto the soft skin just over your pulse, nipping lightly and then soothing the sting immediately with his tongue. Cruel that this is all an act, that your friend Eddie Munson wouldn’t be adorning you with love bites if it weren’t for this stupid plan to piss off your parents. Cruel that you can’t separate fact from fiction as he sucks a deep bruise into the flesh just above your collarbone and your grip on his hair tightens, an involuntary whimper caught in your throat. 

He pulls back to admire his work, pursing his plush lips with an appreciative hum. One hand leaves your hip to rest on your neck, thumb pressing into one of the fresh bruises there, pride shining on his face when the action makes you shudder. 

There’s no way he doesn’t notice how red you’ve gone but he doesn’t mention it, only smiles brightly and ushers you toward the door with an encouraging, “break a leg down there, kid.” 

Only then do you realize the commotion downstairs. The boisterous voice of your Aunt Ellen as she helps your mom in the kitchen, the sound of thundering footsteps as her kids play tag in the halls they definitely shouldn’t be running in. 

Eddie keeps a tight hold on your hand behind you as he follows you down the stairs, but you’re squeezing his right back, suddenly even more nervous now that some of your extended family has arrived. 

Your heart pounds through greetings, through quick hugs and happy hellos and nervous introductions. It hammers in your chest even harder when Eddie’s hand slips down to rest on your ass as he politely chit-chats with your uncle. This is the plan. This is what you wanted. So why are you so nervous? It doesn’t calm down until some time later, when your cousins convince Eddie to join them outside for a makeshift game of hockey in the iced over driveway. Your dad and uncle sit in the dining room chatting over scotch, while the rest of you return to cooking. 

“So Eddie seems nice,” Aunt Ellen says with a smile while you peel potatoes with her at the kitchen island. There’s no sarcasm in her tone, no ulterior motives. It seems as though she means what she says, and it's a comforting contrast to the harsh words and sideways glances you’ve been getting from your parents. “You two kids meet at school?” 

Outside the window, the hockey game has dissolved into a snowball fight, your younger cousins ganging up on a solo Eddie. You realize you’re staring, zoned out as he easily picks up the youngest to use him as a human shield, unable to stop yourself from smiling as your cousin giggles and brings Eddie down with a smashed snowball right to the face. You can practically hear his dramatics through the window as he mimes a wounded heart and dramatic battlefield death. 

“Kinda,” you hum, shaking yourself from your daydream and smiling back at her softly. “He went to highschool with my roommate, Robin. Their hometown is a lot closer to school than here, so I got to know a lot of her friends pretty early on.” 

You try not to elaborate too much, but your blush betrays you.

“You had it bad, huh?” She teases. 

“I…might have developed a big dumb crush pretty quickly.” Not entirely a lie.

“Well it must have worked out well for you, huh? Seeing as he’s here and all.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “Mom and Dad aren’t too thrilled about it.” 

She shrugs, wrinkling her nose at you and leaning in to whisper, “to be honest, this could be good for them. They need to loosen up a little, maybe this’ll push ‘em in the right direction.” 

You snort, “you’re telling me.” 

“You could make it a little easier on them though,” she chuckles, gesturing to her own neck not-so-subtly, “maybe show them his good side before you try to intentionally rile them up.” 

Rolling your eyes, you throw a potato peel at her and shake your head. You had the feeling going into this that if anyone was going to find you out, it would be your aunt. Though much to your relief, she seems to still believe you’re actually together, so maybe you can keep the act going through the rest of the weekend. 

She gets pulled away when her cell phone rings, most likely your Grandma calling to ask your parents address despite the fact that they’ve been hosting thanksgiving here since you were born, and in the blink of an eye her seat is taken by your mom. Her arms are folded on the table in front of her, ignoring the pile of potatoes that still need to be done and eyeballing your own paring knife pointedly until you slow to a hesitant, confused stop. 

“Honestly, young woman, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She scolds, voice hushed but harsh as ever. 

With a roll of your eyes, you answer, “if I didn’t think you’d kill me I would say you know exactly what’s gotten into me.” 

“Enough!” She looks over her shoulder to ensure that her outburst wasn’t heard and that your aunt is still occupied. God forbid anyone realize she’s experiencing any emotion that’s less than pleasant. “I don’t care how much you care for that boy or how you act at school but right now you are back under our roof and you’ll carry yourself with grace.” 

“But-” 

“No buts.” She hushes to a whisper as your aunt approaches again, “now go put on some makeup or a turtleneck before Grandma gets here or your father notices, because I assure you he would not be nearly as kind as I.” 

“Yeah,” your chair makes an awful screeching sound as it scrapes against the floor as you stand. “Because you’ve been so peachy keen.” 

—

Halfway through Thanksgiving dinner, things are going swimmingly. Eddie seems to get on great with the rest of your family, which somehow only seems to upset your parents even more. He talks music with your uncle when he comments on his tee shirt, and compliments you and your mom on the cooking no less than five times, thanking her profusely for the meal, and chats excitedly with your cousins about DnD when they ask about the tattoo of a D20 on his forearm. They’re all eating up his attention, but your parents only sit in silence, observing. 

It isn’t until your grandma asks him about school that you finally get a reaction out of them. She had unknowingly uncovered the ace up your sleeve without either you or Eddie having to bring it up and you’re downright thrilled to see where this goes. 

You’ll have to thank her later. 

“Oh, uh, no ma’am.” Eddie chuckles. Confidence puffs his chest as he grins knowingly, stealing a peek at your mirrored expression from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you believe it, I’m shit at school?” He pauses for everyone to balk at his bold wording. “Who would’a known, right? I’m the picture of a 4.0. Anyway, to answer your question, I just graduated in June, so I’m taking some time to focus on my band.”

His age had already come up in conversation, so it was only right for your uncle to assume, “oh, well, well school isn’t for everyone. What’s important is that you made it through. What was your degree in?” 

You clear your throat uncomfortably, ducking your head to hide the smile threatening to break out. 

“High school, actually,” Eddie snickers, “took me three senior years, but I did it!” 

Silence takes over the room once again, even shocking your extended family. You could hear a pin drop, and you do hear your dad choke on his turkey. 

Acting oblivious to their shock, you prompt, “tell them about your band, baby.” Giddy smile plastered on your face, you reach out for his hand and address your family again, “they just booked a consistent gig! How exciting is that?” 

“I’d hardly call Tuesday nights at the Hideout exciting, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Plus,” he drops your hand in lieu of resting his on your thigh, his grip warm and familiar. Turning another wily smirk on you he adds, “we’ve got at least one fan who won’t miss a Corroded Coffin show. That’s what counts, right?” 

Leaning across the table to pester you more quietly, your mother hisses, “I thought you had study group on Tuesdays.” 

“I do!” You defend, “we just…meet at the Hideout.” 

In reality you’ve only been to one of Eddie’s shows, the first one at the Hideout that they played as a tryout, and you had a damn good time. But you do have a study group that meets on Tuesdays, regrettably not at the Hideout but in the common area of your dorm building and even more unfortunately, right when Corroded Coffin is about to go on.

 You can’t stop yourself from smiling at their shock. Every little thing he or you say to surprise them makes it a little more amusing. 

Last night their anger felt overbearing, casting a shadow over you, made you feel small. But the more you catch them off guard, the less they say, and the more you want to laugh at the surprise and disgust in their eyes.

Dessert brings pumpkin pie, coffee cake, another round of drinks, and more inquiry from your aunt. She even managed to slip Eddie one of her husband’s beers, much to the disapproving glare of your father.

“Eddie,” she hums, grinning at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Were your ears ringing earlier? We were gossiping about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, a sly smirk and a raised brow pointed your way.  He leans back in his chair, right hand reaching out to rest once more on your thigh under the table. He tilts his head even further toward you, “all bad things, I hope?” 

“Aunt Ellen was asking how we met,” you smile sweetly, licking away the remnants of cool whip on your dessert fork. 

His eyes darken as they follow the motion and his hand creeps higher, pinky finger stroking at the hem of your skirt absent-mindedly as he speaks. You fight to keep your breath from getting caught in your throat at the cold bite of his rings against your flushed skin. “Oh I see,” he hums, then, his attention snapping back across the table, cutting through the tension you both just created, “did she tell you how she tried to hairspray me to death?” 

“She didn’t,” your grandma exclaims, “please do tell!”

“So I’m planning on meeting my good friend Robin for a nice meal, right? Sounds like a nice evening! Except…”

You try to stay engaged in the conversation, to tell your side of the story, you really do– but the weight of his hand high up on your thigh is distracting. It’s hard to focus on much else, especially when he kneads gently in time with his elaborate storytelling, his thumb caressing the rolled hem of your thigh-high socks and stroking the skin just above it. 

Why, you can’t help but think. You’re the only ones seated on this side of the table, and sheltered from view by the tablecloth. There should be no reason for him to be touching you like this when there’s nobody to see it happening. You wonder if he knows there’s no point, but then his hand creeps even higher and his fingertips slip under the edge of your skirt and into the crease where your thighs press together. This time you can’t stop the stutter in your breath and he notices, smiling at you wickedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He knows it’s affecting you, and even worse he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. 

But he just keeps on talking, stealing the show.  

The story of how you met melts easily into the previously fabricated story of your first date, and so on. The stories just keep flowing. That’s the thing about Eddie, he could be reading you the instruction manual for a toaster, but the way that he tells stories is captivating. The way he speaks of your first date, and then of your first anniversary (something you hadn’t discussed on the drive, but damn it if he wasn’t quick on the draw with it) has your family on the edge of their seats. Your aunt listens with glee, but your parents are horrified at the thought of him taking you to a dive bar for dinner or staying overnight in your dorm. Whether they like it or not, he knows how to command a room. 

When things start winding down, after goodbyes are said to your Grandma, you’re rescued from having to do the dishes when your cousins talk you into a game of Monopoly. Eddie picks your favorite piece, but relents quickly when you send him a pout and opts for the thimble instead. 

“So what are you, a $100 on Free Parking family, all taxes on Free Parking family, or a boring family?” Eddie asks, digging out the loose bills in disarray at the bottom of the box.

“Better,” you hum, “you boys know where the stash is, d’you mind?” 

Your cousins laugh, the eldest pulling a bag of halloween candy out from under the coffee table you sit around. “Already on it, cuz.” 

Watching as he dumps a few pieces into the middle of the board, you grin. “Perfect.” 

—

After a rousing game (where Eddie absolutely made fun of your candy pot right up until he landed on Free Parking and won it), your extended family starts to pack up to make the hour’s drive home. You say your goodbyes, Aunt Ellen whispering a reminder to go easy on your parents into your ear when she hugs you tightly. Eddie high fives your cousins as they pass, and shoots them a devil horn gesture as they make their way to the car. You swear you hear your dad mumble under his breath about him corrupting them, but bite your tongue. 

You barely made it back to the den to start cleaning up the board game when the knock comes at the door – their car won’t start. It’s cold and it’s dark and without hesitation your mom offers them shelter for the night. 

“The boys will have to sleep on the pull out in the den,” she muses quietly, thinking out loud. “It’s not much but they’ll be comfy there. Ellen, you guys can take the guest room.” You crack a smile as she keeps talking, mentions that your dad and uncle can take a look at the car when they’ve had a good night’s sleep and the sun is up, and Eddie catches your eye with a mirroring grin. 

“I’d be happy to look,” he offers, drawing both your parents’ attention. They’d forgotten about him in their plan. “I’m no professional, but my uncle and I have lifted parts from enough junkers to know my way around an engine.” 

Your mom looks between you and the boy next to you, brow drawn together in concern. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s the best–” 

Cutting her off, you rest your hand on Eddie’s elbow and smile saccharine, “that’s so kind of you, Eds, thank you.” 

He knocks your hand from his arm in favor of wrapping it around your shoulders, curling your body into his side and kissing your temple with a loud smack! His grin is downright smug when he says, “looks like I’ll be bunking with you after all, huh, Princess?” 

“Lucky me,” you mumble, turning away quickly to hide the rapidly forming flush in your cheeks. “Um, hey, can you help my dad with the pullout? It sticks. I’ll go change the sheets in the guest room.” 

“You got it, baby,” he smiles good-naturedly. “Where can I help, Dad?” 

As you walk away, you can hear the exasperation in your father’s voice as he informs the boy that it would be in his best interest to call him Mr. or Sir, and you can’t help but giggle at the stuttering response Eddie gives. 

You’ve tossed Eddie’s bags into your own room and stripped the sheets from the guest bed by the time your mom meets you in the guest room with fresh sheets. You quietly make the bed together until she speaks up. 

“I’m sure you find yourself so lucky to have gotten what you want,” she muses, tucking in the top sheet on her side of the bed a little more harshly than necessary. “But under no circumstances does this mean you can take advantage of my kindness. I was not about to let our family go without a place to stay for the night so you may have found yourself sharing a room but I expect no funny business.” So casual in her cruelty, she emphasizes where she needs to but otherwise her voice is calm. 

“Right,” you snort, “because the mood is so perfect with my parents down the hall and aunt and uncle in the next room.” 

“I’m only saying, that boy is changing you. You’re acting so differently since you brought him ‘round and I-” 

You cut her off, throwing the pillow you just put a new sham on back onto the bed violently. “I care about that boy,” throwing air quotes when you repeat her words, “and if I’ve changed, it’s only because he showed me what it’s like to be cared for in return!” The words flow from you freely, without much thought. You’re reacting with what you know will hurt right back, but you’re also speaking from the heart. Even just being friends with not only Eddie, but Robin and Steve as well, has built your confidence and taught you plenty about love and support, even if it was just platonic. 

Her voice drips with condescension when she replies, “Honey. Do you truly think a boy like that has good intentions with a girl like you? He drinks, he smokes, he’s skipping college and doesn’t have a job because he’s in a rock band for Pete’s sake. I’m just worried about you. Guys like that only want one thing.” 

With your back to the door you don’t notice Eddie approaching, and he hovers just outside the door and out of your mom’s view. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he could hear your shouting match from downstairs, and he wanted to be close by if you needed a comforting word or pep talk.  

“What’s that, Mom?” You argue, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Sex? Who’s to say we haven’t gone there already? And what could you do to stop us from fucking all night tonight? We’re both adults. We could go at it for hours, under your roof, right down the hall from you and technically all you can do about it is kick us out. Oh well!! We’ve got a car and a couple hundred bucks between the two of us, we could swing a motel for the night. The point is, it could happen anywhere, so wouldn’t you rather know that I’m safe at home and not sharing a wall with drug addicts and prostitutes down at the Motel 6?”

She’s silent for a long moment, both of you unmoving and staring angrily at each other. 

“...You’re not actually going to have–”

“OF COURSE I’M NOT, Mother,” you groan, “and do you think I would tell you if I was!? God, I knew bringing him here was a mistake. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning. I’m not going to bother staying the rest of the weekend in a house that makes me and my boyfriend feel unwelcome.” 

Suddenly very reminiscent of your high school days, you stomp away with an exasperated groan, brushing past Eddie in a fury and you couldn’t even begin to care in the moment to ask how much he’d overheard. You were hot in more than one sense of the word, livid at your mother’s attack, blood boiling at the fact that even she – who has always been more lenient and quick to defend against your father – could think so lowly of Eddie without even giving him a chance. You know that’s the point. You know you brought him here specifically to get a rise out of them, but God, this was so much worse than the stunned silence and speechless stuttering you were expecting. 

With every step closer to your room, the need to get out of this damn outfit gets stronger. Despite your aggravation, every brush of your skirt against your thighs brings your mind back to dinner and Eddie’s curious touch, the gentle squeeze as his fingertips brushed at the crease of your crossed legs, the casual nonchalance as he kept talking even though he knew exactly what he was doing. 

It's annoying, really, how easily he infiltrates your thoughts and without even trying distracts you from your rage. Only, now he’s all you can think of as you slam the bedroom door and rifle through your suitcase. By the time you start the shower, you’ve moved past wondering why he was touching you like that when it didn’t benefit the plan, and when you strip down and step under the steaming spray you’re more than curious how far he’s willing to take this. You have to admit after shouting about how much sex you were going to have with him tonight, you’re starting to wonder how much of a possibility it could be.

Would he actually touch you? Let you touch him? He was eager to paint your skin with possessive marks earlier. Was he just that committed to the bit, or did he really just want to? 

Would it be so bad if he did? 

As much as you want to draw this shower out, slow, careful caresses of your skin as you touch yourself the way you imagine a certain guitarist might, you decide it’s not the best idea with a houseful of family. Soon enough you’re toweling off and feeling less angry than before, though no less frustrated. 

When you make it back to your room, there’s an open copy of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons and a weathered journal laid out on your bed, suggesting that Eddie had been hiding out there, however he’s nowhere to be found. You manage to get your hair most of the way dried by the time he comes back in, the faint scent of smoke and fresh snow billowing behind in his wake. The stick of a lollipop he won in your game of Monopoly earlier juts out from between his lips. 

Smiling softly in greeting, you expect him to beeline back to his notes, but to your surprise he turns your way and leans one hand on your vanity. The other comes to rest under your chin, urging you to look up at him. He smiles back, bigger, encouraging. His lips are tinted pink from the candy and he even nods a little when your own smile grows, as if he could tell that your first wasn’t that genuine. 

“Y’okay?” He murmurs, thumb stroking absently at the sharp of your jawline. “It’s been fun messing with them, but that screaming match must’ve been a lot.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “I’ll get over it, but are you okay? You were the one she was insulting.” 

He waves off your comment casually, a wrinkle in his nose and the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I’ve been called worse, and in her defense, we are trying to make me look bad.”

“I guess, but I still didn’t like hearing her speak about you like that,” you chuckle and stand, scooting the stool back in order to wrap him in a hug. After a brief pause, you mumble into his neck, “... and thank you. For checking in.” 

Eddie’s hands squeeze where he holds your hips fondly, and he pulls away from your embrace just enough to get a good look at your face. His eyes shine beneath his furrowed brow, impossibly deep brown in the low light of your room, they search your face for any hint of distress, and when he’s confident you’re telling the truth, only then does his gaze land on your lips. You swallow thickly, blink slowly, try to convince yourself you’re making this up. He pulls the lollipop from his mouth, slurping obscenely as he does.  There’s nobody around! He has nothing to prove! So then why is he leaning in? Why do you let him, and lean up onto your toes to close the gap? 

Quiet takes over the room as Eddie’s eyes fall shut, followed quickly by your own. You gasp gently, but lean into his kiss eagerly, the hand around his shoulder reaching up to tangle in the mess of curls at the base of his neck. His lips meld with yours, working you over in a deep and tender kiss that makes your stomach flip. It’s soft. Familiar in a way you wouldn’t expect. 

It might be your favorite one yet. 

He tastes distinctly of cherry and leftover tobacco, lips sticky with sugar and oh, so delicious. 

When he breaks the kiss he doesn’t go far, lips traveling to press sweetly at your temple for a fleeting moment. 

“What was that for?” You ask, breathless. “There’s nobody else around?” 

Eddie hums, “maybe I just felt like it.” Taking in your choice of pajamas, he grins even wider, “kinda like you just felt like wearing my Sabbath shirt again, I’m sure. Did you mean what you said back there?” 

Stalling, you pluck the candy from between his fingers and take a moment to savor it. Sure, it’s a little bit of a tease, the way your tongue darts out to lick it salaciously before taking the whole thing in your mouth with a soft hum, but it’s payback for both times he’d gotten you worked up earlier today. By the look on his face, payback is a bitch. 

“How much did you overhear?” 

“Oh, you know…” his hand trails up the length of your forearm, enveloping your own, only to take the sucker back from you and toss it into the bin, forgotten already. “Just the part about us going at it for hours.” Hands on either side of your face, he crouches until he’s fully in your space, lips just a hair away from your own. “How it was going to happen no matter what.” You feel his smirk more than you actually see it, and your breath gets caught in your throat. His hair curtains around you, tickling at your neck and shoulders.This can’t actually be happening – right? His thumb drags lightly at your bottom lip, “that we were gonna fuck all night?” 

“I– I didn’t know you were there.” You stutter out, afraid to admit anything more than that. 

“...Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

You don’t. Instead, you find yourself falling forward, colliding once more in a clumsy kiss. You stand slowly so that he doesn’t have to crouch, never once letting your lips leave his. It’s an intoxicating contrast to the last kiss, all bruising pressure and teeth and tongue and desperation. He licks into your mouth without asking permission, though you would have given it freely anyway, and his hands creep downward on your body, caressing your waist and falling to rest on the swell of your hips, squeezing gently. When you surge up onto your tiptoes to kiss him deeper, he notices the wobble in your legs and shifts, hooking his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifting you to rest on the edge of your vanity. You gasp in surprise at his boldness, at the strength you didn’t know he possessed, and break the kiss in the process. 

“You know, I was hoping you weren’t all talk,” he beams with pride, taking in the sight of your bite swollen lips and chest heaving with ragged breath. Placing a hand on either side of your hips, his head drops to mouth hungrily at your neck, giving the same attention to the opposite side he had earlier, pulling at the neck of your stolen tee-shirt to suck another bruise into your collarbone. In between passes of his tongue and nips at your sensitive skin, he keeps talking. Eddie Munson does not know when to shut up, not even now. “Been wanting to get my hands on you since we met,” he mumbles into the hollow of your throat, you can feel another smile pressed to the skin there, “somethin’ about being threatened by a sweet little thing like you…” working his way back up to find your lips, he basks in the small noises coming from the back of your throat. “...really does it for a guy.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugging, but before you can continue the thought, the vanity beneath you gives an awful creaking sound under your combined weight. Giggling, near mortified, you bite your lip and shift your eyes toward the bed, “you wanna…?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he jokes in return, helping you down from your perch and crossing the room. He shuffles up toward the headboard, pulling an old teddy bear from under him when he leans up against it and raises his brow at you. 

Taking the stuffie from his hands to throw it across the room with a soft glare, you settle into his lap comfortably, one knee on either side of his hips. His hands land on your own hips and pull you closer to him roughly with a soft, amused huff. He kisses you like it's his last chance, hands firm on your hips holding you in place where you can feel his cock, half hard with interest pressing against you. 

You kiss him for what seems like hours. For all you’re concerned it could have been. Eddie consumes you, the scent of smoke and leather engulfing you and invading your senses. It’s a scent so perfectly Eddie, with a little sweetness and a little bit of something dark, just like how he kisses. Sweet pecks and soft caresses of his lips against your jawline immediately followed by lewd, wet passes of his tongue and sharp, stinging bites. He kisses hard and messy, unabashed, fingers squeezing at the meat of your ass and pulling your hips harder into his.

This time when he kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop at your neckline. He pulls at the shirt collar, carelessly stretching it past the point of no return in favor of uncovering more and more of your unexplored skin. Cold fingers prod at the skin of your lower back, making you squeal and grind harder against him, heat pooling in your center. 

Your position is making you hyper aware of just how wet you are, your panties sticking to your lower lips with it as you rut against his clothed length. Your hand stays firm on the back of his neck, nervous and unsure how far to take this, but Eddie clearly knows what he wants, his own hands exploring. Not an inch of your body goes unnoticed as he caresses you, light fleeting touches here and there followed by rough, possessive hands, kneading at your curves hungrily. He’s taking his time learning what makes you tick. Thumbs brush featherlight over pebbled nipples through the worn material of your shirt, drawing another breathy moan from your lips. Though he grins in satisfaction, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and provocation. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, gaze falling on your chest as he seeks out the hardened buds again and pinching, cocky smile only growing at the responding whine you let out. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, pretty thing. Or did you forget where we were?” 

Not one to go without a fight, you grip his jaw and turn his face back up toward yours, “shut up and put your mouth to good use, baby.” 

He smirks at the pet name, capturing your lips once more and turning you both until you’re laying back against the mattress. Eddie hovers over you, staring, eyes raking over you briefly before he makes his way down your body, stopping at the waist of your sleep pants with a happy hum. He traces the elastic teasingly before hooking in and pulling them down, tossing them out of the way carelessly. You press your thighs together when he does, and he tuts disapprovingly, thumb caressing the crease between your thigh and hip. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re not gettin’ shy on me now, are you?” He teases, gently coaxing your legs back open, chilled air hitting the damp cotton and making you shudder. Lowering himself so that he’s eye level with your clothed cunt, he smirks, “that’s what I thought.” 

You expect him to rid you of that layer as well, but he doesn’t, not yet. Instead, he noses at the growing wet spot, inhaling deeply and giving a dramatic, gleeful sigh. He’s not so cruel to keep teasing you though, quickly mouthing at your pussy through the thin material of your panties. The added friction is unbearable, pleasure settling low in your belly as he licks broadly at the wet spot with a low groan, pointed tongue finding your clit surprisingly quickly. Pulling back briefly, he admires the way that the material clings to you, now wet with your slick and his saliva, the soaked cotton hides nothing. He murmurs something about “isn’t this a pretty picture?” and reaches out to touch you, fingers stroking over your clothed cunt in a rough drag, but the way your blood is rushing in your ears you barely hear him. 

When he finally peels the ruined panties off of you, you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him between your legs. His hair’s a mess, disheveled by your hands running through it, bangs pushed back from his forehead from his efforts. His lips are kiss swollen and red from the cherry candy, pulled back tight over an eager grin. He licks his lips, eyes glittering as he stares down at you, utterly enraptured. He looks at you as though you were his last meal, like you were the most delectable treat, and it makes your stomach flip.

He dives back in, tongue gliding between your lips easily and circling your clit once, teasingly, before retreating back down to your entrance. With a huff and a repressed squeal, you drop back onto the bed, hand flying to tangle in his hair as he tongues at your hole eagerly. Nose bumping your clit with his efforts, he laps at your juices until you’re whining for it, a weak little “please,” falling from your lips. Any other day he would tease you. A quipped please what, what do you need? But he senses your desperation and relents. 

“So wet, sweet thing,” he chides, reaching out to drag two fingers through your dripping folds and pushing them into you without warning, forcing the air from your lungs. You bite your lip in an effort to keep quiet, only letting out the softest whimper when his thumb joins in, rubbing at your clit lazily. “Tell me, are you always this eager?” 

“When some asshole’s been teasing me since dinner, yeah,” you quip, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide your embarrassment. 

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Eddie asks, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lap at your nub, suckling lightly until your thighs tremble and your pussy clenches down on his fingers. “Do you even know what you were doing to me at dinner?” His pace quickens, fingers drawing obscene, wet sounds from your cunt as he pumps them faster. Resting his head on your thigh to watch as his fingers disappear in and out of your dripping entrance, he continues, “The way you were lickin’ that fork clean after dessert should be illegal. Had me wonderin’ what else you could do with that tongue, I just had to level the playing field.” 

He strokes at that spot deep inside you right as his lips wrap around your clit once more and you swallow a groan. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, hips moving on their own accord, canting down to meet his eager ministrations. “Right there.”

He almost sounds pitiful as he coos, “I know, baby, I know.” 

He continues to work at your g-spot, languid, repetitive strokes that bring you closer and closer to the edge each time. Pressure builds in your pelvis, an unmistakable ache in your limbs as you tense up. He can tell you’re close, the fluttering of your walls around him and thighs caging his head in firmly. If he minds, he doesn’t let on, only doubling his efforts and adding a third finger as he thrusts back in. You’re getting close, but words are hard to find when he’s smiling so pretty at you and those long, thick fingers stroking deep within you with a come-hither motion. 

“Eddie, I’m– fuck, you gotta–” 

“That's it, Princess,” he encourages, leaning back on his heels to get a good look at you. Your whole body flushed, his tee shirt rucked up on your chest, your fingers curled in the bedspread beneath you. With his fingers still buried inside you, he reaches out with the other hand to abuse your clit, quick, messy back and forth motions that are absolutely maddening, just on the edge of too much. “C’mon, sweet thing, come for me.” 

There’s nothing you can do to stop your body from obliging, bearing down as your orgasm rips through you, your release coming from you in waves, splashing over his hands and the bedsheets between you. Your fingers go numb as you white-knuckle the bedspread, toes curling and mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he works you through your orgasm. 

Though he gives your oversensitive clit a much needed break, to your dismay, he doesn’t let up on fucking his fingers into you, gazing down at the mess you made in awe, a lopsided grin on his face. “You didn’t tell me you're a super soaker, sweetheart. What a pleasant surprise.” 

“I–” you try to interject but gasp at his unrelenting fingers. “I’m not usually.” 

“Oh?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit it again, so you only shake your head, flushing even deeper under his scrutinizing stare. It’s all too much, you’re oversensitive and spent already but god that doesn’t mean you don’t want more. 

“Please,” you start, reaching for his wrist to still his motions. You aren’t above pouting when you say, “let me return the favor.” 

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” his grin is downright evil, “not yet…I wanna see you do that again.” 

You weren’t sure that was possible. Hell, until a few moments ago you didn’t even know you could squirt at all, let alone twice in a row. But he’s determined, and he’s already kept you teetering on the edge since your first orgasm, so it doesn’t take much. He speeds up again, hand curling to cup your cunt with his efforts, and the slick slip-slide of your previous release gives him the perfect traction to continue the onslaught of attention to your overstimulated clit. Your hips can't decide whether they want to twitch away from the attention or grind down into it, ultimately going with the latter, much to Eddie’s satisfaction.

Ducking his head, he sinks his teeth into the swell of your inner thigh, relishing in the way the pain makes you clench around him yet again. 

“You got another one in you,” he encourages, “I know it.”  

And he’s right.

The coil in your belly has been threatening to snap as soon as the last orgasm dissipated, his constant attention on your g-spot enough to send you over the edge again, but it’s not until his lips latch onto your clit one more time, the delicious drag of stubble against your inner thighs a whole new sensation, that you let loose. Gripping onto fistfuls of his curls again, you take note of the wild growl the action draws from him as you spill onto his tongue, your release puddling under you and soaking into the sheets. 

“Shit, Eddie, stop, I–” You pull at his hair lightly to get his attention, “s’too sensitive.” 

Despite your complaint, he grins happily and crawls back up your body, taking the hem of your shirt with him and pulling your last bit of clothing off of your body before capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss. The distinct taste of Eddie, of tobacco and sugar and your own release is intoxicating, and you sloppily make out with him until you can no longer taste yourself on his tongue. You can’t help but giggle as you pull away. 

“You still with me?” He asks gently, damp fingers brushing through your hair, though you have no energy to care about the mess. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “just needed a second.” Reaching down to palm at the achingly hard bulge in his pants, savoring the moan he swallows, you tease, “I feel a little underdressed, here.” 

“By all means,” he hums, turning to fall on his back beside you, a cocky smile dancing on his features, “be my guest.” 

You follow suit, sitting up to straddle his lap again, lifting the hem of his shirt up and over his head. Peppering his skin with the same attention he showed you, you take your time nipping and sucking and adoring his newly exposed skin, appreciating your favorite mark (an angry looking, deep purple bruise forming just above his demon head tattoo) with a bitten lip and smug smile. He looks ruined and you haven’t even touched him yet, not really, and you take pride in the way his head lolls against the headboard, eyes heavy-lidded and crinkled from his smile,  pupils blown as he watches your every move. As you rake your nails down his chest (an act that pulls yet another deep growl from within his chest), you cant your hips down against his. The drag of denim against your bare pussy is almost too much, on the brink of both pleasure and pain in your overstimulation, and the way that it makes you shudder has his cock twitching with interest. 

Scooting down his legs, you lay between them lazily, twirling your finger around the button of his pants and savoring the impatient noises he’s clearly trying to hold back. You decide he’s been too kind to you already to deserve anymore teasing, so you make quick work of unzipping his jeans and freeing his aching member. He helps you shuffle them, along with his underwear, down his legs and as soon as you get a good look, your mouth starts to water. Flushed at the tip and weeping, it’s the most enticing thing you’ve ever seen. 

Leaning in to catch the bead of precum on your tongue, you moan at the earthy taste and let your eyes fall shut. Eddie swears above you and that only eggs you on, reaching out to take his length in one hand, you give it a long, broad lick from base to tip and around the head before taking it into your mouth, reminiscent of the way you’d enjoyed his lollipop earlier. (If you’re being honest, you much prefer this to candy). 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans, leaning up on one elbow to get a good look at you and burying his free hand in your hair. “Just like that–look so perfect like this.” 

He babbles as you suck him off, an incoherent string of desperate phrases that all circle back to one common theme – how good you look with his dick in your mouth. His praise goes straight to your throbbing core, more slick dribbling from you with every word. You find yourself clenching down on nothing, feeling suddenly empty without Eddie’s thick fingers there.

You pull off of him with a satisfying pop, beaming with pride as your hand works him over in your absence. 

“Do you ever shut up?” You tease, cupping his balls lightly with your free hand before ducking to take one into your mouth. 

He chokes out his response, “not often,” sighing as you take him back into your mouth, your tongue running over the thick vein that runs up the underside of his shaft. “But you’re gettin’ close… Get up here.” 

Pulling you off of him by the hair, he urges you back up the length of the bed. Propped up against your mess of pillows at your headboard, he pulls you back to hover over his lap and drags the head of his cock through your wet folds teasingly. Capturing your lips again, he licks hot into your mouth, positioning your hips square over his waiting member, but leaving it up to you to seal the deal. 

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by thick, delicious inch, savoring the stretch and the slight burn that comes with it. Even with proper preparation, he’s big, and fills you to the brim when you finally settle into his lap, his cock fully sheathed inside you. 

Drawing a shaky breath, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his, all sweaty bangs and shared breaths. He gives you a moment, pressing a gentle kiss high on your cheekbone and lingering there until you thread your fingers into his hair again and give an experimental roll of your hips. Both of you share a groan, breathing each other in as you slowly start to move. 

It's like a dance; you push, he pulls, moving together like you’ve rehearsed this a million times. You feel impossibly full as you bounce on his cock, lewd, wet sounds coming from where you’re joined, and the pressure builds in your stomach once again. 

Eddie’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements and holding you in place to fuck up into you without restriction. Unable to hold back, an involuntary moan tumbles from your lips and you fall forward, biting into the crook of his neck to stop yourself from making any more noise. He hisses at the sting and his hips stutter, but if he’s more affected than that he doesn’t show it. His hips continue to piston up into you, his cock forcing tiny little hiccuping noises from your throat as you clamp your eyes shut. 

“Yeah baby,” he encourages, pulling your hips down for a particularly harsh drag, the wiry hair at the base of his cock tickling at your clit from the force of it. “Y’can’t stay quiet, can you? Even now?” Reaching between you, he circles your still sensitive nub with his middle finger, kissing you to swallow the sounds you make as he spreads two fingers over your puffy lips, prodding at the taut, stretched hole where he thrusts up into you.  “Christ, if you sound this fuckin’ pretty when you’re trying to keep quiet I can’t wait to hear you when you aren’t holding back.” He speaks low in your ear, his voice impossibly deep and his words go straight to your core, zapping like static over your skin. “You’d like that, huh?” He prompts, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, “wanna make you scream my name.” 

You lift your head to kiss him, if only to shut him up, and whimper into his mouth, eyes screwed shut, but give him what he wants with a soft whine of “Eddie,” against his full lips. 

“I guess whining will do for now. Look at you, messy thing,” he’s unrelenting on your clit now, swift, circular motions made jagged by his stuttering thrusts. He’s just as close as you are, if his jerking motions and labored breathing tell you anything. “You gonna come on my cock? C’mon sweet thing, I wanna feel you.” 

“I don’t– I can’t, ‘s too much,” you babble, lost in the way his cock drags over your inner walls and the insistent swiping of his fingers at your clit. It’s so good but it’s all too much, and you’re certain if you have another orgasm, it’ll be the end of you. 

The hand that isn’t buried in your cunt comes up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him as he says, “sure you can, baby, c’mon,” then after a surprisingly tender kiss pressed into your lips, he demands through lidded eyes, “come for me, princess.” 

Even if you didn’t want to, your body obeys, the pleasure licking up from your core and spreading through your limbs like fire. Your skin burns, your cunt spasming with the force of it, and when you force your eyes shut, forehead pressed against Eddie’s in exhaustion, you swear a tear leaks out. 

He groans, the fluttering of your walls triggering his own release, pulling you into a hard, toothy kiss to dampen the sound he makes. He pulls out just in time, splattering your stomach with his seed and already you’re mourning the loss, feeling impossibly empty but sated nonetheless. 

Your mouths hang open against one another, sharing damp, hot breaths for a few moments as you come down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, rolling off of his lap to lay beside him, a delighted little chuckle falling from your lips. 

“My sentiments exactly,” he muses, turning on his side to brush the mess of your hair behind your ear. With a kiss to your temple and a soft, “wait here,” he rolls away, pulling on the first pair of pants he can find (which just so happens to be your pink snowflake pajama pants) and looks both ways before stepping out of your room and toward the bathroom. 

As you wait for him to return, you can’t help but return to your thoughts from earlier. 

Would he touch you? 

Yes. 

Would you really mind if he wanted to?

Fuck no. 

What does this mean for your friendship? 

Fuck off, don’t worry about that right now. Enjoy the moment. 

Soon he’s back with a warm washcloth that he uses to gently clean you up, taking care around your sore, red center, and then mops up his spend with a surprisingly delicate touch. In the other hand he has another fresh set of sheets, which he holds up with a snarky smile. 

“When your legs work again we can change these out,” he teases, “seeing as you ruined the ones on there now.”

Running a hand down your face, you blush. Even after everything, you blush at his remarks. “Shut up.” Giggling, you hop down from the bed and pull on his discarded boxers and the now stretched out Black Sabbath shirt before helping him change the sheets. 

In the end, you decide that it’s not worth it to finish out the weekend at home and set an alarm to get up before any of your family. It’s far too early for either of your liking, but it’s a necessary evil. 

When the car is loaded up and you drop into the passenger seat, it feels natural when Eddie’s large hand lands on your thigh. The sun is just starting to rise in the rear view mirror, and you’re eager to get a move on, but not before properly thanking him. 

Leaning over the center console, you press a kiss to his cheek, then again to his lips when he turns to meet your affection. You sigh, a dumb smile plastered on your face as you breathe your first full breath all weekend. “Thank you, Eds.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles, squeezing your thigh happily, “I’ll help you piss off your parents any day.” One more longing kiss, his lips sliding against yours without urgency, without anything to prove, just an exchange of affection between two maybe-more-than-friends who don’t have any roles to play anymore. He bites your lip as he pulls away, winking, and throwing the car into drive. As he drives away he laughs again, fixing you with an adoring stare. “My little showstopper.”

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson/you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fic #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fic

[berryzxx]

Hiii could you please do a theo nott x reader where he's done something that has annoyed reader and all day he's trying to get her to forgive him. Ends in fluff please. Thank youu

Forgive me?

I did change it a little but hope you like it! x

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: You and Theo are in an argument and he tries multiple times to apologise (it works eventually)

I looked at Theo from the corner of my eye, hoping he didn't notice that every time he looked away I'd look at him, making sure his injuries weren't too serious. Just because I was angry at him and just because the reason he was injured was his own fault didn't mean I had stopped caring. Matheo who was explaining the next game's quidditch tactics to Theo punched him on the arm, grinning at something he said.

"Don't punch him so hardly! He's just had his arm fixed" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I couldn't help but regret them. I was supposed to be ignoring Theo not fucking defending him for no reason.

His eyes flicked from Matheo to me in an instant. His blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Stopped ignoring me, sweetheart?"

I clenched my jaw annoyed at myself for my stupidity and idiotic way of ruining things.

"I was talking to Matheo, not you" I tried to save myself. Well it was true. I may be talking about him but it wasn't to him.

His smirk dropped, sadness overtaking his expression "I've apologised. So many times y/n. What else do you want?" I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted everything to finally be ok but it wasn't. Not until I thought through everything.

I shook my head "It's been one day. When we decided on a break it was indefinitely" I was going to add a sorry at the end but I didn't. Because he didn't deserve a sorry right now.

I stood up leaving him to eat his breakfast in peace, finding comfort in the library with Pansy cheering me up.

*The next day*

"And will he make it?! YES! OF COURSE HE DOES! THEODORE NOTT OF SLYTHERIN FINISHING THE GAME WITH AN ASTONISHING GOAL. There you have it! Slytherin has won by one hundred and fifty points! Of course Hufflepuff stood no chance of winning when we look at the logistics-" Laughter rung out across the stadium at Lee Jordan's commentary but before he could carry on Professor McGonagall took the microphone away.

I watched as Theo flew around the pitch congratulating his team and doing a few loops in the air. He liked to show off and I didn't blame him. It was mostly due to him that we had won so greatly and of course this would mean another party in which I would wake up the next morning regretting my actions. Oh well. Who didn't love a party? Both teams were slowly descending down to where Madam Hooch stood with her arms crossed ready to shout at Malfoy who seemed to have not understood what it meant by "playing fairly". He had hit and injured a good few players in the process, even Matheo who he currently was annoyed at. Great person to have on a team.

I shifted my gaze back to where Theo was before but he was no longer there. I looked around and saw him talking to Professor McGonagall still on his broom. What was he doing? He took the microphone from her hand and turned to face me, the love with which he looked at me obvious however far he was.

He brushed a piece of hair away and spoke into the microphone, his deep voice amplified "Congratulations to Slytherin. I just wanted to make a quick announcement that I wanted you all to know. I am currently dating y/n who as you all know is the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on. I haven't spoken to her in two fucking days and it's killing me so please, forgive me sweetheart." He gave the microphone back to McGonagall as she berated him for swearing. He shrugged innocently and flew toward me. My heartbeat increasing as the distance between us decreased. Half the crowd had already left, either to mope over their loss or to prepare for the party while the other half was whistling and cheering. Their voices were all a blur as I focused on one person only.

He finally reached me, hopping off his broom he stood in front of me, his eyes piercing me. "Forgive me?"

I smiled up at him. He was too perfect to deny. I nodded my head, he took this as a sign to lean down and place his perfect lips on mine, his hands coming to rest on my waist.

Stepping back, the crowds noise suddenly sounded ten times louder, everyone was cheering while Pansy and Astoria were grinning like crazy next to me.

"You better treat her right from now on" Pansy said, her smile dropping and her eyes suddenly turning icy.

"I will. I promise"

-> Masterlist <-

#theo #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #hogwarts #ask reply #my fic #theo nott #fluff #cute #draco malfoy #matheo riddle #matheo

[ikarakie]

part 1

eddie wakes up.

he doesn't expect to. not on earth, anyways. but he does, in a hospital bed, to dustin's scolding and the girls' smiles. he's told they won, vecna's dead. the government are working on clearing his name as they speak as a fucked up 'thank you', and everything is fucking okay.

he asks after red and the sinclairs. apparently, they had a run-in with asshole of the century jason carver, but sinclair had held his own with a mean right hook that harrington had taught him once. max had fought vecna off with the help of supergirl, who'd come into her mind at the last second via shenanigans that eddie didn't understand. though he was assured he'd have the story told to him by mike himself, since he, supergirl, and the byers' were on their way in from california.

everyone's crowded around his bed, minus one very pretty head of hair, firing off their accounts. robin's partway through how the vines had attacked them when it happens.

"and then they grabbed me and slammed me against the wall! so steve-" and she hesitates. widens her eyes and a looks a bit nauseous all of a sudden. eddie feels his stomach sink.

"hey, speaking of harrington, where is he?" he asks, hoping to fucking god it's not what he thinks. though the way the room falls silent, the way dustin's suddenly holding his hand a lot tighter, makes his eyes water.

"he got you out." henderson whispers, sounding so very broken. "he- he carried you back to the gate and sent you through, but it- it was closing." he's biting his lip so hard he draws blood.

"he... he's still there?" eddie asks, breathless, horrified. the image of steve harrington hauling his ass out of that backwards hell dimension only to get stuck there himself makes his head spin. robin breaks down next to him, bringing her legs to her chest on her chair. nancy puts an arm around her shoulder.

"he made sure we all got through first." she says, deceptively even. eddie can see how tense her shoulders are, and he gets it. because, for fucks sakes, of course he sent the girls and henderson through first. "i think... i think he didn't want to risk coming through when it was so nearly closed. so he stayed."

eddie takes a second. looks around the room, at everyone's sullen faces. wonders why steve thought his was the life to save instead of his own, when all these people loved him so fucking dearly. eddie liked robin, and he liked max, and nancy, and the little sinclair, but they were more steve's people than his. and yet the guy, for whatever fucking reason, thought eddie, who was barely clinging on to begin with, was the one who deserved to live?

if you told him three months ago that he'd be sat in a hospital bed, having been dragged back from the edge of death by steve harrington, who'd fucking sacrificed himself to do so, he would've laughed. even more, if you told him that, in that position, eddie's heart ached with affection for the guy, he would've punched you. probably.

not that his puppy crush on steve was a recent development, but this whole... seeing him in action thing had just exacerbated it. especially with all those lingering looks they'd shared. semi-flirty words and little signals that eddie forced himself not to read into. but now he wished he had. wished he'd said what he'd meant to, that last time they saw each other.

"it's okay, though." dustin said, breaking the silence. "because when el comes back, she'll just open a gate, and we can go and get him." he sounds so sure, that for a moment, eddie thinks he's right, but the way nancy sighs indicates this is an issue.

"we'd like to do that." she says, "but... we don't know if vecna dying means... the upside down did, too." god, she was right. what if it'd all collapsed in on itself? robin sobs harder, shaking her head, and eddie puts a hand on one of her knees. wishes, not for the first time, that steve was here, to hold her. instead of- of- wherever he was.

the next week and half passes in a blur. eddie gets discharged, despite everyone's protests, and just told he needs to rest while he heals. they all set up camp in steve's house, which feels fucking weird, but dustin reasons that they need to all be together to form a plan, to watch eddie, and robin had a key anyways, and the place was massive, and it's not like steve ever minded. (the 'when he was alive' goes unspoken. they don't want to talk like that, not yet.)

it's one more week before mike and his little crew get back. apparently, they got caught in some government bullshit that'd held them up, but they return with joyce byers and a back-from-the-dead chief hopper, so that's cool. there's hugs and reunions and stories are exchanged. when the bit about steve getting stuck in the upside down comes up, eddie sees how will byers' face falls. remembers dustin saying he'd been trapped there once, too, and supposes it's sympathy.

chief hopper looks ready to tear the whole place apart. he'd asked after steve the second everyone had gathered, strangely terrifying for a man who was skin and bones. he'd only settled and listened to the story after being assured steve wasn't dead. (not that they... actually knew that, but no one wanted to say it out loud again).

supergirl, eleven, wasted no fucking time. she grabbed a radio and a piece of fabric and apparently began 'searching for steve in the void'. though eddie didn't quite understand, he held his breath alongside everyone else. only relaxing when she smiled, and said, albeit a little wobbly: "he is alive. he is okay."

robin's sobs would probably be with him till the day he died. she'd collapsed into joyce byers' arms, mumbling incoherently. dustin wasn't any better, crying into will's shoulder.

after some safety briefings, and a begruding blessing from hopper, supergirl opened a gate in steve's living room and fucked off through it. eddie was astounded at the ease with which she entered the dimension. will explained that, because vecna was dead, it didn't 'feel as bad anymore'. though he still held mike's hand tightly and sat as far away from it as possible.

and so the waiting game began. they tried to make small talk, tried to keep the mood light, but the whole thing weighed heavy on them. watching the gate to hell that they'd just sent a little girl through, wishing every second she'd come back in one piece.

it was maybe fourty five minutes later when max perked up. they all turned to the gate at her movement, and sure enough, there they were.

he was pale, and tired looking, covered in some sort of goop or slime or something. holding eleven's hand the whole time- though for who's benefit, eddie wasn't sure. he stumbled a bit as he stepped through the gate and still, still, turned to help el through. though he was a bit slimmer, and clearly weary, it was him, it was steve, and he was alive.

robin was on him in seconds. screaming, clinging to him and asking him 'how dare you? how fucking dare you? never do that to me again, you piece of shit! i love you so much, you can't do that!' he buried his face in her shoulder and swayed slightly as he held her. murmuring things eddie couldn't hear. dustin wasn't far behind, squeezing between them and similarly blubbering. steve was hugging them both and gazing at them- at everyone who was crying- with such wonder. like he couldn't believe he'd been missed that much.

one by one, everyone had their fill. max whacked him on the arm and then hugged him so tightly it looked like it hurt. nancy brushed his hair back out of his eyes and called him an idiot. joyce byers gently wiped his face of dirt and grime before kissing his cheek. chief hopper held him like a father, strong and tight.

eddie sat back, just watched. wondered how someone could be so loved and not feel worth it at all.

then steve's eyes settled on him. they brightened, almost sparkled. "eddie!" he called. his voice was rough from disuse, but still sounding so relieved and happy it made eddie falter. he stepped forwards, feeling steve's dazzling smile pull the corners of his own mouth upwards. "you're okay!"

then he had an armful of steve harrington, and it all came flooding out. he felt a bit foolish, but only until he realised steve was crying too. "you... asshole." he muttered, holding him as tightly as his strength would allow.

"i told you not to be fucking hero." steve huffed, though it lost any of it's power with how his voice wobbled. "i thought you died, i thought-"

"you're one to fucking talk!" eddie cried, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. "i woke up and you- they told me you dragged my ass outta there and then stayed behind! no one knew what had happened to you, it's been weeks, steve! i couldn't- why would you do that? why would you not just leave me-"

"i couldn't leave you!" god, he sounded so offended at the very idea. eddie felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. "i couldn't- i wouldn't do that-"

"i know you wouldn't." eddie lamented, because fuck, he did. he knew deep down even if he had died there, outside his trailer to those bats, steve still would've brought him home. "doesn't make it any less stupid. just makes you- makes you so-"

it hit him how close they were. probably an inch, maybe less, between their faces.

"makes me so what?" steve asked, a little breathless. eddie gazed at him, deciding that: fuck it. he'd be too close to death to not... see if whatever he thought they had was real. he sent a mental prayer to a god he didn't really believe in anymore: please, let him not have read this wrong.

he looked to steve's lips. pointedly. watched how his cheeks flushed and a shy smile crept onto them. how his eyes flickered down to eddie's as well. there was a silent, shared understanding: if we were alone right now, i'd like to have kissed you.

"so... stupidly perfect, steve harrington." eddie muttered, undeniably affectionate, pulling him in for another embrace. tucked his face into his neck so he could whisper. "you can't save someone's life and then die before they can tell you thank you." steve melted under his touch, pressing a kiss to where his shoulder met his neck under the safety of eddie's hair. it made him warm, and giddy, and so very fucking thankful.

"you can tell me now." he whispered back. eddie couldn't help but smile again. he'd tell him anything if he asked like that.

"thank you, steve." he muttered, squeezing him slightly. hoping his touch communicated what he needed it to: please, please, please don't leave me again.

"anytime, eddie." steve whispered back, hands balling into the fabric of the shirt eddie wore. i won't, as long as you don't either.

#part 3 where they kiss??? #lol #stranger things #prompt #steve harrington #imagine #steddie #stranger things prompt #eddie munson #steddie prompt #steve and eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie hc #steddie headcanon #steve and the party #steddie angst #if u catch the low-key the smiths reference lets be friends

[anyca786]

The Bite That Bound Us

Soulmate!Mikealson brothers x reader (poly)

Summary: One wrong turn into a dark valley and you find yourself turned into a vampire, but wait there's more...

I was barely five feet tall with my fiery red hair that never behaved, a whirlwind of sunshine and curiosity in a world far too big for me, was lost again. A shortcut, you'd called it. One wrong turn down a dark alley which was reeked of damp garbage and worse.

Now, a pair of glowing amber eyes locked onto mine. Panic clawed at my throat, but before I could even scream, a blur of elegant violence filled the air and then darkness, cold, an agonizing thirst that gnawed at my very core.

I awoke to a gasp of a different nature. A handsome man with chiseled features and an air of nobility stared at me, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper, something I couldn't decipher.

"What...happened?" My voice was a mere rasp.

"Forgive me," the man said, his voice a smooth baritone. "I lost control. You're..." He trailed off, examining my small frame with a frown.

Panic surged through me. "Am I dead?"

He hesitated. "Not exactly." His eyes met mine again, the amber depths swirling with guilt. "I turned you."

I stared, processing. Vampire. I was a vampire. A sob escaped through my lips before I could stop it. Then, his eyes pierced the void, followed by a face both beautiful and terrifying.

"I'm Elijah Mikaelson, the original vampire", he knelt beside me, a flicker of regret in his ancient gaze. "Forgive me, little one," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress.

Suddenly I felt the thirst again that I didn't understand, just felt the warmth returning, an unnatural hunger replacing the cold. I lunged, fangs ripping through his pristine white sleeve. He didn't flinch, only closed his eyes as I fed from him, a small, desperate creature clinging to his arm.

When I pulled back, sated and confused, his expression was unreadable. "You're different," he stated, his voice tinged with wonder. He took me to the sprawling compound, a haven shrouded in mystery. I was greeted by three pairs of eyes, each holding a universe of emotions. There was Klaus, the hybrid, Kol, the mischievous brother and Finn, the stoic one.

"Elijah," Klaus snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "what is this?" Elijah ignored him, his gaze fixed on me. "She's a… anomaly. A human turned, yet… different."

Suddenly, Finn stepped forward, his voice trembling. He reached out, a single finger brushing my cheek. A gasp escaped his lips. "The prophecy," he whispered, eyes wide.

Kol scoffed. "Finn, don't be ridiculous."

But Finn shook his head, his gaze locked on me. "The soulmate. The one spoken of in mother's grimoire. The one who can break the curse."

A bewildered silence descended. Then, Elijah spoke, his voice soft but firm. "Tell me, little one, what is your name?". I blinked, my newfound senses overwhelming. "(Y/N)," I managed, voice barely a whisper.

Klaus snorted. "Soulmate? Don't be absurd. She's just a runt of a human he sired."

But Elijah knelt before me, his eyes searching mine. "Are you truly our soulmate, (Y/N)?"

I tilted my head, unsure. "Soulmate? What's that?"

Kol, the mischievous one, stepped forward. "Don't you remember, love? The whole of New Orleans knows. The prophecy? The Originals destined to find their mate, a petite firecracker they called her."

My eyes widened. I vaguely remembered my grandmother's stories, whispered tales of an ancient prophecy about a human who would complete the Original vampires. Could it be true?

A flicker of a smile touched Elijah's lips as he knelt before me, his eyes searching mine again. "This wasn't supposed to happen like this," he admitted. "I never meant to hurt you."

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze. The fear was still there, but a spark of something else flickered within me too. "What happens now?"

A tense silence hung in the air as Elijah and his brothers exchanged looks. The prophecy. The guilt. And a flicker of a new beginning, all tied to the fate of a tiny human turned vampire.

Few months later....

The morning sun filtered through the thick drapes, casting a warm glow across the antique four-poster bed. I stirred, snuggling into the embrace behind me. Blinking bright sunshine away, I snuggled deeper into the warmth beside me. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Morning, love," rumbled a sleepy voice right by my ear. It was Klaus, still half-asleep, his hair a mess against the white silk sheets.

I smiled, turning in his arms to face his handsome face. “Morning, Nik.” My nickname for him was a constant battle between affection and pushing boundaries. He hated it, but it always made him smirk. Living with the Mikaelsons was an exercise in perpetual chaos – a chaos I wouldn't trade for anything.

Most mornings started like this – either tangled in Klaus's possessive embrace or waking up tucked against Elijah's comforting chest. Today, however, the familiar warmth was missing. I sat up, stretching my arms, and a wave of loneliness washed over me.

"Elijah?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the vast bedroom. A chuckle drifted in from the balcony. "Always so perceptive, love. Come join me."

I slipped on a silk robe and pushed open the French doors, a cool breeze ruffling my hair. Elijah stood leaning against the railing, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He smiled as I approached.

"Lost sleep?" I asked, taking a sip of his proffered cup.

"Just thinking," he said vaguely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "About yesterday."

Yesterday was a typical Mikaelson night. A masquerade ball Kol had dragged us all to, filled with pretentious socialites and enough bloodlust in the air to rival a slaughterhouse. It wasn't exactly my cup of tea, but with Kol by my side, whispering witty remarks and occasionally stealing kisses in dark corners, even masquerades could be fun.

"Was it Marcel again?" I sighed, setting the cup down.

Elijah didn't answer. Marcel Gerard, a vampire they'd turned centuries ago, had become a thorn in our side. He was building power, challenging dominion over New Orleans.

"Don't worry, love," he said, finally looking at me. "We'll handle him." He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was always so gentle, a stark contrast to the fierceness he displayed when protecting his family.

Before we could discuss Marcel further, footsteps approached. Kol sauntered in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Elijah, here you are. And my darling! Ready for breakfast?"

Our mornings usually included a leisurely breakfast with Kol, filled with gossip about the latest society scandals (courtesy of Kol's impeccable ear for eavesdropping), lighthearted teasing, and plenty of laughter.

We’d sit at the grand dining table, me perched on a booster seat (thanks to my perpetually human height), devouring pancakes while he regaled me with stories of his mischievous exploits throughout the centuries. Sometimes, Elijah would join us, his stoic demeanor masking the fondness in his eyes as he listened to Kol’s ramblings.

After breakfast, I spent the day indulging in my favorite pastime – reading. Finn, the quietest among the brothers, shared my love for literature. We curled up on the plush couches in the library, lost in different worlds, surrounded by towering shelves of leather-bound books. He’d read aloud in his soothing voice, his passion for history igniting a similar spark within me. Occasionally, Elijah would join us, his commentary adding another layer to the stories. Their perspectives, spanning centuries, were a treasure trove of knowledge.

Klaus, possessive and protective (sometimes to a suffocating degree), would spend nights dragging me to dimly lit clubs or lavish parties. He’d scowl at anyone who dared glance my way for too long, his hand possessively wrapped around my waist. It was annoying at times, this need to control everything around me, but there was a tenderness in his possessiveness that I couldn't ignore. Sometimes, he’d surprise me with a stolen moment in the garden, capturing my likeness on canvas with surprising skill.

Despite their differences, they all had one thing in common: their fierce protectiveness of me.

Whenever a dark cloud hung over me, Elijah, with his calming presence, would scoop me into his lap, whispering reassurances and pressing gentle kisses to my forehead. He understood my anxieties as a human turned supernatural, my loneliness in a world they’d inhabited for so long.

One afternoon, while browsing a quaint bookstore with Rebecca, I felt a prickling on the back of my neck – a feeling I’d come to associate with danger. Looking back, I saw Marcel, a former protégé turned enemy of the Mikaelsons, flanked by his vampires, his eyes glinting with malice. My blood ran cold. He was here, inside the French Quarter, the supposed haven.

Fear momentarily forgotten, I lunged towards him, a primal urge to protect my family surging through me. Of course, my vampire powers were a mere blip compared to Marcel’s ancient strength. He caught me effortlessly, his grip tightening around my throat. Panic rose, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin.

“Leaving the Mikaelsons pet unattended?” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

Before I could respond, a blur of white and blue swept past me. Elijah’s hand clamped around Marcel’s wrist, his face a mask of fury. “Leave her be, Marcel,” he growled.

“Now, Elijah,” Marcel mocked, his hold on me tightening. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached to the little rabbit.”

I struggled, kicking my legs and lashing out with my hands, a pathetic display against his superior strength. A surge of pride washed over me when I saw Kol and Finn materialize at Elijah’s side, their faces reflecting a similar fury.

A tense silence stretched between them. Just as Marcel opened his mouth to speak again, Klaus materialized behind him, his eyes blazing with an unholy fire. “You dare touch what’s mine?”

Marcel seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, a flicker of fear crossing his face. It was enough. With a coordinated attack, the Mikaelsons overpowered Marcel and his goons. It was a brutal ballet of fangs, claws, and super speed. I watched it all unfold from the safe.

You'll can send requests and suggestions-

#tumblr #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #tvdu #kol mikealson x reader #kol mikaelson #finn mikaelson #the originals #y/n

[panchatea]

GREEN

GREEN

#1 of 3 Colors Series.

TRIGGER WARNING is expected, proceed with caution

Dreamcatcher Fanfiction

6322 WORDS

chacha story commissions

It was cold light blue… 

Really cold and these red mosquitos were everywhere feasting and leaving itchy marks on each arm and leg. It was crippling, it was dark, but at least it was quiet. 

Finally quiet.

It was white.

A sweater or a hoodie would be quite useful right now, but there was no point, right? After all, it all doesn’t matter now, there was nothing to lose or gain anymore. Just take mindless steps… mindless heavy steps with no direction. Grab the gray asphalt underneath. Feel the cold, feel all of it… 

Blink.

It was dark, yet it was bright.

It was white.

All of these blinding lights were everywhere from store signages and street lights. Countless lost red and yellow souls passing by each other, and not caring about one another. After all, people have their own problems to deal with. 

Problems.

If only it were that simple, but it wasn't.

It never did.

Wish it was all monochrome but no, everything was bright, too bright to begin with, too colorful, too complicated, and there was no side ledge to stand on top off to. There was no compelling, pulling, and captivating clear dark blue body of water to drown in.

Not that everything wasn’t already drowning and suffocating.

All there was just darkness, this asphalt underneath, and all of these bright street lamps.

Just breathe.

It’s not that hard. It’s not that hard to just breathe.

Hard to breathe.

“You’re green.” That was what she said before grabbing onto your hand, without asking and pulling you away from these heavy mindless steps. She held tightly as every color blurred out, and each step kept getting lighter.

Run.

Her hand was soft, but she was gripping tightly and she was shaking as if… you looked at her. She was purple.

It was fast and blurry. All these colors mixed up and there was no clear path and all you could focus on was her. Her color oozed with purples and violets. Her blonde hair. That black sweater and gray skirt. And run to god knows where she would take you.

“What are you thinking about?” She yelled, still running.

“I don’t know…

Like maybe why are we running?

Who are you?

What are we even doing?

Aren’t you running out of breath?”

“Hey calm down, Green. Geez, you have too many questions.” She didn’t answer any of them.

“Are we lost?!” You yelled back.

You could just stop and let go of her hand but you didn’t. Why because for some reason…

“It’s okay, Green.” Once again her answer didn’t answer the question, but her words, felt like they meant something else.

Like it was okay to be lost.

“Why are you calling me Green?”

“Breathe.” She stopped. You both stopped.

“What’s that expression on your face?” She added.

“How about you? What are you so afraid of?”

Once again, she didn’t answer… She just looked at you while she caught her breath.

“You can see it, right?”

“I don't know what you are talking about.”

“The colors. Tell me what color I am?”

“You’re purple or violet… I don’t know, I don’t care. What does it even mean?”

She just laughed, loudly until it was all you could hear, breaking the whites, mixing in the dark.

“Can you just talk to me like a normal person!?” You shouted and she just looked surprised. She pouted but she didn’t say anything.

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling. I just, can’t deal with this right now. I don't have time for this.” You tried to walk away but her next words stopped you.

She was really pushy.

“I'm not normal, Green.” She laughed.

“You’re silly, you know.” She squatted looking at your toes, at your shoeless feet.

“It's just that sometimes or most of the time, I get into these moods. I say what I want. I do what I want. You’re right… I’m purple. You’re funny, you don't know the difference between purples and violets.” She pointed at your feet happily.

“Your toes are dirty, aren’t they cold? Don’t go running without shoes or a flip-flop. I like violet more than purple, so I appreciate that you thought I was a violet.”

She says one different thing after another.

“You’re weird.” You sighed out of frustration as you grew aware of what she pointed out, yes your feet were cold.

“It’s my first time seeing your shade of green,” she muttered.

“Usually, I would see it in restaurants or children who don’t like their veggies. Did you eat something weird? But you’re different, it’s as if you’re disgusted by yourself.” She looked at you intently, studying your expression or rather studying your expression and peeking into your soul.

“That’s none of your business scaredy fox.” You reached inside your pocket and took out the single stick of cigarette left in there and a lighter.

“Hey, don’t smoke, Green.” She jumped up while simultaneously snatching the stick slipped in between your fingers, and threw it away. “It’s bad for you.”

“What’s your problem?!” You shouted at her and she just smiled.

“How about you? What’s your problem?” She retorted sternly as if she really believed that snatching that cigarette was the right thing to do. You just sighed in defeat. 

She had this commanding and carefree aura or in other words she was weird and she just didn’t care.

“Come on, just calm down and enjoy this view,” She tapped your shoulders before turning to look around. What view? All of it was just empty dark streets lit by white street lights, colorful street signage of 24-hour establishments, and the occasional passing of cars, and red and yellow souls.

“You’re weird,” you commented and she just smiled back at you.

“Keep telling me that, Green. It’s better to be weird than be normal, that sucks.”

“Stop calling me, Green. I don’t know what it means and I have a name,” you retorted while you stared at her. Now that you have a chance, you realize how beautiful this girl was… She looked like an idol, and the street lights weren’t blinding for once, they just illuminated this girl enough to show her violet self.

“So go ahead and tell me your name,” She challenged as she turned back and made eye contact.

“I don’t want to.”

She pouted, “Come on, I’ll tell you mine so tell me yours.”

“Why should I, you’ll keep calling me green anyways, Violet.”

“Haha, maybe I should dye my hair violet soon. Sure, that’s fine, let's just talk like this. Do you wanna walk? Or do you wanna sit?”

You laughed as you took a sit on the sidewalk underneath one of those white street lights.

“You made me run and then you’ll make me walk, don’t forget that I’m barefooted, Violet.” She laughed before sitting beside you.

“Here let me even out things,” She said before she removed her shoes and socks, and then threw them away.

“That’s not what I mean,” You said in a tone of frustration, “and that doesn’t even out things since we’re sitting.”

“Come on now, it’s better this way. Now go talk your heart out, Green.” She looked at you. Those eyes of hers, expecting something to come out of your mouth—the story of your shade of green.

She was really pushy(2).

“You go first, then I will go.” You smirked at her and she just pouted before breaking eye contact and looking at the sky.

“How about we play a game, Green? Let’s take turns, I’ll answer your question and then you answer mine. So that it’s fair, right?” She smiled in between her sentences.

“Sure, I’ll go first,” you quickly said and she just side-eyed in response before nodding and looking up again to the sky—that dark empty sky.

“What does Green, Purple, or Violet mean? Colors, what do colors mean?” You asked her. You could always see them everywhere but didn't really know what they meant. What do they mean? How could she even tell you could see them?

She snickered at your question, “You can see them but don’t know what they mean? You’re funny and weird.”

“I’m the one who is asking here, Miss.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll answer,” she said as she gestured as if she was grabbing something in the sky above her, “Green means disgust, and Purple is fear. Violet is still fear, but I guess for me, it is sadness mixed with little bits of anger. You know what’s funny, violet is made with more blue than red, and purple is just more red than blue. They, Purple and Violet are basically the same thing but they mean differently.”

Her explanation had raised questions. What she said wasn't clear honestly, but you just listened intently.

Her words… were just like she was yapping about something but they held meaning. 

“So if red is anger, and blue is sadness. Then Purple, do they root from anger and sadness? Does that mean you’re overwhelmed by anger but were slapped with the reality and blueness of not being able to do anything with that fear? Hence, maybe that’s why you’re afraid. What does Violet even mean then, when you’re too sad but also a little bit angry?” She lowered her fist and looked at it intently before opening it. 

She grabbed nothing out of the vast dark sky but there was something.

“You’re being unfair, you already asked three questions you know,” you smiled unknowingly as you watched her. “Anyways, I think you’re right though. There is nothing to be afraid of if you are happy.”

“Yellow?” She cut.

“Yes, yellow maybe as you said. Hence, fear is rooted in sadness, but sadness is just not enough. Maybe that’s why we need anger to experience fear. Sadness from the helplessness and anger from the hopelessness. Which do you prefer though? Violet or Purple?”

Once again, she looked at you straight in the eyes and something way beyond your eyes.

Perhaps the colors? Or maybe your soul?

“I prefer Violet, I already said that to you earlier. I think I’m violet… I wish I could be Violet, Green. What do you think? What am I?”

“Okay, Violet, I guess you’re too sad then, but I think you’re more purple. But I’ll keep calling you Violet 'cause violets are nice.” You smiled at her.

“Why?” She asked quickly.

“Because violet. Suppose you become more than just a violet. Let’s say super? Ultra?” 

She smiled. 

“Ultra-violet is all the colors at full brightness,” you joked.

“Haha, Ultra-violet? That’s so weird!” She exclaimed as she stood before once again looking up in the sky.

“Look who's talking, calling someone else weird,” you teased back. 

“Just ask your question, don’t forget about it.”

“I don’t know, I’ll ask later, Green. I’ll reserve my question for later.”

“Green? I don’t think green means disgust, but rather disappointment. Yellow is Happiness?  Green is made with blue and yellow, and all I can think about with that combination is disappointment. I don’t think you’re wrong though, Green might as well be disgust.”

“Why?” She asked and stood up beside her.

“Because I hate, myself.

Because I’m disgusted by myself.”

“That’s why you’re green.” She commented almost too quickly. “Why are you disgusted by yourself?”

“Hold your horses, it’s my turn to ask.” She smiled in acknowledgment.

“What are you so afraid of?”

And for the first time tonight, she didn’t look goofy, and she wasn’t smiling without any care in the world. There was violet, there was purple in her eyes. You suddenly remembered her shaking hands earlier, so you instinctively held her hands.

There were shaking. 

She held your hand tightly and said,

“I’m afraid of dying.”

“Why?”

She smiled, “Hold your horses, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Touche, Violet.”

You tried to let go of her hand but she intertwined hers with yours instead.

“Answer my why first.”

“I started to believe, that’s all.” 

“And?”

“I started to loathe, and I started losing love for myself.”

“What was it that made you believe? What do you believe in?” She asked continuously. Now the game was getting more interesting.

You smirked, “My turn to ask a question.”

“Aish, go ahead.”

“Why are you afraid of dying?”

She laughed and smiled again, and for some reason, it looked and sounded forced—there was sorrow behind her smile and laugh.

“That’s simple, because I’ll die,” she stated nonchalantly as if it was the most obvious thing to say. Does she have some kind of illness? A terminally ill patient? She looked rather healthy honestly.

“Come on now, everyone will die sooner or later.”

“Yup, you’re right.”

That was when you saw, something unforgettable that would haunt you forever—may that be in a bad way or a good way. 

It was her smile.

Different from the one she did before, it was the brightest. It wasn’t white or yellow, but rather was violet. It was something beyond beauty. And it wasn’t because of how the sides of her lips or the way her cheeks puffed or the way her eyes smiled along with her lips.

But it was the genuineness of it.

Her smile was filled with sorrow. 

Her smile harbored acceptance for something beyond what you knew about her.

Her smile hinted reds of regret.

Her smile was not just blue.

It was violet.

“Ul—” 

“I’ll die tomorrow, Green,” she cut as she let go of your hand and took a few steps forward.

You could no longer see her smile, or if she was still smiling even. You stare at her back while trying to process what she just said.

Her die? Tomorrow?

That ridiculous.

“Come on don’t joke around, you’re not terminally ill, are you?” You asked worriedly but she laughed once again...

“Is that a question? You're funny, I'm not sick or ill.”

If not that then…

“Are you gonna kill yourself?” she looked back, her smile wasn't there anymore.

“It’s not your turn to ask a que—”

“Forget about the stupid game! Answer the fucking question! Are you gonna kill yourself or not?” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill myself,” She answered rather quickly and surely.

“Don’t ever kill yourself,” you said sternly, and she responded by holding out her pinky finger.

“I won’t kill myself, I promise.” She wiggled her finger, tempting you to take it. You took it, and she locked on it before playfully pressing her thumb onto yours.

“Why do you even care?” She teased as she broke the lock between your pinky fingers and quickly intertwined her hands instead, “You have to answer two questions in a row now, you took two turns earlier. I won’t let go of you until you do.”

You held her hand tightly.

“My best friend killed herself.” You almost choked out of your words. 

“That’s why, so don’t kill yourself, and don’t ever kill yourself. 

I don’t ever want someone I know to kill themselves again,  because I’ll actually start to believe it, and maybe, I might just end up going after them...”

“What exactly is it?”

“That's your second question,” you said as you smiled at her.

“Yes it is, but this time you don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable.” 

She smiled back.

“Because everyone blames me for her death, and today, I visited her grave for the first time. I went away. I wasn't there for her funeral after all so I visited and I couldn't do so for the longest time… because I was afraid. I thought I didn't deserve to visit her until I… I was finally able to make our wish come true but—”

You bit your lip, as you felt all of it, the memories, the emotions, and the trauma weigh down on your shoulders.

“but when I came to her grave… her Mom was there, and she… she said that…

I didn't change.

I was still the same monster who drove her daughter to kill herself.

I… they all said it before. That it was because of me.

And now I'm starting to believe it.

So you're right…

I’m green.

I’m disgusted by who I am.”

Tears started flowing. Words were said. Everything came gushing out. All of those that were heavy were released.

You just wept and cried.

*SLAP

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” 

As the pain registered, it went silent—it went monochrome. 

There were only her eyes and her mouth saying the words. 

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated.

“I —I kn—know,” you struggled.

“It's not your fault,” once again as she caressed the cheek she slapped.

“I know and I tried, but—”

“Whatever it is, whatever you did. It’s not your fault.” she cut.

“But! Sometimes or most of the time, there are voices in my head saying how it's my fault that she had died. That I was the one who,” you bit your lip, “That they are right.”

“And I! Most of the time, I tell myself that they are not wrong for saying that.

So I… yes…  I hate myself. 

I am utterly disgusted by my own being.”

Green.

She pulled you into a hug and for one last time she said, “It’s not your fault.”

“So where did you lose your shoes?” she asked jokingly and you just bursted out laughing while tears flew down your cheeks. 

“You are taking advantage of this, are you? That is your third question.”

She giggled.

“Come on, tell me about it.”

“You know,  we probably look weird like this. Hugging in the middle of the streets and crying and laughing.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

Honestly no… 

There was this kind of comfort and discomfort being engulfed by her arms. 

Why would you let a complete stranger hug you like this? 

A complete stranger saying the words you wanted to hear the most? 

“Haha, I forgot about it…  my shoes. I just ran and later realized that I didn't have one.” 

“Here, I’ll give you this instead.” She broke the hug to reach for something from her pockets and took out a violet pen. 

“Always keep this with you and don’t ever lose it.”

“What's this? A kid toy pen? It doesn’t even work.” You tried it on your hand but the pen didn't have any ink. 

“Haha, it's my treasure so take care of it.”

“I will.” You kept it inside your pocket, replacing the cigarette from before.

“So tell me? What do we do now?” You asked her.

She took a few steps, before looking back.

“What else? We keep playing the game, Green.” She said as she held out her hand. 

“Come, walk me home?”

You took it.

“Where are we even? Do you even know from all that running?” She took her steps and you followed her.

“Of course, are you not from around here?”

Once again, upon these empty streets illuminated only by white street lights, you two walked barefooted as if it was the most normal thing ever, grabbing the cold pavement while relishing the strange comfort of each other’s company. 

“No, my best friend's parents decided they were going to bury her here, in their hometown so I came here to visit, but I can just look at my phone—” you patted your pockets to look for your phone only to find out that.

“I don’t have it!” you said surprised upon the realization of this predicament.

“I lost my phone,” you said to her but she just shrugged.

“Can I borrow yours?” 

“I don’t have one,” she replied as she noticed the worried look you had.

“Maybe it's in the graveyard? Do you wanna come and get it?” She asked.

“No way! It's too late and there's no way I’m going to a graveyard this late. Aish, we don't even know what time exactly it is.”

She just laughed and you just sighed in defeat. Of course, you at least knew how you got to the graveyard from your accommodation, and how to get out of town, but you had been wondering without any care for some ample time, the running and now walking with this violet stranger girl seemed to have led you to someplace you had no idea about. Of course, this also means you didn't know how to get to the place you were residing at.  You just know too little about this town and it was harder in the dark.

“Scaredy Cat, it's not that scary.”

She knows where things are, maybe you could ask her. You sighed in defeat. 

“Let's just go, I will walk you home, and just give me directions to my shared house and then I hope I can figure the way.”

The walk by itself was uneventful, after all that happened and the things that you two shared about each other, the silence was a breath of fresh air. Her silence was odd, but everything was honestly odd about her so... 

The girl you call Violet just has too many questions surrounding her. 

She was a mystery.

A single-colored mystery

“What were you even doing out this late at night?” You looked at her hand, the one you were still holding.

“Hmm,” she pointed at her temple, “I was taking a walk?”

She joked and you bumped at her playfully.

“I wanted to feel the air.

I wanted to see the stars. 

I wanted to see those white streetlights, 

those colorful store signage, 

those lost souls colored uniquely on their own. 

I wanted to see the town.

Many more.” She smiled but her tone was filled with blues, yellows, and a new color, you had seen for the first time, orange.

What is orange?

“You’re being weird again, Violet.” you didn’t what to say so you just said the first sorry banter you thought of.

“But hey, I got to meet you, Green.” She looked at you, smiled and it was yellow.

You blushed…

She was strange.

She was weird.

But she had a smile that could not be described by just the words beautiful, pretty, or attractive.

Her smile was colorful.

“I don’t know, I think I was unlucky that I met you,” she punched you and pouted cutely. “Haha, I’m just kidding, I’m glad you found me.”

Yes, the word was found.

She found you.

“I can’t even imagine what could have happened to me if you didn’t do what you did.” You smiled.

“So thank you, Violet.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and her cheeks turned rosy. Is she blushing?

“Oh shush, don’t mention it.” She smacked your shoulders. She’s shy?! This girl…

“You looked green.” That was maybe her own way of saying You look like you needed help.

“We’re here.” You weren’t really paying attention and you just followed her so you didn't notice until you looked around to find out you two stopped in front of a massive gate, and from afar, you could an even more enormous mansion fitting the massive gate.

On the gate, you noticed circular geometric patterns, but you didn’t think much of them.

“This is your house?” you asked her and she just nodded.

“This is my family’s. My sisters and I live here,” she explained and you nodded in response. You also told her the name of your accommodation and asked for directions but she just…  shrugged… 

You couldn't believe it… there was no way.

You would have no choice but to sleep in the streets. 

“You could stay here if you want?” she offered. 

“I don’t th—”

“Lee Gahyeon!” a voice cut came from the other side of the gate before you could finish. From afar, you saw a figure of a woman. She was walking towards the two of you. 

“Lee Gahyeon?”

“That’s my name, Green.”

When the figure was finally in sight it revealed an elegant woman wearing a pure white night 

gown. Red lips, sharp nose, and lazy hazy eyes of a predator. 

“That’s my sister, Kim Minji,” Gahyeon whispered as the said woman opened the massive gate of the mansion.

She was gray.

“Your sister looks really attractive, Vio—” she elbowed you and you just giggled. Kim? They are sisters, right? 

“Where have you been?” she asked her before looking at you up and down. “And who is this gentleman?” 

A strict mom? Wait, she’s her sister. 

“I just took a night stroll, we took a night stroll,” she answered as she hugged your arm. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” she added, which made your eyes widen. 

“I see… A stroll, without shoes. A boyfriend without shoes,” She pointed out. The older sister stared at you as if she was waiting for you to say something. 

“Hi—hi! O—older Sister, I’m,” you stuttered as you introduced yourself. You held out your hand for a handshake but the older woman ignored it and turned around. 

“Come Gahyeon, it's late. We should rest, everyone has already retreated to their rooms.” The older gestured for the younger to come. 

“JiU-unnie wait. ” This halted the older and looked back. “Can he stay? He has nowhere to go right now and it's too late.”

“We don't have any guest rooms ready so just show him to Father’s bedroom. Let him borrow his clothes and… shoes.” Minji continued walking towards the manor while Gahyeon dragged you.

“Violet, is this okay?”

“Yup don’t worry, if she says it's fine then it's fine. JiU is the oldest amongst us 7 and she's the leader so what she says goes, and besides, it's the least she could do.” you sighed in defeat.

“The least she could do?”

“Yes! I mean her youngest sister brought home a man for the first time, the least she could do is to make him feel at home and give him some shoes.” she pointed at your toes before dragging you to go inside the mansion.

What’s with them and toes… and shoes…

The place was quite big so it took a while to even go to the front door of the mansion. It made you wonder, where did the older woman walking a few meters in front of you and Gahyeon. You saw a gazebo near the gate so maybe that was wear Minji was hanging out while she was waiting for Gahyeon? Alone, that late at night?

Along the way, you saw a vast green field lit by post lamps, well-kept plants and flowerbeds, and a few marble angel statues holding some sort of ornament with patterns similar to the ones on the gate. It was creepy looking at them so you tried to ignore them up until you arrived at the front door. Although, it was hard not to notice as even the front door had them engraved.

“Violet, what are those?” you pointed at the door.

“Those are dreamcatchers, you’ll see them everywhere,” Minji explained instead of Gahyeon.  

“They are all valuable so don’t touch them,” Gahyeon added before guiding you inside the mansion. 

The word magnificent wasn't enough to describe it. If only there were a word for something terrifying yet grandiose. It was only the entrance, where you were greeted by a massive grand oval staircase solely lit by a crystal chandelier. Angels on both the left and right ends of the staircase, each holding their own dreamcatcher. 

The light from the chandelier was not enough to illuminate the whole place, but it was enough for you to see the place with the sunroof helping with a little bit of illumination from the moon.

Minji was right, they were everywhere from the patterns of the stair railings, to many of them hanging in the ceiling, railings, and walls. Even the crystals of the chandelier looked like individual dreamcatchers on their own. 

The open space was big enough to be a function hall. At the end of it, there was a hall with what seemed to be full rooms. Similar to the one in the middle, the left and right way had a hall passage leading to parts of the mansion that you haven’t seen yet.

The place had at least three floors but it seemed like the grand staircase connected only the first and second floors but you could see a third floor from the open space above. As you looked up again, there seemed to be a silhouette looking at the three of you.

“Someone is up there,” you pointed out to the two women.

“Probably one of our sisters,” Gahyeon answered.

“Come on, I’ll take you to Father’s bedroom.” Gahyeon took your hand again and you just followed her.

“Are there elevators in this massive place?” You asked them.

“What’s that?” Gahyeon asked back sincerely as if she had never seen an elevator before.

“Really?” You asked back, but she laughed loudly.

“Gahyeon, please not be too loud,” Minji 

“Of course, I know what an elevator is. We just don’t have one. My father is an old-school grandpa so he didn’t like technology so much,” Gahyeon joked.

Come to think of it, she also didn’t have a cellphone.

Soon Minji headed for her room and you two headed for their Father’s bedroom. You assumed that their father was not in the mansion because they were renting his bedroom away, but you didn’t ask about it because it might be a sensitive topic.

The room was just as you had imagined but it didn’t fail to impress you. It was the master bedroom—a king-size bed, a walk-in closet full of unbranded tailored clothes, shoes, and accessories, a bathroom of its own, and other things that screamed wealth. Gahyeon had let you borrow most of it. It was embarrassing being treated so well, but she firmly assured you it was okay.

When you came out of the bathroom after freshening up, you looked at the balcony,  where you found her watching the night sky. For a moment, you stared at her before she noticed you, smiled at you and gestured for you to join her. You thought to yourself as you walked towards her that she finally looked like the color she wanted to become. Violet.

Maybe more than that.

Ultra-violet.

“I’m your boyfriend?” you teased her as you leaned on the balcony railings. You stared at her while she continued watching the stars and the moon. Beautiful. You thought to yourself. It was picturesque, her glowing under the moonlight.

“Why do you not want to? Is this my first rejection?” She giggled.

“Wow, you’re just gonna turn me into a heartbreaker if I say no?”

Any guy would want to be hers. You were sure of it. You were not even sure if she was serious about the boyfriend thing. It was just an excuse to let her older sister let you inside the mansion. She was kind like that.

“I’m serious, be my boyfriend,” She declared as she slowly inched towards you until she was close… too close.

“Do you love me?” You asked, even though you knew what was the answer.

Her violet turned into pink. Weird.

“Hmm, I find you interesting and I think you’re cute. I like you, but I don’t think I love you yet,” She explained as you backed down a few steps away from her.

“How about you, Green? Do you love me?” She threw the question right back at you.

It feel like you two were playing the game again.

“You’re be—beautiful… You’re re—really nice. Kind. Although you’re kinda odd and weird, I think any man would fall in love with you.” She inched forward, once again in an uncomfortable distance. 

Yellow. 

Was your eye tricking you?

“I would love to be your boyfriend, but I don’t think it’s the right time to do so,” you blurted out nervously. She pouted. She smiled differently—almost bittersweetly.

Also, how could one truly love someone when one only has hate for themselves?

“Aish, what a heartbreaker.” She flicked your forehead before running inside the room.

Now once again, her usual Violet.

“Hey! What was that for?” You chased after, but she ran circles around you, outmaneuvering you using her speed, by throwing throw pillows at you or putting distance between the two of you using the furniture. You didn’t even know what you were going to do once you caught her but you kept chasing.

Up until she stepped into one of the pillows she threw earlier and slipped. Time slowed down, and in that moment, you tried to break her fall or maybe catch her from an impending disaster. You couldn’t catch her. Thankfully, she didn’t hit her head and instead, she fell onto the bed. You sighed in relief when you saw that she wasn’t hurt in any way. But there was something strange. Her cheeks turned rosy. She had let out a strange noise.

“I’m no longer pure,” she whispered… What did she mean by that? 

That was when you realized, you fell into a position where you could only see in dramas or animations, a girl accidentally falling and the boy trying to catch her only to end up in an awkward position.

Maybe, fate was rather playful at that point as you felt your body press onto her. You could feel her soft body on yours, and her face… she was too close. Gahyeon was so close that it was only an inch keeping you two away from kissing. Luckily, it wasn’t that cringe trope where the guy accidentally grabbed the woman’s breast, but luck couldn’t suppress biology as your body reacted embarrassingly. 

“Green, your thing… is pressing against me,” Gahyeon said shyly to which you quickly responded by jumping out of that position.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it! It’s a natural thing!” You reasoned out, but she just laughed as she fixed herself.

“Pervert,” She whispered into your ear before kissing you on the cheek.

“Haha, you’re blushing, Green!” She teased as she walked to the door.

“That’s what you get for rejecting me,” Gahyeon said before leaving you speechless inside that massive room.

What?! 

Why did she do that?!

What’s with her?!

You had so many questions, but you just retreated to the bed. So much happened, and meeting Gahyeon somehow made it bearable and for a moment you forget about all those hardships. 

Gahyeon/Violet was really an oddball.

“Ultra-violet,” you muttered to yourself.

Maybe it was worth trying again at this complicated colorful life. 

Somehow, it not being monochrome was great as before it once had her, and now it has Violet.

Tomorrow would be a great day, you thought to yourself before closing your eyes.

What kind of questions should you ask her tomorrow?

The next day came full of anticipation. The questions still lingered. 

Her kiss. 

Her smile.

Her color.

That brightness. 

They all lingered.

You opened the door of the master room only to be greeted by the warmth of the bright yellow sun. The sunroof filled the mansion with natural light. Light creates the ambiance of the place, as well as the expression of the structure. The wealthy took this to heart. What kind of family do they even have to afford this?

This place wasn’t so creepy after all. The marble statues, and the dreamcatchers. Maybe the dark tense vibe of the night made it creepy. The master room/Gahyeon’s father's room was located on the third floor and the fact that the mansion was vast meant it was a trip to even to the second floor.

You hummed as you walked and tried to reflect on what happened yesterday. You remembered Gahyeon’s pen, you remember putting it inside your pockets. You checked if it was still there, and to your surprise, something else was inside your pocket.

A note that said the following:

“Don’t trust anyone. Don’t keep this note. Swallow it.”

Chills went down your spine. What does this even mean? Is this a prank?

“AHH!” a scream came from below. The first floor. 

Does this mean the note is not a prank? 

What’s happening?

Before you could even think straight, you just did as the note said. You crumpled it and swallowed it whole before heading to the first floor. Suddenly, you remembered something from yesterday.

“I’ll die tomorrow, Green.” 

You completely forgot about what she said. Your steps became heavier, but you found yourself running the flight of stairs.

Hearts were booming. Imagination was going wild. Anxiety kicked in.

It only got worse when you arrived at the grand staircase when you saw something hanging off the chandelier. The steps felt endless. You closed your eyes. You could only wish that your eyes were lying to you.

It’s not real, right?

Open your eyes. Look again.

Her smile.

Her color.

You reached the bottom.

That was when the high came crashing down as you looked at a scene that would haunt you forever. It hit hard before, but it hit harder today. Your hope was quite literally hanging in front of your eyes. It didn’t crash down. It floated, and it would never reach the ground.

That was when the colors faded.

There was so much to ask.

But there was no more chance.

A game played by one person would not be fun at all.

It was your turn after all.

Ask the question.

As your tears flew down your cheeks endlessly, they were crawling slowly from behind, hugging you. A weight on your shoulders. A blow of air right beside your ear whispered. It was a feeling you know of too much already.

Her hugs.

The way she held your hand.

The way her lips curved when she smiled.

Her bright color.

“It’s your turn, Green.” That was her sweet kind voice, but how could it be? How could it be her when she was literally hanging in front of your eyes?

“Violet,” you called her name, “who killed you?”

The game continues.

-

This is for a good friend of mine. Thank you for waiting for this after so many months of hiatus.

Not as good as I was and maybe too many errors but here it is.

#reader insert #kofi commission #panchatea #kpop #dreamcatcher

[marajaak]

Mine

(Sanji x reader)

Title : Mine

Pairing : Sanji x female reader

Warnings : Smut, unprotected sex (please don’t do that), creampie, Zoro is an asshole in this fanfic, English isn’t my first language so please be kind

Genre : smut

Summary : Y/N feels unrequited love towards Zoro. Sanji will do everything to help her forget the swordsman. What if it was the beginning of a love story ?

The young woman sighed when Zoro walked past her without looking. She stared at him sadly as he got off the Sunny and headed to the island.

- Y/N, are you coming? Luffy said with a big smile.

- I... no, she muttered. I think I'll stay with Sanji to guard the boat.

- Ok, see you later!

(Y/N) took a few steps on the ship and went to sit in a corner. The sun shone in a cloudless sky. It was a pleasant temperature, ideal for exploring a new island. But the young woman was not in the mood for that. She was thinking of a handsome young man with green hair. To the sweat that dripped down his bare chest when he worked out. To the kiss they had exchanged during a party where the swordsman was a little drunk. And finally the way he had ignored her moments ago.

Tears blurred her vision, and she buried her face in her arms, sobbing. Why didn't Zoro like him? Was she not pretty enough? Not strong enough? What did she have to do to get his attention?

Suddenly, she felt someone gently wiping away her tears .

- Shhh, it's going to be okay, whispered a soft male voice.

(Y/N) raised her head and met Sanji's tender and compassionate gaze.

- I... I..., she stammered.

He put an arm behind her back to help her up.

- Come, you're going to tell me what's making you sad and we'll find a solution, he whispered.

The cook took her to her room and sat down on her bed next to her. The naked thigh of the young woman brushed against the blond’s.

- It's this Marimo, isn't it? he began, lighting a cigarette.

- That's it, replied (Y/N) wiping her tears. I think I have feelings for him. We kissed several times and we even... uh...

- You slept together, Sanji completed.

- Yes one time. I thought he had feelings for me, but he's been ignoring me since the last night we partied. I know he was drunk, but still...

The blond placed both hands on the young woman's cheeks and turned her face towards his.

- Y/N, excuse me for telling you this, but I'm afraid that this kelp face doesn't want your heart, but only your body.

She watched the wisps of smoke billowing from her friend's cigarette to form diaphanous figures in the air. She had had a crush on him when she joined the crew, but since he flirted with a lot of women, she figured she didn't have a chance. She then became interested in Zoro. But something in the cook's eyes told him that... maybe...

She moved forward slightly and briefly placed her lips on the blond's, before pulling away when she saw him display a shocked expression.

- Sorry, I... I don't know what happened to me. I just wanted to forget about him for a while...

Sanji smirked.

- I was just surprised. If it's good sex you want, I'm always available...

He leaned towards her but she pushed him away, shaking her head.

- That's not what I meant. I am a romantic person. It's not just Zoro who occupies my heart. There... there's also you. I just wanted to know if you felt the same...

- Oh, said Sanji.

His gaze softens.

- I always loved you, but I thought you only had eyes for Marimo...

- Well, we both went astray...

She was cut off by the blonde's hot lips. He ran his hand through her hair, pressing lightly on her head to deepen the kiss. (Y/N) put his arms around the cook's neck.

Moments later, she found herself lying on her bed, with the young man kissing the soft skin of her neck. The young woman moaned softly.

- Zoro never had that effect on you, did he? he questioned her.

She shook her head again and he smiled.

Slowly, he moved down her body, caressing her curves, tracing a wet line with his tongue. He stopped in front of her crotch, his eyes bright with desire, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead, Sanji,” she whispered.

The young man lifted her skirt and took off her panties. With delicate licks, he explored every part of her intimacy. (Y/N)'s legs were shaking with pleasure, so he grabbed them. The electricity and shivers coursing through her body became euphoric, and she came abruptly. Sanji continued to lick her through her orgasm.

- Do you like it Y/N? This seaweed face has never done that to you?

- No, never... It's so good...

She stood up. A rather large dent deformed the cook's pants.

- Let me take care of you now, Sanji, she said.

- No, not today, ma chérie.

He helped her lie down again.

- What you need now is comfort.

The young woman's big smile made him understand that she would do whatever he wanted. But what he wanted was for her to let things happen.

He unzipped her skirt and took off her blouse, placing it carefully on a chair next to him. Then he began to take off his clothes. First his tie, then his jacket, his shirt, his pants and finally his boxers.

He gently entered the young woman's intimacy, letting out a long sigh, giving her time to adjust to his length. (Y/N) moaned. The cook wasn't as big as Zoro, but he was longer, and his cock stretched the walls of her vagina deliciously.

Little by little, he began his thrusts while caressing his beloved's body. He slipped his fingers through her hair, then swelled into her chest, without stopping to kiss her.

-Sss... Sanji! Y/N gasped.

- That's it, shout my name, the blond whispered in his ear. If you said mine and Marimo's in the same breath, you would realize that they don’t taste the same.

- Yes... but... don't talk about him anymore... I only want you right now...

- You're right... You are mine, mine, mine...

His trusts became more erratic, more disordered. (Y/N), drunk with pleasure, gripped the sheets. The happiness she felt was almost insurmountable. The softness of the blonde's touch and the love she felt in his movements drove her crazy. The swordsman had never treated her like this. He had just put her on all fours and fucked her up without thinking about her pleasure. Suddenly, she felt Sanji come inside her, which made her cum too. Her eyes rolled at the back of her head.

He rested his head on the young woman's chest and (Y/N) stroked his hair while catching her breath.

- It was good, she breathed. Much better than with Zoro...

The cook quickly raised his head, a predatory smile on his face.

- What if I made you forget that name forever?

#sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji smut #sanji x reader smut #op #one piece smut #one piece #one piece sanji #op smut #one piece x reader #sanji x y/n #op fanfic

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Best Intentions - Chapter Three

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of shell shock/PTSD. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: She deals with an unexpected visit and Lois forces her to take action. Final part. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is inconsolable when she gets home, having walked the short distance from the wall back to her house, vision blurred with tears.

Her mum rises from the kitchen table, rushing to her and pulling her into a tight hug the moment she sees the state she’s in.

“Oh, love,” she coos, stroking her hair, “he’s a fool to have upset you like that.”

“He’s not a fool, Mum,” she sobs, snotty nosed and shaking, into the wool of her cardigan, “I couldn’t say yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

She loves Tom. She’s in love with Tom.

Deep down, she knows she’s probably felt that way all along, yet the admission shocks her all the same.

She feels numb for the rest of the evening, though grateful for the soothing reassurance of her mum. If nothing else, her endless cups of tea give her something warm to wrap her hands around, something to focus on besides how hurt Tom had looked when she’d said no to him.

It was the right thing to do, she knows this, they aren’t ready for such an enormous commitment, but she can’t help but wonder if making the right choice was meant to make it feel like her heart was being torn in two.

Puffy eyed and miserable when she awakens the next day, her mum offers to give her the day off from the shop. Wearily, she shakes her head, eager to carry on as normal.

“If I stop at home, I’ll drive myself mad thinking about it all. I just wanna get on.”

Her mum gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and a “whatever you think is best, love”.

Theoretically, the shop should take her mind off things, yet there are reminders of Tom in everything. As she’s restocking the sweet jars, her heart lurches in her chest when she gets to the sherbet straws, thinking about how their fingers would brush against each other when they;d share a bag. They were Tom’s favourites. 

When a man comes in to buy a cigarette, she rolls it around in her fingers after taking it from the shelf. It’s Tom’s brand. She’d always hated the way the smell of the smoke would stick to his hair and clothes. Now, the thought that she may never breathe in the stale scent of tobacco on his jacket when he pulls her in for a hug makes her eyes well up with tears, and she has to sniffle them away before turning back to the till to take payment.

Then there is the more obvious reminder living upstairs; Lois. As if summoned by the thought of her, she appears from the back, Vera nestled against her hip.

“You and Tom left in a hurry on Saturday, thought you’d both stick around after for a drink,” she says, bouncing the toddler gently in her arms.

“Oh,” she says, feeling anxiety gnaw at her insides, as her skin heats up with a mixture of shame and embarrassment, not wanting to reveal to Lois what’s happened between her and Tom. It still feels too raw to talk about. “Yeah, sorry, wasn’t feeling well. You and Connie sounded great though!”

She offers a smile that she hopes looks sincere and Lois looks at her with sympathy in her big, blue eyes.

“You mentioned the other day you were feeling a bit tired, everything okay?”

She swallows, nodding her head, just wanting the conversation to be over.

Her and Tom have the same eyes.

It’s excruciating to look at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine now. Run ragged by the shop, you know how it is.”

Lois readjusts Vera against her hip, running a hand over her soft curls, before looking back up. “Well, if you find time to get away tomorrow, I’ve asked Tom to pop round on his dinner break. Been ages since I’ve caught up with him, would be nice to see you too, even if you can only manage time for a cuppa.”

She feels her throat run dry at this. If Lois has invited Tom round then that means he’ll have to come to the shop. She’ll have to see him. She isn’t ready.

She can feel a void opening in the pit of her stomach, dread prickling her skin. “Maybe..” she offers quietly, and is grateful that at that moment Vera starts to fuss, drawing Lois’ attention away from her.

“Better get this one back upstairs anyway,” Lois says, distractedly, “maybe see you tomorrow!”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she disappears into the back and up the stairs again, resting her elbows on the counter and putting her head in her hands.

Tom is going to be at the shop tomorrow. What on earth will I say to him?

Nerves flutter in her belly all morning the next day, her heart racing so fast she is sure that every customer she serves must be able to hear it. More than once her hands fumble when giving someone their change, sending coins spilling across the counter.

If it wouldn’t earn her a stern telling off from her mum, she’d close up for the day and go home, so that she wouldn’t have to see Tom when he inevitably arrives.

She has a hundred different things she wants to say to him; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so bloody angry with you. I love you.

None of them seem appropriate.

It’s precisely noon when the bell above the shop door tinkles and she looks up from the stamps she’s sorting, met with the intense stare of Tom.

He’s on time. He’s never on time for anything. She feels her hands tremble, her breathing unsteady as she tries to organise her thoughts into something coherent. She curses herself, she’s wasted all morning deciding what to say and still has nothing.

Her hesitation is more than enough for Tom apparently, as he huffs, mouth twisting into a sneer, before striding into the back and up the stairs to the flat.

Bowing her head she feels her throat tighten, lips pulling downwards with the effort not to burst into tears. In all the years she’d known Tom, seeing him had never made her feel so rotten. She swipes angrily at her nose, inhaling a deep shaky breath before busying herself with organising what’s left of the day’s papers.

An hour later, Tom reappears in the doorway that leads towards the back, as she’s standing counting up the till drawer. Up close she can see the haunted look in his eyes, the dark bags underneath them. The night terrors are clearly as bad as ever, he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping properly. She wants nothing more than to go to him, pull him into a hug and comfort him, but can’t stand the thought of him pushing her away if she tries.

Once more she realises she’s staring at him without saying anything, he’s clearly waiting for her to make the first move, and she hasn’t. 

His eyes narrow in anger, and he breezes past her, muttering an irritated “piss off” as he goes.

The casualness of his insolence towards her turns her sorrow into anger, which she feels boil up inside her, erupting as she shouts “no, you piss off!” after him.

How dare he?! After everything, that’s all he has to say to me.

But it’s too late. The door to the shop is already closed. Tom’s gone.

Her sob catches in her throat, and before she’s able to stop it, a piteous wail leaves her, which she attempts to muffle with the palm of her hand. Hot tears roll down her cheeks, the painful twisting in her chest from Sunday returning in earnest.

“Hey, hey,” comes a gentle voice from behind her. The slender arms of Lois wrap around her, pulling her into a warm hug. “What’s all this?”

There’s no use lying to her now, not when Lois has seen her like this.

“It’s Tom,” she says, pulling away slowly, voice thick from crying, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

Lois chuckles quietly. “Well, I knew that, it’s not exactly a secret. What’s he done?”

She closes her eyes briefly, feeling shame wash over her. Would Lois be angry if she told her she’d said no to Tom’s proposal?

“He proposed to me, I said no,” she blurts, “but it’s not because I don’t love him! I still want to be with him, we’ve just never made it official, and I don’t want to rush.”

Lois goes quiet for a moment, her eyes widening in obvious shock at what she’d revealed. “Wow…Tom proposed?” Her eyebrows raise, and they stand in silence as she takes in the revelation, thinking about what to say next.

Chewing her lip, Lois nods and their eyes meet before she speaks again. “So, what did Tom say exactly?”

“Not much, he finished with me,” she says miserably.

“You told him you love him and he finished with you?!” She asks, her mouth agape.

“Well…no…I’ve never actually told him I love him…” she admits, averting her gaze, feeling her face grow hot.

“Well then maybe you should start with that?” Lois suggests.

“I can’t, Lois!” She cries, “He’s not been the same since he came home, you know he hasn’t. He needs to get help.”

“Yeah, he does,” Lois agrees, “but that’s not your job to do. It’s yours to be there for him, to let him know it’s not him you’re saying no to. He needs you, anyone can see that.”

She knows Lois is right. Tom has likely seen her rejection as a rejection of her wanting to be with him, thinking he’s too broken, when that is the furthest thing from the truth. The state he was in when he came to the shop earlier is proof of the fact that he just needs her to be there for him, but she has been too caught up in her own feelings to realise his. 

“Yeah, you’re right”, she says, wiping her eyes, “I need to speak to him. I’ll go to the garage tomorrow.”

“Or you could go tonight?” Lois suggests, “He doesn’t finish for another half hour after the shop closes, so you can catch him before he goes home.”

“Oh, Lois, I look a mess, he can’t see me like this–” she tries to protest, but is cut off.

“Yes, he can! Let him see you’re as upset by this as he is. He needs to know you care.”

She purses her lips. Lois is right. No use in putting it off. The longer she leaves it, the harder it’ll be.

Checking her face in her compact as she stands outside of the garage, she’s grateful that her tears haven’t done too much damage to her mascara. Only the faintest rim of red around her eyes suggests that she’d ever been upset.

The shutter is halfway down, suggesting that Tom is close to finishing up for the day. His feet are the only pair she sees beneath. Drawing in a steading breath, she ducks through the gap, righting herself as Tom regards her with a furrowed brow and widened eyes; an apparent mixture of surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here?” He asks sullenly.

She holds up her hands in mock surrender, attempting to keep her tone even, despite the way her voice wobbles. “Please, Tom, I’m not here to argue. I just wanna talk to you.”

“Got nothin’ to say,” he sniffs, wiping his hands on a rag and closing the bonnet of the sleek black motorcar he’s been working on.

“But I have,” she pleads, “so please just hear me out.”

She spots his jaw tick in annoyance, but he nods all the same, remaining silent, so she presses on.

“I need you to know that when I said no I wasn’t saying no to you, to us, just the proposal. I don’t think we’re ready.”

Tom rolls his eyes, throwing the rag down, sniffing before he replies. “Yeah, I get it, you wouldn’t wanna be stuck with someone that’s not right in the head.”

“Don’t say that,” she says sadly, a dull ache forming in her chest. “You’ve been through so much, Tommy, but you’ll get through it and I’ll be with you every step of the way, because I love you.”

“You what?” He asks quickly, head snapping up to look at her.

Her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest.

Oh god. What if he doesn’t say it back? What if he tells her to go away and never speak to him again?

“I–I love you,” she stammers, feeling as though her vulnerability will swallow her whole.

“Say it again,” Tom says lowly, stepping towards her.

He’s so close she can smell the motor oil that clings to his skin. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“I love you,” she repeats with more confidence, gazing up at him.

In one swift movement, he grabs the back of her neck, pulling her to him and crushing his lips against hers. 

It’s not the four little words she’d expected in return, but the action expresses everything he needs to say.

I love you too.

She melts into it, kissing him back with equal fervour. His kiss is hungry, filled with desperation, yet it feels like coming home after a long journey. He tastes of tobacco and spearmint. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the pillowy softness of his mouth until it’s moving against her own. Absent-mindedly, her arms wrap around his shoulders, as Tom’s free hand grips her waist.

When they break for air, he presses his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers.

She barely has time to tell him she’s missed him too before he’s kissing her again, pulling the shutter all the way closed and maneuvering her backwards towards the car he’s been working on, yanking open the back door.

Bracing her palms against his chest, she pulls back slightly, apprehension at odds with the desire she feels. “We can’t do that here, that’s a customer’s car! What if we get caught?”

Tom shrugs. “Shutter’s down, and I’ve not fucked you for ages. Come on, no one will catch us.”

She giggles, taking in the sight of his lust-widened pupils and kiss-swollen lips. It sends a needy throb straight to her core, and she grabs him by the front of his overalls, pulling him back to her once more.

His tongue sweeps against hers, as he lays her down in the cramped confines of the back seat before climbing on top of her. His tall frame means he has to keep one knee pressed between her leg and the back of the seat, and the other on the floor.

“You sure there’s room?” She purrs playfully, brushing her lips against his neck.

“I’ll fucking make room,” he hisses, awkwardly shrugging out of his overalls, causing her to laugh.

“Something funny?” He mutters darkly, pushing his hand beneath her skirt, his fingers toying with the gusset of her knickers, before slipping inside the material.

She gasps as his digits press through the wetness of her folds, bucking against his hand. It’s been so long since she felt his touch like this that his hands upon her skin feel like a brand. “Tommy…” is all she’s able to whimper.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought,” he says cockily, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingertips moving through the slick of her arousal. “This all for me?”

“Y–yeah,” she breathes out, and he withdraws his hand, making her whine.

“Don’t wanna let it go to waste,” he tells her, pushing his overalls further down, along with his briefs.

She bites her lower lip, watching him stroke the length of his erection, ruddy and shiny with arousal at its tip.

His eyebrows raise, lips parting as a look of realisation flashes across his features. “I haven’t got a sheath..”

“Oh, Tommy!” She cries out in frustration.

He frowns, his tone becoming defensive. “Well, sorry, why would I keep any here? Not like I make a habit of shagging in the garage, is it?”

She feels light headed with the intensity of her need for him. She isn’t sure she can wait for them to get back to his flat. Desire is the only thing fuelling her in this moment, alongside the words that leave her mouth. “Just pull out then.”

Tom’s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. “If you say so.”

He leans over her, pulling her underwear to one side, and guiding himself to her entrance. They groan in unison as he pushes forward, stretching her open on his length.

The feeling of being so intimate with him again after being apart is divine all by itself, however, being able to feel him fully without a barrier to separate them has her inner walls fluttering around him as he breaches her to the hilt.

“Jesus christ,” is all he’s able to grit out as he stills, allowing them both to adjust to the sensation.

“Please…please move,” she mewls desperately.

Tom pulls his hips back, before driving forward, the repeated motion causing the car to squeak and rock, yet it barely registers to her. Her only focus is the feeling of him inside of her, the way that every thrust brushes against a spot inside of her that makes her abdomen tighten like a coil.

“I don’t think I’m gonna last,” Tom pants above her, fogging the windows up, “you feel too bloody good.”

“Not yet,” she whispers breathlessly, the coil in her belly almost at its breaking point, “‘m so close…”

Tom groans, snaking a hand between them, fingers reaching beneath her knicker elastic to toy with her pearl in tandem with each deep thrust.

Warmth spreads through her, as she writhes beneath him, the pressure within her building until it finally gives way and she tightens around him with a wanton moan.

“Shitshitfuck–” Tom groans, withdrawing from her and spilling white hot ropes of spend across her thighs with quick, sure strokes.

He hovers over her for a few moments longer, simply looking into her eyes and stroking her hair. She’s certain that at this point right now she’s never felt more in love with him. It feels good to have him back. Her Tommy.

He helps her out of the car, careful not to stain the upholstery and gets her cleaned up. 

Finally, he breaks the silence, turning to her as they straighten up their clothes. “So what should I do with it? The ring, I mean. I can get a diamond put in, I–”

“It’s perfect, as it is,” she reassures him, cupping his face in her hands, “keep it for now. Ask me again when we’re ready.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” he responds, bumping her nose with his.

Over the next six months their relationship blossoms, with her spending more and more time at Tom’s flat. No longer “just mates”, they proudly hold hands as they walk down the street together. Shared lunch breaks are spent on their wall, passing a bag of sherbet straws back and forth.

Tom’s night terrors lessen. Over time he comes to accept that it would be good to talk to someone. It’s still a touchy subject for him, and he refuses to use the term shell shock because of its association with Douglas. Not wanting to explore anything as extreme as electric shock therapy, he opts to see a doctor who has adopted psychotherapy as a means of treatment.

With each session, he looks a little lighter, though still haunted by the memories of what he has endured in combat, the load becomes more bearable to manage, and her heart feels as though it could burst with pride for him.

It’s New Year’s Eve, as they stand on the rain-dampened pavement outside of the Ducie Arms. Tom sways unsteadily on his feet, six pints deep, as they look up at the sky, the colourful crackle of fireworks overhead heralding in a brand new year. 

He pulls her in for a sloppy kiss, and she happily reciprocates, despite the lingering taste of lager upon his lips. His eyes are glassy as he pulls the ring box from his jacket pocket, his words slurred.

“Will you–”

She shakes her head, placing her hand over his, pushing it gently back towards his pocket.

“Ask me when you’re sober.”

It feels terrible to reject him a second time, yet she knows to get engaged when they’re both not in full control of their actions would be a mistake.

Thankfully, in his drunken state he doesn’t seem to mind, simply nodding and pocketing the ring box once more.

When he wakes up the next morning, bleary eyed and complaining he has a headache, he has no memory of most of the previous evening, and she cannot help the pang of disappointment she feels.

Another six months pass, and Tom continues to improve. His night terrors happen irregularly and he has started to fill out again, not quite as bony as he was when he first returned to Longsight. He looks healthy, happy. It fills her with warmth to see him recovering.

Yet there is a constant nagging in the back of her mind. She has knocked Tom back twice now, what if he never asks again?

Vera is now walking and talking, and, needing more space, Lois moves out of the flat above the shop, having found a little terraced house with a garden for her to play in.

Her and Tom decide to take the step of occupying the space. Tom gives up his flat, and the two move in together. They spend most of their time together anyway, so it makes sense.

It’s their moving in day, and she silently curses Tom for being too tight fisted to pay a removal man to do this for them, as they carry his old sofa up the stairs.

She feels clammy with sweat by the time they place it heavily down in their empty living room. Huffing with relief, she sits down, wanting to take a breather before they carry anything else up. She wipes her brow, looking around the space with a slight smile on her face.

A fresh start for both of them. A place to call theirs. A space to create memories.

She is snapped out of her reverie by Tom calling her name.

“I’m not moving anything else until I’ve–”

She freezes, mouth agape as she turns her head and sees Tom on one knee before her, ring box open in his hand.

“Thought now felt like the right time,” he says, “so will you?”

“I’m all sweaty,” she says bashfully.

“You’ve never looked better. My wife, working hard to put all of our old shit in our flat. So how about it?” He asks, cocking his head.

Her heart flutters. He’s right, there will never be a more perfect moment than this.

“Yes,” she breathes, allowing him to slip the simple gold band onto her ring finger.

He leans in pressing his lips to hers and she smiles into it, running her fingers through his hair as he pulls away again, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Still mates though, yeah?” He whispers.

She giggles. “Always.”

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett smut #tom bennett angst #tom bennett imagine #ewan mitchell #world on fire #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fan fic #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire tom bennett #tom bennett world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fan fiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire fan fic

[laufyko]

— you were everything.

// angst w/ comfort & slight fluffy ending, fontaine archon quest act v spoilers. 0.8k words.

"wake up." are the words that slipped from navia's mouth when your consciousness slowly gathered.

"please be okay, please be okay, please… i don't want to lose you. not after losing them…"

was she… sobbing?

you found yourself and navia on the ground. the only thing you remember is that you are here, at poisson, to help navia rescuing her people, but now… you were trapped in her tight embrace. she was clinging to you desperately, calling your name several times with a shaky tone.

your eyes flutter open slowly. your condition wasn't so good—temperature almost hot, dizzy head and blurred vision—it feels like you're almost dying. but everything becomes clear as you hear another soft sob right beside your ears.

you feel the embrace tighten, making it really hard to breathe. weakly, you call, "navia?"

hearing your weak voice, navia flinched as her breath stuck in her throat, slowly revealing her teary, wide shocked eyes. you two look into each other's eyes for a minute, with no single words uttered, as if you two are communicating through gaze or telepathy.

"... m-mon trésor?" finally, she calls back, and doesn't even try to hide her concerned voice, "you're awake! oh, thank the archons, i thought you were going to—"

"shh," you plant a tender peck on her rosy lips in order to silence her worries, your lips curl into a smile.

a smile that always makes her think everything is okay.

and, somehow, it always worked. even for a few moments.

"now, now, i'm okay." you hum, patting her back gently to comfort her. to make her believe that you're really okay, despite almost being drowned by the primordial sea.

she leans into your loving touch, wrapping her strong arms around your waist, hiding her face on your neck as she continues to sob silently. it wets your neck, to your collarbone, and slowly reaches to your front yoke, but do you even care about that?

you continue to caress her back, pressing your nose to nuzzle her beautiful, wavy blonde hair, until you sense that navia wants to talk. "silver and melus, they…" she begins, sobbing even harder and louder.

her grasp around your waist tightens, letting go her face from your neck yet still keeping you close in her strong arms. it seems like she wasn't going to let you go very soon.

you knew what navia meant. you saw it with your very own eyes before passing out, and it felt like a terrifying nightmare. "i know, nav, at least they died for being a hero." you whisper back, a sad sigh escapes your lips.

"but i'm so, so glad that you're okay." she adds, the loud sobs and sniffles could still be heard from her, but it seems like she was able to calm down a little. "at least i still have you… i— i don't know what i'm supposed to do without you."

"aww…" you couldn't help but smile wider, your hands making their way to cup navia's cheeks while wiping her warm tears away.

she's so pretty, so divine even when she cries.

"i won't leave you," you coo tenderly, kissing her rosy nose (due to crying) multiple times, "i never will."

oh how navia wanted to believe that, but after losing her two attendants?

it's not like she doesn't want to trust you, it's just that she's hesitant. she knew you wouldn't make empty promises, but it feels so… wrong.

reluctantly, she nods, nuzzling into your cheeks. "but… what if you do?" she asks, her words being muffled against your cheeks.

you think for a moment, your eyes never leaving her gorgeous blue eyes. then, a soft giggle escapes your lips. "then you can have my limited pastries i bought last week."

the blonde's eyes widened at your lighthearted joke, but eventually she laughed along with you. "just kidding, just kidding… i promise i won't."

"… promise me?" at the word 'promise', she shows her pinky finger, expecting you to take it and uttering the same word, to make a pinky promise.

yet instead, you close your eyes and give her a long, loving kiss on her rosy lips, taking her hand in yours. she was surprised at first, but her heart melts quickly and returns the loving kiss while cradling your head.

her lipstick was smudged on your lips, creating a light kiss mark, but you were too dizzy by the kiss to even care about the little mess you two have made.

"je t'aime." she whispers softly, wiping the kiss mark away with her thumb, making you laugh again as you keep your arms around her back. "i love you more."

that is, until the traveler and paimon came, having no idea whatever happened before they came.

#genshin impact #genshin navia #genshin impact navia #navia #navia x reader #navia x you #angst with a happy ending #angst with comfort #genshin angst #gender neutral reader

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 7 - A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: It was inevitably going to happen...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, mild dom/sub undertones, frottage, dirty talk, light hair pulling and biting, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 4.3k (longest chapter to date, haha, is anyone surprised..)

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, passions between Benedict and reader finally boil over. Yup, yup, the movie fades to black on the sex scene... I am not lolol. Please skip this chapter if you want to keep your reading PG-13/12A rated. There is no real plot here. Sorry it has taken me so long to write this; I got so nervous. Still not sure I like this very much. Thanks to ColetteBronte for the read through. Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

It's a blur as the kiss deepens; Benedict’s tongue glances yours, a tentative swipe before entwining. Something sweeps through your being, throwing you overboard, tossing you into a tsunami wave, your mind reeling as your hands stay limp by your side, still taken by surprise this is happening.

“Ben,” you stutter breathlessly when he withdraws fractionally.

“Don’t,” he growls, “don't you dare use that big brain of yours; just shut up.” His thumb is heavy on your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Just shut the fuck up for once in your bloody life.”

So, for once, you do just that. Letting your hands do the talking, looping around his neck to pull him back to you. That is the permission he needs, and suddenly, you are being spun around and pressed into your own hallway wall, him bearing the whole length of his being into you. You feel like you are drowning in him. He is all you can see, smell, and breathe. 

Then, he obliterates every thought you have. Hunching down mid-kiss, he insinuates a warm thigh between your knees. Then he stands up straight, the meat of his substantial quad muscle snagging the seam of your sleep shorts, your clit mashed into your public bone, throbbing.

You mumble a curse into his mouth as his fingers locate the tab on your hoodie. The only sound is the slow release of the zip as he tugs it down and your own shallow panting over his lips as he does so. He smiles dangerously as the material parts, dropping it off your shoulders to the floor so you stand in tiny shorts and a white vest. 

There is a noise in the back of his throat as his eyes sweep down briefly, lingering on your peaked nipples, then slender fingers wrap around the crest of your hipbones and flex, indicating he wants you to move. To ride the thigh that he has you dangling upon, up on your tiptoes.

“Use me,” he mutters like velvet. “Go ahead.”

“I….” You seem almost incapable of speech, too strung out on the tidal wave of chemicals racing around your body. “…need sex, please,” aware it sounds reedy.

He unwinds your hands from around his neck and pins them to the wall at shoulder height.

“Ride my leg, and then we will have sex,” he orders slowly, a knowing smirk on your cheekbone. “Come on; you don't think I can tell how much you need it?” He places a hot kiss on your skin. “You've been aching to come since you straddled me hours ago; don’t deny it.”

Fuckkkk…. 

This is what his ex, Gen, meant all those years ago. ‘Knees weak, pussy strong’ is how she paraphrased what he could do to her. You thought it was her exaggerating; now you realise it wasn’t. It’s like he’s a different person to the Ben that you know, but fuck if it isn't blisteringly hot.

So when he relinquishes your wrists, you wrap around him again, undulating on his leg, pressing your cheek into his, the friction of the layers of fabric adding to your arousal. It feels so good you speed up, grasping his neck.

“Yes, that’s it,” he pants approvingly in your ear, gripping your hips again in encouragement. With every stroke, you bump against a solid mass in his jeans, which makes you feel frantic and impatient for more. To come, to fuck, to do everything he will let you.

“Ben…” his name like honey, tumbling from your lips in your heightened state. You are too cowardly to lean back and look at him, see yourself reflected in his eyes; it feels too much like admitting this is real. Or perhaps you’re simply worried it will break this fevered spell, that he will put a stop to it, leaving you throbbing and bereft.

“Stop thinking,” he drawls, his breath hot on your temple, intuiting you are disappearing too much into your thoughts again, your pace slowing as you slide on him. He squeezes your hips roughly to the point you squeak. “Do you want me to order you to do it?” the voice lethally low. “Is that what you want?”

“I… I…” words fail. You have no idea. 

He pulls back to cradle your jaw again, tilting your face to look at him. His hazy blue eyes are dilated to inky black, and his lips are flushed dark pink. “Y/n,” slow, sensual, rumbling from his ribcage, his fingertips warm on your cheeks. “When I tell you to do something, I mean it. Do it.” His thumb swipes your bottom lip. “Right now.”

“Help me,” it’s a desperate uncensored whisper.

“What do you need?” He smiles predatorily, his eyes sparkling in the low light.

“Hold me down; be firm,” confessing your desires. “Control me a bit.” You’ve never divulged that proclivity to any past lover, the craving for something with a hint of roughness, a light tussle. And yet, with your best friend, you can’t help but let it tumble out of you.

And perfect, perfect Ben, god, he obliges. 

The hand on your hip digs in as the other slides around the globe of your bottom cheek, and you squeal as he spanks there with a harsh flick.

“I told you to ride my leg,” his directive clipped but somehow still laced with a laid-back bemusement, “so do it.”

It's so perfect you feel an urge to shake him and yell ‘yes’ and ‘this’. But instead, you bite your lip and do as bidden, riding the rough creases in his jeans, letting the texture catch your swollen clit in your thin cotton shorts. It feels so good you shudder, but still, you crave more.

“I want to ride your jeans naked.” Again, you cannot suppress your runaway tongue.

He makes a noise that is almost feral; a sizeable, warm hand slides up your spine underneath your vest, ruching the fabric until it snags on your breasts at the front. Without prompting, you release briefly to strip off the top, then immediately wind around him again like a vine. The soft cotton of his shirt snags delightfully on your nipples, and you can feel his body heat seeping through the thin material. Moaning your approval as his fingers splay wide, touching the sensitive skin of your lower back, right above your shorts.

“Take these off,” he runs a feathery touch above the waistband, the tone gruff and challenging.

He dips slightly and backs away a half pace, just enough to give you room to strip off the last of your clothing. He has not so much as undone a button, but the bulge in his jeans makes you swallow hard as you shimmy off your shorts. He probably wasn't expecting you to be without underwear, based on the noise he makes. You are grateful you have recently trimmed (for a failed date, as it turns out). 

As your shorts hit the floor, he dives in for another mindblowing kiss. And before you know it, you are hauled back onto his thigh, completely naked, the denim feeling so perfect against your aching clit.

“You are so close, aren’t you?” he groans as your heat and wetness seep through his jeans, engulfing his quad. 

All you can do in response is nod, mildly embarrassed, bury your face in his neck and move again in earnest, making faint noises into his skin. The drag of fabric on your engorged clit is so intoxicating you couldn't stop if you wanted to. He murmurs encouragements, touch searing your skin, just this side of painful; you will likely carry his fingermarks tomorrow.

“Come on, that's it,” he encourages, shifting his leg to increase your range of motion, pressing his erection into your hipbone as you crash into him.

Over and over, you ride, getting faster and faster, chasing the high that feels so tantalisingly close, your skin turning dewy with exertion, his body heat enveloping you. You need something to make you break, and he intuits it. One hand slides up your back to grasp the hair at the base of your skull.

“Give it to me,” he orders duskily, an untamed look in his eye, twisting his grip until your hair is taut against your scalp.

Then, the other hand leaves your hip and insinuates between your bodies, grabbing your breast and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The rush of sensation, a little rough, just as you requested, hurls you past the edge you were skating. Convulsing on his leg, he keeps his hold on your hair and nipple as you snap. Eyes rolling closed as you cry his name and curse, coming so hard the world goes fuzzy. Shuddering and shaking, him moving to brace your body upright with him as you writhe.

“That's it, yesssss,” his victorious hiss in your ear is breathy and impressed. 

There are a few moments of silence as you return to the room, so marvellously sated but somewhat mortified about what has just transpired.

“I…. I can't believe I did that,” you mutter into his skin, almost ashamed, even as your body still quivers from the best orgasm you can remember in many months.

“You were amazing,” he reassures into your ear.

“Don't ask me to look you in the eye,” you jest lightly, lips skimming his throat, unwilling indeed to meet his eye.

He chuckles, loosening his hold as he drops a kiss on your forehead.

“Are you honestly asking me to fuck you without looking at you?” he checks light-heartedly.

“I have an eye mask you can borrow,” you offer, giggling.

His responding laugh jiggles your whole body as he shifts to allow you back to your flat feet. Your leg muscles still twitching, still leaning into him for support.

“If you want to play with blindfolds, I am more than game,” he murmurs, cradling your face so you daren’t look away. This closeup and aroused he is a devastating sight, all cheekbones and blown pupils. And partnered with those words, in that hedonic tone, your insides are molten all over again. 

“Me too,” you whisper back.

Before you know it, he picks you up effortlessly and strides across the hallway toward your bedroom door. This is a seismic shift in your friendship, but as he lowers you gently onto your bed, all you feel is elation. Butterflies in your gut as he climbs on top of you, still fully clothed.

“Ben, what do I have to pay to get you naked?” you grumble good-naturedly, tugging at the shirt around his shoulders, your usual banter flaring despite this surprising development.

He laughs as his lips land on your neck, warm and plush, kissing a line down to your collarbone that is all at once too much and not enough. 

“I will get naked if you wear that blindfold you promised,” he jokes, your breath catching as you feel his chin stubble catch on the swell of your breast.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, smiling as he pouts up at you, eyes sparkling. 

The fact that the playfulness is still there makes you feel light as air, floating on feathers, him holding your gaze and slipping lower so the tip of his nose brushes your nipple.

“I was right all those years ago,” he inhales almost lewdly. “You really do have a fantastic pair of tits.” He looks up at you from your chest through heavy lashes with that same deadly lopsided smile from years ago, the one he gave you on the train, and once again, it makes you flush from head to toe.

“Naked Bridgerton, now,” you riposte with faux scolding, raising an eyebrow. 

This would have been a very effective response had he not chosen that precise moment to envelope your nipple into his mouth and suck hard, instead making you call out, eyes fluttering closed as your spine curls up off the bed, the heat and suction perfect. Swirling his tongue around and using an edge of teeth, swapping to the other side to do the same before you open your eyes. Then he kisses his way back up, claiming another fiery kiss. As you go to weakly protest again about him being too clothed, he sits up and whips the shirt off over his head instead of undoing it, throwing it aside as your eyes fall open.

“What the fuck?!” It's an unbidden but honest response to the sight before you. 

In the low light cast by your bedside lamp, he is all defined, sculpted lines—a shape you didn't think real humans came in. He laughs slightly abashed as you keep staring, raising up onto your elbows to drink in the view. You know he is in shape from the feel of his body when you hug him, but just how buff momentarily stuns you. 

“You look like a bloody Michelangelo sculpture,” you declare, compounding his coyness.

“If you keep this up, I'm not taking off my jeans,” he warns demurely, in a voice that is both amused and humble.

You mime zipping your mouth shut and throwing away a key as he leans in laughing and busses a brief kiss on your lips. Your hands map his tapered torso, revelling in the supple, warm skin and contoured, lithe muscles and the catch in his throat as you do so. You pull him down on top of you; the weight and warmth of his naked chest meeting yours makes you hungry in a way you haven't felt for years. Eventually, you reach the waistband of his jeans, circling to the front and rapidly flicking open the button of his fly. He squeaks quietly into your passionate kiss, taken aback by your boldness.

“No going back now,” you warn as you carefully lower the zip of his fly over his straining cock.

“I think that ship sailed when I felt your orgasm on my thigh,” he replies drolly, as your eyes briefly fall to the damp patch you left there, cheeks flushing. 

His bravado falters when you push his jeans down his slim hips, delving inside the back of his underwear to grab the peachy solid mass of his bottom. He groans into your cheek, and his mouth finds yours again. There is a wave of body heat as you shimmy his underwear and jeans down his leg, unseen as you kiss almost artlessly. He takes over, squirming his way out of them until they are also flung off the bed. You don't see his cock, but he presses down onto you as soon as he is naked, and you feel it brand your thigh, sizeable and hot.

“Let me see,” you almost whine, petulant.

He huffs a laugh, grabs your wrist, and guides your hand between your bodies. There, nestled within a patch of lightly trimmed hair, you feel the steely warmth of his cock. 

“Ben,” you stumble out as you encircle the heated mass, feeling a trickle escape your body as you begin to pump him lightly, a thumb swiping the sticky precum at his head, loving the way it makes him stutter and moan into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he sounds winded, pulsing under your fingers.

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry, it's been… uhh… ages since someone else touched my cock,” he rushes out, sheepish.

The honesty makes something melt behind your ribs; this wonderful, handsome man, still recovering from heartbreak, has not had sex in so long that you want to give him - your best friend - everything, a need to please him burning bright. Not wishing to dwell on consequences, what any of this might mean after tonight.

“What do you want, Ben?” you query softly as you pump his cock in your fist.

“You,” he answers sweetly, plainly, breathily, “just you.” He tilts his head and sighs into your neck. “It's been so long since I had sex that I'm not certain I can satisfy you. It’s why I made you to come before; I couldn't bear to leave you in need.”

The vulnerable admission, a true friend confiding in another, makes you crave him, this, even more. The glibness of your recent casual hookups thrown into stark relief in this singular moment of intimate honesty. It's what has been missing from sex since your breakup with Tom. The shorthand that comes from knowing someone so well artifice crumbles; them able to see through all the layers you can hide behind with strangers.

“I bet you are better than you think,” the need to reassure seizing you. “The way you took control earlier was exactly what I needed. Then there is this…,” you squeeze his cock a little, “...now I understand why Gen said she would miss you so much,” you add unabashed, enjoying the feel of his unseen demure smile against your jaw. 

“So you liked when I took control?” he queries, shifting the subject.

“Oh god, yes,” you avow, a little frisson racing down your spine at the memory from moments earlier, your grip flexing around his cock as you do so.

“Do you want me to do it again?” his cadence lowers to something more decadent as he removes your hand and traps it on the pillow next to your head.

“Yes, please,” it’s almost too keen.

Again, the noise he makes is an elixir, elation coursing in your veins. His long fingers lacing with yours, holding you down firmly, his mass weightier as he bears you down onto the mattress. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he rumbles, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. Your reply in the affirmative is a shaky exhale, a skitter of excitement across your skin at the very idea. “What was that?” his tone suddenly brusque, pushing up to look down upon you, his eyes boring into yours as he surges his cock, branding your inner thigh.

“Yes,” you enunciate crisply, struggling against his control, even though it’s precisely where you want to be, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as his fingers sink further between yours, stretching your knuckles wide apart. He claims you in a vehement kiss, leaving you whimpering around his invading tongue, the tip of his cock rocking against your clit.

“Tell me you want me,” he orders, breath hot on your face, his hands still pinning you under him.

“I want you,” you answer reflexively, as simple and true as breathing. 

He nuzzles your face, his cock sliding temptingly through your slick folds as you shudder, your pebbled nipples catching on the slab of his pectoral muscles, sighing shakily as he gently bites the shell of your ear. He surges his cock again, this time slipping lower, teasing your entrance, parting you with his tip. You inhale sharply at the warm mass, pressing insistently, not quite at the right angle to slip fully inside yet. 

“Do you still have your IUD?” he asks quietly, the domineering mask slipping momentarily, releasing your wrists. 

“Yes, just get inside me, please,” you respond, soft but fervent, raking fingertips down his back, loving the heated contours that flex as he moves to angle better.

Then, eleven years after you first idly thought of it on that drive down to London from Scotland, Benedict Bridgerton finally slides inside your body. 

A blunt warmth spearing you open in a way that feels so good it makes your throat catch, and your eyes roll back in your head. A curse falls from you as he keeps going, finding your hilt as he bottoms out. The perfect fit, just the right side of an ache as you stretch around him. He exhales raggedly into your cheek and stills.

“Move please,” you implore, greedy for more, grabbing his bottom impatiently.

“Give me a moment,” he appeals, breaking persona again, the heat of his body cloaking yours.

“Please,” you coax gently, “Benedict.” You add, almost as an afterthought, using his formal name as if to underline the seriousness of your request.

He makes a noise and lifts to look down at you. “Call me that again,” he commands gravelly, overwrought.

“Benedict,” you repeat as if a tasty morsel you can’t resist.

He makes a hungry noise and withdraws slightly, surging back into you in a way that has your whole body rolling under him with the force of it. You groan, hands flexing on his body, your tongue pressing into the back of your front teeth, quelling the urge to call out how good it already feels.

Your walls cling to him as he sets a languid but perfect rhythm. Breathing each other's air, exploring damp skin, lips meeting repeatedly in loose, open-mouthed kisses. Once again, he grabs your hands and manoeuvres them above your head, holding you down, stretching your arms so your body cants up, your nipples grazing his chest.

“You have no idea how many times I've fantasised of this moment for so many years,” he rasps, making your breath hitch with his words and a change of angle that catches a new spot inside. “And yet, this is better,” he continues, dropping a kiss in your hair.

“Same,” you confess succinctly.

A triumphant crooked smile claims his face, and then he thrusts forcefully, wringing a loud moan from your lungs, your head smashing into the pillow as your hips tilt up in a silent request for more. Yearning for him to fuck you so hard that you feel a physical reminder; for your body to carry a tangible memory of it. 

“You want more, don't you?” he intuits, pride colouring his tone.

“Yes,” you hiss, conscious he can read you effortlessly. 

He snaps his hips in response, and you feel a tug deep inside where he nudges your hilt. It feels so good you gasp and fight to release your hands from above your head, desperate to grab his bum cheeks again and haul him deeper into you.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides bemused, shooting you a pointed look, “you do as I say, remember?” 

You struggle underneath him, eyes blazing as you stare into his glassy pupils, telegraphing silently this is precisely what you want, making a show until you finally settle and curl your bottom lip under your teeth, nodding meekly as he restarts at a leisurely pace.

“Good girl.” He even winks.

Oh fucking hell.

Your pussy pulses around him, betraying how much you like that line. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he smirks, the smug, cocky persona he can slip into so easily fitting him like a glove. The ghost of Benedict-past rearing - that troublesome young playboy you recall from years ago. 

He chuckles richly when you don’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal response, somehow the spectre of your younger, indignant self joining the party, too.

“Don’t forget: I can tell when you’re lying,” he murmurs into your jaw, still fucking you slow and thoroughly, sliding his lips down your neck, your collarbone, down to your nipple that he bites, making you cry out. “I know you of old…” he adds, pausing for you to catch the reference.

“Shakespeare…,” you stumble incredulously.

“Mmm hmm,” he confirms, tracing a teasing circle around your areola with the tip of his tongue.

“You quote Shakespeare while you fuck?!” your tone incredulous. “You don’t fight fair,”

He laughs again before silencing any retort you may have with another heated kiss, entwining your limbs, wrapping like a protective vine around you as he begins thrusting keenly. You move with him, uncaring how vocal you are, the need for more inexorable. You stare into each other's eyes as you move in perfect synchronism, faster and harder, grabbing flesh, whispered words and endless kisses. It’s never been quite like this before.

“Come for me again,” he pleads hotly, and you can see he is teetering close to the edge now, a little vein pulsing in his temple, his neck corded, a sheen over his body where his pace never wavers.

“So close,” you vow, needing just a little more friction to fall into that abyss again.

You groan as he grabs your hand and sucks your fingers into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around them, then releases them with an obscene pop, guiding your wettened fingers between your bodies to the apex of your thighs, silently instructing you to touch yourself. Gasping and canting up into his body, your own slippery touch like a lightning rod on your clit.  He growls as your pussy tightens around him responsively, feeling so huge as he ploughs into you.

Only a few flicks of your fingers and you are hurtling towards mindless bliss, eyes closing and body going taut, then snapping like a string as you peak, every fibre of your body fracturing as you call his name and constrict tight around his cock, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his back as you float somewhere outside your body, mind blanking out in sheer pleasure.

Distantly, you hear him following you over, his grip almost punishing as he takes a few last frantic pumps, then stills, emptying deep inside, chanting your name into your neck as his whole body shudders and collapses on top of you.

As you flop back onto the mattress, your body sated, your thoughts race. Probably the best sex of your damn life. Even as he slides next to you, pulling you into his arms, your mind whirls until your scattered thoughts coalesce into one singular truth that makes you chew on your lip and frettingly stare at the ceiling - it was too good, too tender, too raw and honest for a first time. But all you want to do is repeat it. Over and over and over. Just never let him out of your bedroom. Except this is your best friend, and you have no bloody idea where you stand now.

Well… fuckity fuck.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhelll @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheepp @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #it had to be you fic

[wosoluver]

Little family

Part 3

Lena Oberdorf x reader

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Obi can you give me a ride to training this week? I have to take my car to get fixed. This morning I ubered here."

"What? Why didn't you text me? I would've gave you a ride this morning too."

"I didn't want to be a bother." you said tying up your boots

"You're never a bother.

Be careful you're going to drop Libby!" she said moving to get the plushie bunny before she fell from the bench to the floor. Putting it sitting on top of her own stuff.

You just nodded thankfully at her, as the two of you walked out to the field.

Unknowingly to you, your friends stayed behind just so they could comment on the unbelievable scene that had unfolded before them.

"There's actually no way! They are literally an old married couple!" said Georgia.

"It's driving me insane to watch them be so oblivious!" said Lea as she tied up her hair.

"I swear if I have to go through this one more week..." said Syd as she turned around. "Do something Libby! Like, haven't you chose Lena as your other mom already?"

"You want a teddy bear to do something?" asked Pernille. "You do something!"

"Fine!" answered Syd.

"Fine?" a few of the girls said in unison, confused by what she meant.

"We should set up a plan to get them to confess!" she answered once again.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." said Sam.

"Come on! The worst thing that can happen is them getting married in secret so they don't have to invite us." she tried to reason.

"Fuck it, I'm in!" said Lea.

"Well, that didn't take much convincing.

I'll help too." said Georgia.

And some of them joined in too.

"We might need Libby."

"I don't know if-"

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

When it was time to leave, after getting cleaned up, you turned to Lena.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, do you want to stop at the coffee shop?"

You only nodded. Walking to the car side by side.

And the girls stayed behind once again.

"I don't think she noticed." said Georgia.

"She'll notice trust me."

As she parked the car on the usual spot you always were in, you reached for the bunny, only she wasn't there.

"Obi, are you carrying Libby?"

"I don't have her."

"What do you mean?"

"She's not with me."

"But you left her along with your stuff!"

"I thought you had grabbed her from it."

"Why would I?! I always trust you with her!" your tone rising.

"Okay, I know you're nervous, but I'm on your side here. I would never be careless with something you care so much about! I won't ever put you on that situation! That's not how you treat someone you love." she blurred out in the heat of the moment.

You took a pause to recompose yourself and make sure your heart didn't leave your body.

She most likely didn't mean it like that, and you were just trying to feel some sort of mutual feeling from her.

"Sorry, for almost yelling at you. You're one of the best friends I have, I know y-"

"Best... friend?" she asked, almost coming out as a whisper.

"Yeah, sorry if you don't feel like that, it's totally fine. We can be just, friends?" you said scared to say anything else wrong.

Obi simply shook her head in disbelief. Had she just confessed she felt something more? And had you just turned her down?

"No! I mean I like you more than a friend, more than a best friend." she said with a defeat look on her face.

"You...do?"

And she only nodded, avoiding your eyes.

"I do too." you said with a hand on her cheek, making sure she was looking your way.

You stared at each other for a bit, just taking in the moment. Before she calmly pressed her lips onto yours.

"Let's go back to get her." she said as soon as you parted, resting her forehead on yours. Still with her eyes closed, but she could feel you nodding your head.

meanwhile the girls were still sitting around waiting for you two to show up, to look for your bunny.

"I'm loosing hope, I don't think they're coming back anytime soon." said Pernille.

Some were siting on the bench or the floor, others were lying around. Lea was about to protest when you walked in, holding onto Lena's hand. Immediately spotting the plushie sitting in the middle of the room.

"Did it work?!" screamed Syd.

"Why are you all still here? And what do you mean by that?" you wanted a confession, already suspecting then.

They all looked at each other.

"It was Sydney's idea!" said Georgia.

"No! Pernille was the one who said so!"

"Only because you all wouldn't quit complaining about them being so unaware!"

You and Obi shared a look, shaking your heads and letting out a slight laugh.

"We should have known." she said.

"So?" asked Lea waiting for a resolution.

And you only hid your face in Lena's neck, becoming shy from all the looks, and she placed a small kiss on your forehead.

As they all cheered loudly.

And Lea grabbed Libby before covering her eyes. "Get a room!" joining in with a joke

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Again thank you to the amazing anon who came up with the idea for Little family! 🩷

Requests are open!

#woso x reader #lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader

[jaidens]

The sand from your hair is blowin' in my eyes Blame it on the beach, grown men don't cry

pairing [s] : bradley bradshaw x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : crying, anxiety, death, drinking | angst with comfort!

a/n [s] : requests are open!

Bradley sits on the beach, but he feels a million miles away from everything.

You sit next to him as you tell him about work recently and how your coworker did something. Admittedly, he wasn't listening like he usually did, but he stares at the breaking waves and the wind that slips through his cloth Old Navy t-shirt and the shorts he brought to swim in.

Bradley grew up without a father figure after he was five years old. He only had the distinct memories of Goose, his Uncle Maverick, and his mother. He craved the feeling of being able to hug his dad one last time, not just staring at the picture of his Little League team and his father's dumb mustache and Ray-Ban Caravans that sit on his nose.

Bradley sits next to him with a dumb, blond bowl cut and a huge smile as he sits with Goose in his arms. He craves that feeling of being a kid, without worry. He's beside himself as the tears blur the sunset and ocean out of his view, striking like a broken mirror.

“Bradley..” A quiet voice is let through to his ears, as he covers his face with his hands and curls in on himself. “Hey, hey what's wrong?” He can't pull himself to look at you, the person he truly loves as you let your hand touch his arm softly.

Bradley found love, and was able to tell his mother as she laid sick that he was happy. After his father's death, he couldn't live for himself to love. Until Carole had slapped some sense into her son, telling him to find love and that everything will start to make sense. He heard all the stories growing up about Goose's romantic gestures of singing Great Balls of Fire; dedicated to his lovely wife.

When he found you, sitting at the bar sipping on a Sprite and eating one of Penny's famous dinner foods, he knew he was in love. He was freshly out of the Flight Academy, young and dumb when he met you. His mustache barely growing in and still wearing his college baseball shirts.

“Brad, don't ignore me. I know you can hear me.”

One thing about Bradley was his ignoring of problems. His therapist had tried to work him out of the habit, after the dangers of almost getting hurt in the plane after he disregarded Maverick’s commands. It also stood for emotionally ignoring. A year ago, Bradley would have never talked and would've let it out with anger and crying if he was confronted with a problem he wasn't sure how to solve.

“I—I–...” Bradley begins before that frog in his throat appears, biting on his tongue. The tears well up in his eyes, as he takes his hand and wipes them away. The feeling bubbles up inside of him like a Coke shaken with Mentos inside.

“It’s okay, I'm here.” You remind him softly, making sure to hold his hand to help him further in knowing you weren't leaving him alone.

“Hangman— today he mentioned Goose. Told everyone. Maverick didn't even do anything either, I almost fought him too. Then, I remembered Dad. He would've despised me if I used violence.”

“And– and, Maverick keeps bugging me about just fixing my relationship with him. I have no reason too! He pulled my papers!” Bradley stops when he starts practically sobbing, tears running down his face and hands shaking. The anger mixes into his sadness and fear of everything.

He feels embarrassed acting like this in front of you— a grown man crying in someone's arms about another grown man. Bradley feels the weight of his body falling off of him as you rub his back with your hand, and keep on hand raking in the curls of the back of his head.

“Bradley, whatever Hangman said, was unacceptable. Hopefully he apologizes because you do not deserve that at all.” You said. “Maverick loves you Bradley, he basically raised you. What he did as well was horrible, but from what I know about Mav, it was probably meant to happen.”

Bradley takes your words to heart, holding onto your hand now with an actual grip. His lip quivers while he feels your thumb trace over his knuckles. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffles quietly. You smell like salt water and coconut as he lays in the curve of your neck and shoulder. “Thanks.” Bradley says a few minutes later.

Bradley stares at you, the soft smile you have and his big Ford Bronco t-shirt you have on. You look ethereal in the golden and pink hues that collect in the San Diego sky. He feels your connection that wraps your souls together. He's so in love with you, and he thanks whatever big guy is up there, that puts you and him together.

“Why?” You ask him back, looking down at him at where he lays.

“Because. You're always there for me. Always say the right things.” Bradley admits softly. Messing with the towel you have laid on the ground. “It’s why I love you so much.”

His words are anything but foreign to your ears. You smile at him and see him still finding his breath after the cry that he needed to get out of him. “I love you too. I will never stop loving you.”

He feels closer to everything, you as well as himself. Bradley hopes his mother can see him now, holding the person he loves in his arms.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x male!reader #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x you #top gun x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x you

[poorwritingandstalecoffee]

don’t let me go pt. II

WC: 1.5K

Warnings: talk of anxiety due to hospital settings and grief

NOTE: Okay, so I know I said I would post the update to Don't Let Me Go during spring break. HOWEVER, in a rare burst of inspiration that is all thanks to the lovely Anon I answered earlier this afternoon, viola! we have an update since my mind would NOT leave me alone.

Emily hated hospitals: the sanitized surfaces, the clinical uniforms, the smell of rubbing alcohol, and the sterile, empty rooms that felt like dark, cavernous spaces. The stoic faces of the doctors and nurses with their shiny, sharp instruments were conductors of deadly precision. Cut. Sever. Cauterize. Break. Sew. Heal.

She knew they only meant to save, just as her team only ever meant to protect. Tell that to her racing heart and the endless screaming inside her head. Emily’s eyes darted from the ER nurse talking on the phone to the doctors racing toward the incoming trauma to the parents trying to console their screaming child whose shin was snapped in two with perfect white bone poking through, then back to the ER nurse—no sir, you most certainly cannot request that over—and to the dozen other blurs of light and dark blue forms rushing forward, left, right, and around her.

“Hey, watch it!” said a voice.

Emily’s shoulder snapped back with the shove of a doctor running by, and she blinked twice while looking around. Her brows furrowed, and for a moment, the fog lifted. What am I doing here? Her eyes flashed with the memory of you, a blur of hair and hands lifting as you fell down, down, down. In a snap, as if someone dumped ice-cold water on her, she was back, and the suffocating terror came with her, making her want to sprint as fast as she could out of there and never look back. But she couldn’t. You were still here, lying under sedation on a gurney somewhere in an OR room. And Emily couldn’t leave you—not you, never.

“Hey, hun, watch it before someone knocks you over,” a nurse said, passing a hand over her shoulder to move her out of the walkway to get to a patient.

Emily’s eyes darted to the woman, and her anxiety spiked to near screaming level because it wasn’t you who touched her. She couldn’t stop her brain from flicking through images of your cold, hollowed dead body lying silent in a dark box. Pale-blue hands neatly folded over a sickening sweet bouquet on your sunken chest. Emily clawed at her throat because she couldn’t breathe; her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, and her body felt ice cold with permanent goosebumps.

Emily turned again and again, trying to find a way out of her mind, but all she could see was you lying in a box in the ground, eyes closed and unrecognizable. She didn’t notice the hands on her shoulders, the flash of blonde hair, or the blue eyes moving before her with a look of concern.

“—ey, hey…EMILY HEY! Look at me!” JJ jerked Emily around to face her, and JJ’s heart broke at the sight of her.

Emily looked at JJ’s sad eyes, downturned lips, and furrowed brows and fell forward because it’s JJ, and she knows. Her face buried in JJ’s neck as the blonde’s arms held her, and she choked out the sob that hung in her throat. The tears clouding her eyes finally fell on JJ’s shirt, and Emily spoke into her shoulder because she couldn’t bear looking at her eyes—eyes that told her I know it hurts—one more second. “She looked so cold, so hollow and lifeless—“

“Emily, no, that’s not going to happen, okay?” JJ pulled Emily from her shoulder and stared into her crying eyes. “Look at me. You have to believe that it’s not—for her.”

Emily nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but flashes of you—pale blue with dirt covering your dead face—were stuck in her vision. The lump was growing in her throat, and she couldn’t hear anything over her hyperventilating breaths.

“Okay, okay, let’s go somewhere else while we wait,” JJ said and pulled Emily into her side. She pushed through the throngs of nurses and doctors and down hallways until she came to a neon exit sign. Out in the open, cool morning air, she laid Emily against the hospital wall and let her slide into a crouch position. With her hand under her shoulder blade, she said, “Head between your knees, Em. C'mon, there you go.”

Emily heard JJ telling her to take deep, slow breaths and focus on only that, nothing else. Only, she sounded warbled and far away, like Emily was underwater and steadily losing her last shreds of air. She pressed her eyes closed so hard they brought stars to her vision, and she tried to ward off the dead version of you from her mind by counting each breath in her head. In one…out one…in two…out two…in three…

Yet that only brought on different images of her sitting alone in a dark, empty apartment five months from now, with hollowed cheeks, an emaciated body due to a depleted diet, and dark circles under her lifeless eyes that stared at a single photo or you—the image of you sporting your brightest smile as you held Emily’s hands around your middle while she kissed your cheek under the archway of your wedding alter. Emily’s head fell, and she let the tears fall from her eyes to splat big dark gray splotches onto the concrete beneath her. Her hands shook, and she brought her red-rimmed nails to her mouth and gnashed her teeth at the broken skin in frantic movements. Emily’s mind spiraled into dark, dangerous territory; thoughts she hadn’t given the time of day since Doyle because you were her light, her warmth, her sunshine that banished the dark, self-deprecating thoughts, the questions of is it worth it? Is she worth it?

Emily’s breaths felt heavy and forced as she took big gulps of air, and her entire body now shook with the cold fear of losing you. Voices called to her, but she shook her head and pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to will the tears to just stop.

“Okay, we’re coming there now. What room?”

“Okay. I- I know Morgan, she’s—I know. She just needs to see her, and then she’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, make sure the hallway is clear. Okay…yeah, we’re coming now.”

Emily felt hands on her again, moving from her biceps to her shoulders, and a voice followed. She knew the voice, but it was wrong. It wasn’t the right one, wasn’t the right person. She shook her head no, again, again, and again until she felt a jerk and her head popped up and stared, confused and scared at JJ. Stars still danced in the corners of her vision, her ears rang with the beat of her heart, and the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. JJ leaned in and said something, and Emily tried to read her lips… Y/n—no! A sob jolted through Emily, and she tried to turn her head with the onslaught of tears coming. Yet JJ jerked her again, and Emily half wanted to punch and scream at her to leave her be in her grief, but she saw something—a fragment of a word leave her lips and looked again. Y/n is alive. Emily, she made it.

Emily quickly looked up at JJ, her eyes wide with unshed tears and hope. Her heart beat double time while the ringing in her ears lessened just enough for her to hear JJ say, “She alive, Emily.”

Emily gasped and jumped up, nearly crashing into the exit door before jerking it open and sprinting down the hallway. She ran 10 feet before realizing she didn’t know where she was going and half turned to see JJ close the door and yell , “Room 263” and then she was gone. Crashing through doors, people, sliding by gurneys, and leaping up back stairways because the elevator was too slow and you were alive and waiting for her somewhere.

Her lungs burned with relief and adrenaline and her mind screamed at her body to keep going no matter how many people yelled at her that she was going to hurt somebody running through there like that and to just slow the fuck down! But she couldn’t and she wouldn’t until she saw your face with your eyes wide open on her.

Her hand leaped out to grab a corner and pivot herself around to the recovery floor. Bursting through the door her head darted to each plaque beside the doors, scanning the room numbers. “258, 259, 260…ughh cmon!”

“Emily!,” Derek yelled. Down the hallway she could see him standing by an open doorway, he looked at someone in the room, said something to them, and turned back to wave her over.

Emily’s heart leaped in her throat at who he might be talking to and she ran down the hallway, grabbed onto the doorframe, and leaped in front of Derek into the doorway. Her breath hitched as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and her body started shaking all over again. She looked at every inch of you, from the soft bumps of your feet beneath the hospital blanket, up the planes of your legs, over your hands that looked every bit as warm as she hoped, to your chest that was rising and falling because you were breathing, up your neck to your mouth that was smiling at her, over your soft, pink cheeks, and finally to your eyes that stared wide open at her with nothing but joy.

Your smile grew crooked while your hand, steady as ever, lifted, palm up toward her and you said softly, “Where’ve you been?”

#michelle's works #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader

[sweetbbyshion]

Mom next door

-> Shoyo Hinata x fem!reader

characters: Shoyo Hinata

genre: smut

summary: Hinata gets closer to an older woman after getting back from Brazil.

warnings: NSFW, reader is a mom, AGE GAP (hinata is 21, reader is 31), oral (m->f), penetrative sex, he used a condom so its all good, mentions of aftercare, reader has some insecurities but it's not too descriptive

Your arms had given out a long time ago and your legs would too if it wasn't for the strong hands gripping your hips to keep them steady. “Fuck,” Shoyo said behind you, “do you know how long I have been waiting for this?”.

You had an idea. Hinata Shoyo looked at you like he wanted to destroy you the moment you met. He was the new neighbor and your daughter was a clumsy little thing that crashed against his legs when she was running away from you, laughing and not looking where she was going. Akame was immediately entranced by the bright hair and even brighter smile and quickly introduced herself, with the best pronunciation a three year old can have. You had to be the one apologizing, explaining the little one had a hard time understanding that when mom said ‘stop running’ it meant to actually stop and not run any faster. Hinata just laughed, all sunshine and flowers surrounding him, and crouched down to Akame's level to ruffle her hair and ask her to be good for mommy. You saw the way he looked at you, with burning passion and desire. At least, that's what you thought. Hinata looked at you up and down, as if he was memorizing your body. He left you blushing and daydreaming while your daughter pulled at the hem of your sundress to ask for strawberries.

It didn't take long to find out Hinata was only twenty one. Some of the mothers at Akame’s kindergarten lived in the same apartment complex as you so, naturally, they saw Hinata as well and couldn't help but gossip about the beautiful young man that was always so polite and sweet. That's how you found out he was ten years younger than you and completely crushed your expectations. Maybe you read the signs all wrong. There was no way such an attractive young man was attracted to you. You were older, signs of a pregnancy still lingering.

You were so wrong.

The advances Hinata made at you weren't part of your imagination. He was always offering to help you as if he wanted to spend more time close to you and he touched you at every opportunity he had, grabbing your waist whenever he walked behind you in the kitchen during movie night or brushing your hands together while walking. At first, you thought he didn't know your age. Hinata might have thought you appear younger so, during one of your movie nights, you told him your age in a conversation. That desire burning behind his eyes came back at full force and he pushed you back on the couch, hovering above you. He talks but you barely catch a word. Hinata kisses you like he lives for it; fast and sloppy at first like he's tired of waiting for this moment. Then it's slower and sweeter, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking your tongue softly and swallowing your gasps.

You warn him that Akame is still asleep so you both make your way to the bedroom. He locks the door as you pull the oversized shirt over your head. The pants are off next and you can feel Hinata looking at you even if your back is turned to him. The man turns you so he can kiss you again; and he keeps kissing you until you're laying on your bed.

It's a blur for a while, too entranced on the way his lips taste and feel. You don't even realize he has taken off his clothes until your hands are gripping on bare skin. Hinata keeps kissing down your body as his hand makes its way between your legs. You don't have time to even think about feeling insecure because of how exposed your body is. It's like Hinata senses your preoccupation and it's right there to take your mind off of it. He kisses your inner thighs, bites them a few times and then latches onto your clit. You let out a gasp and quickly cover your mouth with your hand when you realize you're not home alone. “Tastes good.” Shoyo whispers against you, pushing a finger inside. He groans and moans like he is the one getting pleasure out of it. His hands explore your body while he’s humping against the bed as he eats you out so good. You're pulling at his bright hair, so soft between your fingers.

You don't remember the last time someone made you feel this type of pleasure. You're not sure there was even someone that could compare. You roll your eyes back, arch your back and beg for release. Hinata doesn't stop you; he simply stares at you with those big brown eyes as he pushes three fingers inside and sucks on your clit. There's drool everywhere, a wet mess all over the place. And you're so close but, suddenly, the sensation of his mouth is gone.

“Turn around for me, yeah?”

Chills run down your spine due to the demanding voice of such a sweet man. You do as Hinata says, wanting to please him as much as possible. You look over your shoulder to see him rip a condom open. He smiles at you and your heart beats faster at the sight. “Taking your time? I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m getting tired. you joke, eyes trailing down his tanned body. His big muscles shift at every movement and you're entranced by him.

He kneels behind you and your heart flips with anticipation. Your arms are getting tired already but you don't want to give up yet, so you just try to ignore it. Hinata’s hands hold your waist, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb over the skin. It's the comfort you need to prepare yourself for the tip of his dick pushing inside you.

It has been a while since you had sex but you feel so reassured by Shoyo that it doesn't take much for him to bottom out smoothly. He stays still for a while though, letting you get used to it. It isn't until you start pushing back against him that Shoyo starts moving his hips.

It isn't too fast, careful not to make too much noise whenever his skin slaps against yours. However, even though he isn't going fast, he is going deep. You feel his dick reach places you don't think ever got reached.

He groans under his breath and you're biting your lip to stay quiet. Your arms end up giving out, too tired to hold your body weight and you hide your face on the soft pillow beneath you.

“Fuck.” he says behind you, “do you know how long I have been waiting for this?”

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Hinata whispers low praises next to your ear, his body fully pressed against yours as his hand sneaks between your thighs to rub your clit slowly. You whisper his name, a plea for him to help you reach your climax. He guides you to it, without a hurry, and kisses the side of your head when he feels you squeeze around him, finally reaching your orgasm. Shoyo follows a few thrusts later, releasing inside the condom.

He pulls out and quickly helps you turn around to lay on the bed. He disappears for a bit before turning back with a wet towel. Shoyo stands next to you in all of his naked glory, sweat coating his tanned skin. You still think he looks handsome and can't stop staring at him while he cleans you the best he can with the towel.

“Shower?” he simply asks. You nod, yelping when Shoyo picks you up from the bed.

You kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then the corner of his lip. Hinata is smiling brightly and he can't stop even as he tries to kiss you, smiling against your mouth.

You shower together, Shoyo lovingly washes your body and kisses you every time your insecurities threaten to show up. It’s nice to be close to someone like this, you didn't think you would get to experience this again. He helps you dry yourself, helps you get dressed and then he is pulling you to bed, wrapping his arms against your frame.

And when you wake up, it's with the noise of Shoyo excitedly talking to your daughter in the living room about a random cartoon. You walk there and Akame gives you the biggest smile as she asks if Shoyo will be having sleepovers more often. “I guess he will.” is all you reply. Shoyo looks at you, pretty brown eyes shining and you nod, “Yeah, he definitely will.”

#kora posts! #hinata smut #hinata x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo #hinata shoyo haikyuu #hinata shoyo smut

[multifandomhaven]

A/N: Call of Duty brain rot has set in lolol I hope y'all enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Y/N was a simple woman, or so she liked to think. She went to work, back to her apartment, and sometimes she'd hit the gym. She was what most people would call bland, a wet blanket. Boring.

She was single, with no kids, and no man in her life - it was lonely sometimes, sure, but she liked it. It gave her time to focus on the thing that really meant something to her - her practice.

"Doctor Laswell, the next patient is ready for you," the nurse called into her office.

Y/N rose from her chair, glancing over the chart in her hand before she entered the room with a small smile. "Hello, how are you guys today?"

The young couple looked from the young puppy in the woman's lap and then back to the doctor. "We're doing okay, just here to get Bella's shots up to date."

Taking the squirmy little thing from her owner, Y/N cuddled it to her chest, chuckling when it gave her a few sloppy kisses on her cheek. "You're so sweet, aren't you, girl."

Y/N loved her job. She had always had a knack for taking care of animals - for the most part, all they wanted was a warm place to sleep, some good food, and love. They were simple, easy to read, and never meant you harm unless you gave them a reason - they were with you for life, unwavering and full of devotion.

Y/N quickly administered the medication to the puppy, rubbing the sore spot down with her gloved fingers gently. "You're so brave, Bella. Such a good girl," she cooed.

Giving the nurse the puppy's record to update, Y/N turned and handed the dog back to her owners. "Okay, you're good to go for now. Just stop by the ladies at reception to make sure you get the appointment set up for her final round of shots, okay?"

The rest of the day went by in a blur, animal after animal treated, and, as much as Y/N enjoyed her job, she was ready to get home to her warm bubble bath. She washed her hands and bid her staff goodbye as they filed out one by one until she was the only person left in the office. She turned the lights off, making sure everything was as it should be before she locked the door and walked to her car.

She unlocked her car before she got to it, ready to sit down and give her aching feet a rest. She reached out to open the door when she felt something hard hit her across the side of her head. She fell to her knees, her vision blurring as she crashed to the ground. Her palms and knees burned as the asphalt scraped away the skin. She blinked quickly, trying to clear her sight.

"Laswell?" The man asked from above her, his voice almost a growl. When she didn't answer he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face to look at him. "Are you Y/N Laswell?"

Y/N gasped, pain shooting through her head. "Yes, yes, that's me."

Her sight finally cleared and she struggled to sit up, seeing two large men with masks covering their faces. One had a gun while the other continued to land hit after hit to her, her body, her face, anywhere he could. She was crying now, her arms covering her face as she tried to protect herself as best she could.

"Tell that bitch to make it right," the man sneered at her. "Or you're dead."

She was left in the parking lot by herself, blood coming from the cut on her head and her lip. She dug desperately in her purse, finding her phone and pulling it out with shaking hands. She was still crying, tears mixing with the blood that dripped onto her scrubs.

"Laswell," her aunt's voice came from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

Y/N sobbed into the receiver. "Aunt Kate?"

"What's wrong," Kate asked instantly, her voice tight. "Bunny?"

"There were these men," Y/N explained the situation as best she could through her panic. "Can you call an ambulance to the office? I don't think I can drive."

"They're on the way, Bunny, just stay where you are," Kate told her. "I'm on my way to you. I'll see you in a bit."

A few hours later, Y/N and Kate had finally been reunited in the emergency department of the hospital. Y/N was cleared to go home as soon as the bags of antibiotics and fluid were gone - just as a precaution, they told her. They had given her an injection for pain, but still, she found her head throbbing with every movement.

"Okay," Kate mumbled under her breath, pacing from one end of the room to the other. It seemed like time was in an endless loop - Kate would stop to ask questions, jot them down on a notepad, grumble to herself, and then go back to pacing. At times Y/N could've sworn she could see the older woman looking at her, her eyes filling with tears before she would excuse herself into another room.

Y/N frowned, watching Kate's back disappear into the tiny bathroom once again. She wanted to follow her, to check on her, but the pounding in her head kept her seated. Slowly, she brought the ice pack back up and pressed it against the offending pain, grimacing when the ice pack made contact with the bruise surrounding her eye. The television was on in the background, the volume whisper-low, but she paid it no attention.

It wasn't long before Kate came back out, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She gave her niece a small, tight-lipped smile. "Allergies."

"Aunt Kate, please you need to sit down and stop worrying. You're going to raise your blood pressure." Kate still paced the length of the room, just a little bit slower. Y/N tried to cut the tension with a joke, "Or walk a hole in the floor. They probably wouldn't appreciate that..."

Kate didn't fall for it and, instead, she came over and surveyed the damage to her niece's face with a grimace. Gently, she turned her face from one side to the other, her fingers grasping her chin. "Oh Bunny," she whispered.

"I'm okay," Y/N tried to soothe her. "Kate, I'm okay."

Kate almost glared at her, no true malice for her niece, purely frustration at the circumstance. "You're telling me that you're not in pain right now?"

"It'll heal," she said softly. "Come on, you've been waiting on me hand and foot since you got here. I haven't seen you in almost a year and I've missed you."

"Oh, Bunny, you know I've missed you too," Kate's eyes softened slightly and she nodded, sitting on the bed beside her. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

Y/N took her hand and simply held it - something she'd done as a child that still brought her a semblance of comfort. The older woman rubbed her hand softly, her eyes trained intently on her niece. "This is enough for now."

Kate nodded and sighed. "Okay, okay."

They sat there quietly for the first time since Kate had arrived. Y/N's mind was whirling with thoughts and memories. Most from the attack, but in between the awful there were also some from when she was a child - so she chose to focus on the good ones. She peeked around the icepack and asked, "Do you remember the first time you and Rachel took me ice skating?"

"Oh God. You were a wreck - you looked like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz when he first started walking." Kate laughed. The memory curled the corner of her lips - the younger woman's superpower if she had one - and she shook her head lightly. "You know, if it were up to Rachel she'd be here too - you are her favorite person."

Y/N gave her hand a small squeeze, taking her chance to change the subject. "How is Aunt Rach?"

"She's doing well," Kate admitted. "She's at an art show in New York right now."

Y/N had always been envious of her aunt's artistic ability. Sure, she could draw the basics, but Rachel's work was nothing short of beautiful. She wasn't even ten years old the first time she met Rachel. She was tall, thin, and willowy - she looked like something from another planet to Y/N. She was gorgeous. That day she took the time to show Y/N how to draw a rose - something the younger girl kept close to her heart for years to come.

"She's talented and she knows it," Y/N said fondly. "I miss her."

Kate agreed, a flash of pride in her eyes. "She would love for you to come stay with us - for as long as you'd want to. We both would."

"That's very kind," Y/N felt a surge of appreciation for her words but still disagreed. "But I'll be okay back at my apartment. Plus, I don't want to impose."

"Impose," Kate huffed with a roll of her eyes. "You live alone, you don't have any kind of protection. Your building's security is lacking. And plus, you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece," Y/N sighed. She knew Kate was right, but she didn't want to place any more worry or guilt on her aunt's shoulders. She was still frightened, though. "How does Rachel stay safe while you're gone? Does she have a gun?"

Kate nodded seriously. "Yes, she does. She carries it in her purse, with a concealed carry permit, of course. I taught her how to shoot when we first started dating, just in case."

"Of course you did," Y/N smiled as best she could, wincing when her split lip seared with pain. "So do you think I should get one, too?"

Again, Kate nodded. "You know my stance on that. However..."

Y/N raised a brow. "What?"

"I think I may have a solution," Kate admitted. "You aren't going to like it, but remember, this would be temporary. Just until I know I have the people who did this to you."

Y/N was curious, sure, but she also knew she likely wasn't going to like what Kate had to offer. She waited, watching as the wheels in her aunt's brilliant mind spun, slowly clicking the puzzle pieces together. She pulled out her phone, tapped some buttons, and finally looked genuinely relieved since the first time she'd arrived. "It's damn near perfect."

"What are you thinking," Y/N questioned. "You look like you've solved world hunger."

"I have someone coming to keep a watch on you," Kate told her. "He'll be the one with the gun, so you don't have to worry about that. He'll stay with you until we get these bastards. Until you're safe."

"Are you talking about a bodyguard?" Y/N furrowed her brows. "Kate, c'mon. I don't think that's necessary-"

Kate cut her off. "I have just the person in mind. I've worked with him for a long time, completely trust him. He's top of the line, Bunny."

"Do I have a choice," Y/N asked softly, the answer already known.

Kate, again, gave her a small smile. "No."

That evening, after she was released from the hospital, Kate helped her back to her apartment. She was scuttling around from one window to another, checking the locks as Y/N was nestled in her chair, her body still aching. She had a tablet in her hands, reading over some of the charts of her patients. She couldn't be at work until she was fully cleared, but she still accepted the simpler cases so people wouldn't have to go to the next town over to keep their animals healthy.

"You should be resting," Kate chirped from the doorway of the kitchen. "But because I know you aren't going to listen I brought you a cup of coffee and a bagel."

Y/N gave her aunt a small smile and thanked her with a nod, taking the cup from her hands. Kate lay the plate with the bagel on the table beside her. "I wonder where I get that stubborn quality from?" Y/N joked.

"Watch yourself, smart-ass," Kate chuckled, shaking her head lightly. "But seriously, don't overdo it, kiddo. I know you want things to stay relatively normal, but you still need to take it easy, okay?"

The younger woman nodded. "I promise."

A knock at the door shattered the silence and Y/N gasped and looked to her aunt. Kate stood, her hand by her gun on her side, and walked toward the door. She glanced out of the peephole and lowered her shoulders, her hand moving from her gun to the doorknob. She opened the door and stepped outside, her voice met by another deeper one.

Y/N strained her ears to hear the conversation outside, but couldn't make out any distinct words. Kate's comfort with the person on the other side calmed her worry, so she sat back and took a bite of her bagel. When she heard two sets of footsteps enter her apartment she pretended like she didn't notice, too absorbed in her work, but in reality, she was hyper-aware of the large figure shadowing her aunt.

"Bunny," Kate's called, breaking the silence. "This is John, he's a friend of mine and a damn good soldier. He's going to be watching over you until we're sure that you're safe."

Y/N glanced up from her work at Kate before her eyes shifted over to the large man behind her. Y/N gave him a tight grin, rightfully nervous about having him in her home. He was a stranger, after all, even if Kate did vouch for him. And she knew Kate was only able to stay for a few more hours - with her important work and all.

John gave her a quick nod, his hands in his pockets. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Thank you for your help, John," Y/N said quietly.

John gave her a wink and it was then she noticed how absolutely blue his eyes were. "Your aunt's told me a lot about you."

Y/N smiled at him. "I wish I could say I've heard a lot about you, but Kate keeps me in the dark about most things."

John chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Anyway," Kate cut their conversation. "The arrangement is simple - John stays with you as much as possible. Of course, you're allowed your personal space, but he needs to be within arms reach of you if you're out. And always in the apartment with you."

Y/N opened her mouth as if to say something, but her aunt held up a finger, signaling that she wasn't finished speaking. "I've spoken to the landlord of your office, Bunny. As soon as you're cleared you can go back to work, but John will be there with you."

Y/N raised a brow. "Don't you think a random guy, no offense, John, just standing in the corner of my office is going to weird out some of my patients? Make them uncomfortable?"

Kate shrugged her shoulders and frowned. "I don't care about their feelings, Bunny. I care about you staying alive."

"It's my job, Aunt Kate," Y/N sighed.

Kate nodded, coming to sit on the arm of her chair. "I understand that, but your life is more important."

Y/N bit back a retort after seeing the look on her aunt's face - she'd seen that look plenty of times and she knew no one had ever won a battle against it. She sank back against the cushions of the chair, her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child. "Fine."

Kate squared her shoulders, a grin curling her lips. "I'm glad to see you're taking this well."

"This is well?" John piped up quietly behind her.

Kate turned slightly. "This is her being easy. You've got your work cut out for you with this one, John."

John sighed. "I've taken down entire platoons of highly trained soldiers, Kate. I think I can handle a little woman."

Kate chuckled. "You've only just met Bunny. Don't underestimate her."

"Underestimate a Laswell," John murmured with a smirk. "Never."

#call of duty #cod #john price #captain price #john price x reader #kate laswell

[blueraineshadows]

Am I Forgiven?

Sebastian x MC - fighting, forgiveness, and nightgown kisses

MC sighed at the open tomes spread out before her and rubbed a frustrated hand across her brow. The aged script was beginning to blur into a mass of sliding characters and there was a dull ache growing behind her eyes. Goblin lore was bad enough during History of Magic lessons, but to sit here in her own time scouring pages upon pages of it was bordering on torture. However, Sebastian's words still stung, they had wormed their way under her skin and she hated how much it bothered her.

"Ignorant."

MC had reeled at his jibe, the fury on his face and the way he spat the word cutting her deeper than she could ever have imagined. Since when did she care? She had never cared about what other people thought of her, never let it stop her going after what she wanted, she was tougher than that. Sebastian was useful, he taught her things, he was handy in a fight, it was never the plan to grow fond of him. She shouldn't care what he thought of her.

But his words had eaten away at her all day, frustration making her sneak into the Undercroft to dig out the books stashed there, books that were not on the school reading list. The idea that she was not smart enough for the likes of him irked her almost as much as his insult. She would prove him wrong.

Maybe not tonight though. She yawned and stretched, time to sneak back to bed. As she was about to begin collecting the scattered texts, the grate of the Undercroft entrance groaned signalling the arrival of one of the boys. MC shot to her feet. Please be Ominis she silently begged.

Sebastian strode in, fully dressed but tie askew, his hair unruly. He halted in surprise at the sight of her, his eyes widening as he took in her ankle length nightgown, feet clad in nothing but her stockings. MC lifted her chin a little, her eyes skipping to where her Slytherin robe was slung over a crate, her boots abandoned beside it.

"MC," he said. His voice sounded deeper, slightly hoarse. Again, his eyes moved over her and his cheeks reddened a touch. "I didnt think anyone would be here."

"Dont worry, I was just leaving," she said coldly. "Wouldn't want to crowd you with my ignorance."

He sighed. "I didnt mean it. What I said...I was angry. You are from ignorant."

No. Don't look at me with those eyes she thought, and turned to snatch up her robe. She had to stay mad, she couldn't let him lure her in. Her fingers shook, much to her horror. She flung her robe about trying to get it the right way round to put on, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and fury at herself.

"What are you reading?" He asked. His voice was closer, she spun on the spot, eyeing him as he bent to pick up one of the books. He raised an eyebrow. "Goblin lore? You don't give up, do you?"

Her fingers clenched tighter around the cloth of her robe. "Never," she said firmly. "If Lodgok can get me information, get me closer to Ranrok, then he is useful to know."

He met her eyes. "Is that how you see me too? Useful for your own ends?"

MC opened her mouth but no words came out. Sebastian looked away, but not before she saw a flash of something like hurt in his eyes. He nodded as he slapped the book closed in a puff of dust. MC felt something twang in her chest but she shoved it down. She couldn't afford to care, she couldn't let him get close. Closer meant it hurt more when they were gone.

"When I said I wasnt prepared to get involved with whatever this Lodgok wants, you were quick to start severing ties with me," he said. He turned to face her again. "I figured my usefulness had run out. I am not a fool, MC. You forget, when it comes to manipulating people to get what I want, I'm an expert. I know a schemer when I see one. You've got Ominis wrapped around your little finger for a start."

MC felt heat flush her face. "How dare you! As if you're not doing the exact same thing to me! The only reason you help me is because you want me to cure Anne, otherwise you would have had no issue with leaving me to rot inside that scriptorium. You certainly had no difficulty casting Crucio on me and we both know you have to mean it."

"Only because you didnt have the nerve to cast it yourself!" He snapped back. His brow furrowed as his anger began to bubble up. "You had me teach it to you only to chicken out at the last moment. I mean, you're hand was shaking like a fucking leaf as you pointed the wand at me. So yes, I do try to help you. Not just for Anne, but because if I didn't, you would go out there to fight Merlin knows what, unprepared and alone and likely end up dead for your efforts."

MC remembered facing him down, wand up, the word Crucio on the tip of her tongue. He was right, she hadn't been able to do it. It infuriated her no end that she hadn't been able to. Because she couldn't do it with meaning. All she could see was his cheeky smirk, the way his face would get all intense when he was reading, the day he took her to meet Anne and the playful way he had been with his twin. She remembered the feel of his hand against the small of her back, the way he had helped her get to her feet when she stumbled, and he always had her back in a fight. She had come to rely on his presence, couldn't wait to tell him about something she had discovered, felt delight at drawing out a smile from him, and it scared the absolute shit out of her. There was no way she could cast an Unforgivable on him but there was no way she was going to admit all of that to his arrogant face.

With a growl of frustration she shook out her robe, determined to get it back on and get out of there, but her hands were still shaking and the blasted thing would not obey her. "I don't need you to save me," she insisted. "If I can face the Keepers trials alone, then I'm fine with everything else. I don't need a baby sitter."

The robe seemed to have a mind of its own. She threw it to the floor and yanked on her boots instead.

"I am under no illusions about your need for a saviour, I've seen you bring down mountain trolls after all, and I definitely have no plans to be your baby sitter," he snapped. "But if you think that I am going to stand by while you walk into some sneaky goblin trap, then you are sadly mistaken. Goblins cannot be trusted."

"And you can?" She spun to face him, her hair flying against her flushed cheeks. He had her robe in his hands and he was even closer, close enough the see the fire light from the candles flicker in his brown eyes. His anger disappeared at her words. A look passed across his face and it looked like sadness. She swallowed down the fear clawing up her throat. "I've told you more than I have ever shared with anyone else. I've put my trust in you and I don't know if that was the right choice."

Her voice cracked on the last word and her chest tightened with the raw honesty she had spilled. She felt horribly exposed to him and she feared that he could see all the other feelings that were swirling around those words.

He stepped around her and placed her robe gently over her shoulders. Of course, the fabric behaved in his long fingers, draping perfectly around her. He spun her to face him, the press of his finger tips a delight and an agony, and he fastened the robe against her chest. She stared at him, her eyes scanning his face, waiting for a smart comment, the arrogant twist of his lips, but all she could see was sadness. Just like that her anger melted, slipping through her fingers and she had nothing else to cling to. Nothing to use as a shield against her vulnerability. How the hell did he do it?

He met her gaze and she was trapped in it. Her eyes were fused with his. "If you want, you can walk out of here and I will not trouble you again," he said softly. "But I meant what I said. I would never let you walk into danger alone, or unprepared. I will always have your back, just as you have had mine."

MC felt a stinging at the backs of her eyes. She never cried, refused to. Weakness was never an option. Sebastian lifted his hands either side of her face, she could have sworn his fingers were trembling as he cupped her jaw, the pad of his thumb grazing an agonising sweep near her mouth. "If you do walk out of here, I will respect your choice. But if you want, I can be whatever you need me to be, I can teach you more spells, I will fight whatever battles I can alongside you, but above all of that, I would be honoured to be your friend. The friend you have put your trust in."

The sting behind her eyes became a burn and her vision was getting a little blurry around the edges. It was tiredness of course, that's all. She was tired. Her body betrayed her and a hot tear escaped to slide down her cheek. Sebastian caught it with his thumb. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he whispered.

MC pulled in a shaky breath. Merlin damn this boy who refused to give her heart a moments peace. The eye contact was becoming too intense so she dropped her gaze, but that was a mistake. His mouth was so close and those fluttering feelings took a dive southwards to torment her abdomen instead. Her heart thumped madly against her ribs. Fury had become this flaring need and she needed to get back to more familiar ground before his touch drove her crazy.

"For the record, I do not have Ominis wrapped around my little finger," she said.

There was the familiar little smirk on his lips. "Oh yes, you do," he said. His hands were still holding her face. "In fact, I could list a few others who would drop everything and come running for you."

"Like who?" MC said doubtfully.

His thumb gave another sweep across her skin sending sparks shivering down her spine. "Garreth, Poppy, Amit, not to mention Leander..."

MC screwed her nose up. "I highly doubt it."

"Believe me, you have no idea." A scowl flashed on his brow.

MC arched a brow. "Really? You almost sound jealous Mr Sallow."

Teasing was definitely more familiar territory with him, but MC found she was holding her breath.

"Of course not." A glorious blush spread across Sebastian's cheeks and he let go of her, pushing his hands through his hair and turning to pace before the scattered books. Her skin felt strangely chilled without his hands gracing it. "You said it yourself, you reveal more of yourself to me than anyone else. I have no reason to be jealous."

Oh, she was already regretting those words, he was going to be awfully smug now. She folded her arms. "So, you wouldn't mind if I asked Garreth to help me with an extra assignment instead this weekend?"

"What assignment?" He asked, spinning back to look at her.

Her lips twitched with the need to grin. "Oh, you know, the usual sneaking about after dark. I reckon Garreth won't mind breaking a few rules with me."

Sebastian's jaw tightened. His eyes travelled down the length of her before gazing at her face. "Will you be sneaking around in the dark with Garreth dressed in nought but your night gown?"

Embarrassment swirled with a pinch of excitement in her belly at the way he stared, but she covered it smoothly with more teasing. She gripped the white cotton of her nightgown, spreading it slightly as if to curtsey. "Oh, I don't know, do you think he wouldn't approve?"

Sebastian looked as if he was about to step towards her but he hesitated, bringing both of hands to his mouth as if praying. "I think he would be far too over excited at such a sight," he said tightly. "Perhaps not such a good idea."

"No?" Her heart thudded in her chest. "What about you? Are you 'over excited'?"

His eyes widened and another flush spread up his neck and face. He opened his mouth to speak once, twice, and MC felt a giggle bubble up her throat. Oh, but she was being most horrid and scandalous! And it would serve him right after the way he made her heart jump and twirl in her chest at times.

She almost skipped as she moved towards him, her hands reaching for his wonky tie. He had so gently wrapped her in the robe, it would be rude not to return the gesture. She straightened the tie up, slowly and deliberately, hearing the soft intake of his breath between his teeth. She met his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, and gave him a soft smile. "Its late," she whispered. "We should return to the common room."

He cleared his throat. "Does this mean I am forgiven?"

She stared up at him, her hands resting lightly either side of his tie. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, see the way his pupils were reacting to the candle light, and she knew, deep inside her, that he was the biggest distraction in her life but she didn't think she would ever be able to breathe properly again if he disappeared. It was frightening, how quickly he had wrapped himself around her like that. Her own feelings for this boy scared her, more than any monster this new magical world could throw at her, but Merlin did it make her feel alive.

Her lips curved upwards as she gripped hold of his robe, pulling him downwards as her heels lifted. She pressed her mouth against his in the softest kiss, a brief but warm sign of affection that made her blood sing.

"For now," she said cheekily. She let him go. He couldn't look more stunned. "My my, Sebastian, you look lost for words."

She didn't get a chance to step too far back from him. His hands reached for her, snaking about her waist as he pulled her back against him. A gasp burst from her lips as their bodies were pressed flush against each other. One of his hands slid up her spine, his fingers entangled in her hair as he stole another kiss from her mouth. This was no soft, delicate touch, this was a firm declaration that stole the very breath from her lungs. When he pulled his face back a little, their hot breaths mingled as they stared at each other.

"From now on, the only boy who gets to see you in your nightgown is me," he said gruffly.

"Is that so?" She breathed.

"Oh, I am insisting on it."

She smiled. The pendulum of emotions inside her took another swing. Less than an hour ago she had wanted to smack him one on his cute, freckled nose. Now, she never wanted him to let her go.

He slowly, reluctantly, released his grip on her. But, his fingers found hers and they interlinked. "Now, allow me to escort you back to the common room. You never know who could be prowling the halls at this time of night."

His smirk was a mirror of her own.

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